What this meant was that I wasn’t up to taking in lots of events at the festival as I had intended. I did go to a poetry reading. Although I can’t say I really related to the poetry, the venue was jammed with respectful listeners, mostly young by the look of it. I was glad to see that poetry is alive and well. Later, I attended a hilarious reading by Jonathan Goldstein from his book, I’ll Seize the Day Tomorrow. That made me think I wanted to give up crime fiction and write only comedy. After that, a short break until my own event which was with Peter Robinson and Mark Billingham, both crime writers. It was to take place in the Knox Presbyterian church. I was a little taken aback to find we were to read, not in the basement, which is relatively secular, but the actual church with pulpit, pews and altar. This is the second time I’ve done an event in a church which have to get what income they can these days, but I’m still uneasy about reading extracts from a crime novel in a sanctified place. Not only that we have to deliver from the pulpit, definitely an odd experience. Mark has also been a stand up comedian and he has all the comfort and wit that you might expect. I think again I should be writing comedy. I like to make people laugh. When I do my piece, the audience doesn’t laugh that much. I suppose the story of an explosion in a munitions factory isn’t really hilarious. However, the three of us do generate some laughs thanks to Mark and the evening seems a success. When did writers become entertainers? I can’t imagine T.S. Eliot feeling compelled to have his audience rolling in the aisles. Jane Austen didn’t do tours.
There’s quite a tradition among writers of convening in the bar but I don’t go. I don’t drink and hate staying up late. There’s always the temptation to go against my own proclivities just to fit in but I resist. We return to the hotel, more chocolates and another apple. The news is filled with the anxiety drenched commentaries about the Frankenstorm that will potentially wipe out Toronto and environs. Even Calgary and Vancouver maybe. Fortunately, tonight, no drunken revellers disturb our sleep. Next morning, I attend another event. Minky Worden has edited a collection of essays called, The Unfinished Revolution: The Global Fight for Women’s Rights. She reads extracts which are riveting. Makes me feel superficial for writing crime fiction.
Then we are all invited to a tea at the US embassy. The ambassador’s wife, Julie Jacobson, is a great supporter of the festival and the arts. The house is beautiful, gracious and homey at the same time. Tea is American style, cookies and tea or coffee. Where are the cucumber sandwiches? Never mind, it’s a lovely afternoon. I’m wrapped around with the soft cocoon of people who love books and believe in the power potential of the written word. I read the quote from Dickens and even choke up a little at the resonance of those words. “Beware this boy…his name is ignorance.”
Open your mind indeed.
Maureen Jennings is best known for her Detective Murdoch series, developed into the television series, Murdoch Mysteries To get to know Maureen better, visit her website.
