Sydney Writers’ Festival 2016
by Diana Jenkins
It’s been my custom in previous years to give Varuna Alumni and other visitors to this site a bit of a Sydney Writer’s Festival round-up at the start of May, when the festival invigorates and illuminates that city and numerous satellites – including Katoomba, thanks to Varuna’s partnership program. I realise now my timing has been deeply flawed. Under Artistic Director Jemma Birrell’s stewardship SWF (May 16-22) keeps posting record crowds, so that every year many ticketed sessions are selling out well in advance. Festival fever, in other words, is already upon us, though the program launched at Pier 2/3 a week ago. Ergo, I thought I’d wave the starter’s flag, because punters are off and racing; some events have already sold out.
A word on the launch before I begin. Sometimes there’s nothing else for it than transforming my various humiliations into writing fodder – either as cautionary tales or comic ones. I have no shame anymore – I’ve been rejected far too many times for that. It’s always my hope that sharing my embarrassing missteps in the writing world shall either mark out the potholes for future travellers, or at least soothe their bruises if they, like me, have a talent for doing everything face-first. Either way, I’ve come to believe that a horror shared is a horror halved. So, to the launch:
I was happy and excited heading downtown to meet my friend, fellow Alumna and ABC Senior Reporter Deborah Rice, whom I met during my first Varuna stay in 2008. A week earlier, I was the exact opposite – distressed and disappointed – so I was sorely in the market for a bit of fun with a good girlfriend. What better occasion than the official kick-off to SWF season?
Deb met my ferry at Circular Quay. It was a stunning evening after one of Sydney’s perfect autumn days. We decided to check out the newly refurbished, recently reopened Hotel Palisade, which commands eagle’s nest views from its Bettington St hilltop position. There are few things I love more than seeing a dodgy old boozer reborn and I’m obviously not alone: the joint was jumping. We only had time for one drink before the party, so we sat outside enjoying the last of the light, launching into one of those conversations that made me realise, yet again, how critical it is that writers have writer friends. There was no preamble, no small talk, in we launched: instantly it was all about books.
Our conversation (books we’re reading, books we plan to read, books we’re trying to write, books our children are reading and so on) continued unabated as we merrily strolled to Pier 2/3. Though it was my fourth SWF program launch, it was the first time I was free to sample the wares of the festival’s wine sponsor, Bibliotheque. In 2013, I had a consumptive cough that very nearly drowned out the announcement. In 2014, I was pregnant. In 2015, I was breastfeeding. This time, since there was no encumbrance to quenching my thirst at will, I accepted first one glass of wine, then another. There was a third.
What I entirely failed to anticipate – my usual tolerance for alcohol has an international reputation – was that my body wasn’t so footloose and fancy-free after all. I didn’t realise it going in, but it’s clear now that I was still in a medically induced state of menopause, manacled to the month-long course of medication I’d abruptly abandoned only the week before, when the need for it (a possible IVF transfer) was just as suddenly eliminated. There was no need to continue battering my body with an emotional, hormonal tsunami once there was nothing and no one crossing the welcome mat. The transfer – our last – was cancelled, the blastocysts were non-viable, my medication went in the bin, and I…well, I bawled my eyes out on the day, and continued welling up in the days that followed, but I honestly thought it was all back to normal by last Thursday night. And perhaps it would have been, had I a) had 2 drinks instead of 4, or b) eaten something before it was too late or c) wasn’t coming off the back of a manufactured menopause.
Alas.
(Needless to say, I am not eagerly awaiting the real thing after this little taster - it was a deep, dark well I fell down. Really, women continually cop it in the chops.)
The program launch is a social evening and together Deb and I did a pretty good job working the room, saying g’day to people we knew and chatting amiably to a number we didn’t. We talked shop with writers, publishers, editors, agents, SWF staff – junior and senior industry types both. The vibe’s pretty egalitarian; most people are genuinely pleased to be there and pumped about the program. I don’t think I did or said anything untoward or off-kilter. Until, that is, I happened to meet a legendary publisher – someone I’ve heard consistently wonderful things about over many years and whom I seemed to inadvertently offend the moment I opened my mouth.
I still don’t know how it all went so wrong, but the wine-plus-fertility-meds-comedown combo clearly impaired my judgement. Deb was off talking to someone else, and I just ploughed on, digging a deeper and deeper hole for myself without my wing-woman on hand to throw me a rope.
(Note to self: at future industry events, assuming I am ever invited to another one and haven’t been blackballed to oblivion, do NOT let my support person out of my sight.)
