I cannot remember when I first learned about the National Book Festival. It was not on my radar screen the first time the festival was held, on September 9, 2001, and I have little recollection of an awareness of it the second year. But by 2006, I had learned that there was a one-day event on the National Mall that brought together some of the nation's bestselling fiction authors, outstanding non-fiction writers, and an array of children's and young adult authors. By 2009, I made up my mind that I would attend the event the following year (2010), if at all possible.
Our beautiful new granddaughter was very accommodating to her grandmother. She was born on September 19, without complications, and with mama and baby okay, I made my reservations to travel, by train, to Washington on the Saturday, September 25th, the date for the Festival.
I boarded the train shortly after 1 a.m. Saturday and slept most of the way to Union Station, arriving there at about 7:45 a.m. Following breakfast at a restaurant on the station's ground floor, I stepped outside into the beautiful, clear day. It was perfect weather for an outdoor event.
I had printed off walking directions, but they were useless without any sense of orientation - something critical since I have zero sense of direction. Two women were out walking, and I asked them for assistance. They were headed in the direction of the Mall, although they did not plan to attend the Festival. From California, the two had been visiting Washington, and, over the past week, had learned their way around. They had also been watching the pavilion tents being erected in preparation for the Book Festival.
They left me at the Mall, and I stepped onto what was, for me, hallowed ground. Books and reading have always been an integral part of who I am. While I am not quoted as having lamented, as my oldest daughter did at the end of her first week of kindergarten that she had been in school for an entire week and had not yet learned to read, I do still recall that first heady sense of recognizing words in print - even if they were as arcane as "See Spot run."
It was still early - a little after nine, with the speaking events not scheduled to start until 10. I used the time to visit an Information booth and acquire a poster and a tote bag, and I browsed the Pavilion of the States. I was deeply grateful to have visited it early, because by mid-afternoon, the pavilion was so thick with people you had to stand in line to get to each state's exhibit.
Gordon S. Wood, a Revolutionary period scholar, was the first speaker in the History and Biography pavilion. He was, in fact, the warm-up act for the second speaker, former First Lady Laura Bush. It is a mark of our hyper-vigilant society that I did not give a second thought to the security check I passed through as I entered the pavilion both to hear Dr. Wood and to assure myself of a seat for Mrs. Bush's appearance. It was only after I departed the pavilion at 11:30, and re-entered later without a security check, that I realized the security was related to her appearance.
Mrs. Bush exudes a delightful warmth and charm, and like the rest of us who gave her a standing ovation, I appreciate her role in making the festival a reality. Moreso, I appreciate the fact that she has always been open about her love of books and her love of reading