One of the publisher’s authors wrote what is undoubtedly one of the books of the year. It’s been both a critical and commercial success. I loved the book, but the novel’s cover has come up in enough conversations that I know it has divided opinion. I’m insatiably curious about the inner workings of publishing houses and how these decisions are made, so I just couldn’t help myself: I asked the publisher about the cover, mentioning that while I really wanted my husband, for instance, to read the book, he wouldn’t, almost entirely because of the cover. I think he’s a fairly typical bloke in many regards, and his reaction to the cover has nagged at me, because while it may say something unflattering about him, it also suggests that the cover art may have unintentionally narrowed the book’s market. Unfortunately I speculated about this out loud, to the book’s champion.
Well, I’ll leave you to imagine just how well that went down.
After showing that winning hand, I went one better. We were discussing the sale of the novel’s international rights – which started off the back of the cover clanger, because I asked if the cover would be taken up when the novel’s released in the US (the answer: no) – when I suddenly, sincerely, inexplicably choked up about the author’s success. I don’t know how to explain it even now, except to say I clearly saw this massive American market opening up to the author, someone I regard as a truly deserving writer, whose current chart-topping status gives me untold pleasure and satisfaction. In a rush, I realised what a career- and life-changing time this must be, and I felt a great sense of communal pride and joy. It was almost a universal thing, as grandiose as that probably sounds, because it was a real moment of dawning awareness and celebration: Shit, this author’s years of hard work, talent and humanity have actually paid off! Woo hoo! My eyes filled, and I simply couldn’t regain my composure. To our mutual mortification, I began crying.
Weird? Inappropriate? Misplaced? Yep, absolutely – all of those things. I started apologising through my tears, but I just couldn’t stop. The publisher was exceedingly gracious, but must have been thinking, ‘Who the fuck is this lunatic and how can I get away from her?’
Eventually the publisher tactfully returned our empty glasses to the bar and we fled in opposite directions. If I hadn’t dutifully been wearing my nametag, I would just bury this entire encounter and vigorously deny any involvement. It makes me shrivel in shame and always shall. I have a well-documented tendency toward excess – I over-explain, I over-invest, and every so often I over-imbibe, and last Thursday night I did all three in the space of as many minutes. It’s just unfortunate that I did it in front of someone I’d never met before, someone with significant clout, and someone whose first impression of me was not only regrettable but may very well prove irreversible. And that kind of sucks, friends. I completely lost my voice that night and have been hoarse and sick ever since: my body's way of letting me know it really wasn't ready for a night on the tiles either.
On Monday I sent the publisher a short, hand-written apology. Signed, the Bibliotheque Train-wreck.
So. I hope you’ve all understood this as a shining example of what not to do.
As to the main event itself, as usual SWF is welcoming some of the world’s best writers, and it’s very gratifying to see how many Varuna writers are in the mix. Not yours truly this time – I’m having a year off.
Having presented 5x15 at Sydney Theatre for the past three festivals, it’s high time I returned to work on my own writing, especially now I’m doing the Faber Academy courses. It’s not a cheap undertaking; I want and need to make the most of it. The festival won’t miss me, that’s for sure; the line up is especially stellar this year and Varuna is wonderfully well represented, with several long-time alumni members leading the charge.
Tegan Bennett Daylight’s interlinked short story collection, Six Bedrooms, and Charlotte Wood’s The Natural Way of Things, both shortlisted in this year’s Stella Prize (with Charlotte also in Miles Franklin contention - get out the pom-poms, people!), are an excellent place to start. As part of the Varuna/SWF Blue Mountains program, you can see both gals in Katoomba Monday 16 May (events SR36 and SR39); for another double dose of this lively duo, who know each other well, catch them discussing Six Bedrooms together in Sydney (170).
Both authors have busy dance-cards come May. Still in Katoomba, Tegan’s talking to Mireille Juchau and Peggy Frew, who talk about their Miles Franklin long-listed novels in a session entitled Life in the Hive (SR44). In The Writer Who Changed Me (46), Tegan reveals the lifelong influence of scriptwriter and New Yorker essayist S. J. Perelman. Tegan’s also in charge of unpacking Jonathan Franzen’s bibliographic preferences in My Reading Life, when the American author discusses his favourite books (104).
Charlotte meanwhile had to delve into her mind’s darkest places for her novel’s stark brutality and truth; she’ll be talking about how she did it and why on May 22 (235). A seasoned interviewer and panelist, Charlotte’s also appearing in conversation with Georgia Blain, whose new novel Between a Wolf and a Dog dwells on some of the big stuff (250).
Varuna alumna, GP and versatile author Leah Kaminsky also does double duty between the mountains (SR41) and the wharves (138), discussing her novel The Waiting Room, as well as sitting on a number of fascinating panels, including How to Die Well (198). Leah’s workshop Writing the Body (W20), helps writers harness sickness and health as narrative opportunities.
As well as talking to Charlotte about The Natural Way of Things (235), Lucinda Holdforth welcomes renowned critic Vivian Gornick, author of memoir The Odd Woman and New York City (113) – you can also catch Lucinda riffing on the Aaron Sorkin Effect as part of the Curiosity Lecture Series (Cur266).
Novelist Toni Jordan’s talking to Rosalie Ham about The Dressmaker (137), before settling in with Deepti Kapoor, Kate Forsyth and John Purcell (published pseudonymously as Natasha Walker) in Love Sex and Literature: Who’s Been Sleeping in My Bed? (191). After discussing erogenous zones, Toni’s tickling funny bones in The Last Laugh (215). A very popular creative writing teacher, Toni’s workshop on plotting will sell fast (W27).
As well as interviewing visiting writers in compelling sessions (45, 100), the lovely lawyer and novelist Suzanne Leal opens up with Josephine Rowe and Susan Johnson about how Things Fall Apart (70), before tackling Secrets and Survival (139) with Emily Maguire and Mireille Juchau. Suzanne’s second novel, The Teacher’s Secret, is a story of small town scandal and is generating great buzz ahead of the festival.
Fresh from the success of her second novel, Long Bay, novelist Eleanor Limprecht’s workshop Research and Writing: the Truth is in the Detail (W26) reveals her best research tools for discovering crucial details, while her group session The Underbelly of Sydney (36) will be a cracking discussion of shady characters and the sordid side of the host city.
Another Varuna and SWF veteran, poet, novelist and memoirist Mark O’Flynn is back, this time discussing Art and Life (58) with MCA Chief Curator Rachel Kent and others, about Australian and artistic lives that continue to inspire. In the mountains, you can see this well-loved local lad at the Carrington Hotel in The Writer’s Mind (SR45), discussing the fine line between creativity and madness with scholar Sylvia Martin and Barbara Brooks.
Paddy O’Reilly shares the stage with Ceridwen Dovey, Delia Falconer and the soon-to-be-announced winner of the 2016 Stella Prize in Back to the Future: Women Writers Then and Now (242). Later in the day, Paddy joins Mark Dapin, Fiona McFarlane and Sunil Badami to discuss quirky characters in Eccentrics, Oddballs and Misfits (268).
Lucy Treloar’s debut novel Salt Creek puts her onstage with other New Australian Voices (167), while Sacred Places (262) will reveal the profound impact of the Australian landscape on her work.
Playwright, author and walking enthusiast Ailsa Piper is working hard for Varuna writers throughout the festival. She’s talking to Tegan (46), Lucy (262) and Suzanne (139), before making an understandable exception for Jean-Christophe Rufin. Co-founder of Médecins Sans Frontières, he’s here to discuss his French bestseller, The Santiago Pilgrimage, an account of walking the Camino de Santiago (209).
Poet Deb Westbury has a Varuna trifecta, with three gorgeous events (SR47, SR48 and SR49) on the National Writers’ House grounds, across the main SWF weekend, 21-22 May. Who wouldn’t want to warm themselves by the fire in Varuna’s garden while local poets including Deb read their work at the Poetry Party? Deb’s workshop is about penning a poem and the art of bespoke bookbinding.
Spoilt for choice, that’s what we are, and that’s before we even consider the rest of the program, which in addition to Franzen boasts everyone from the dynamic Kate Tempest to the hilarious pint-sized podcaster Starlee Kine, as well as Gloria Steinem, Julian Barnes, Jeanette Winterson, Marlon James and Elizabeth Harrower.
Those hankering for the hands-on have to be quick for novelist Kathryn Heyman’s workshop, Diving In: Discovering Your Story (W10). Kathryn’s currently my Faber Academy teacher in Writing a Novel: First Draft and I rate her skills very highly. The woman is freakishly well read and a highly entertaining, switched on and generous teacher. Not to put too fine a point on it, she really knows her shit.
(The novelist and critic James Bradley is teaching Part II of the program; you can catch James during the festival in Creating Worlds, in a panel session that includes NZ sensation Anna Smaill, author of The Chimes (73).
And that’s just the tip of the proverbial ‘berg. SWF 2016 promises to deliver the motherlode. This year’s timely, utterly, utterly perfect theme is ‘bibliotherapy’ – and I for one cannot imagine a single treatment that will ever top it.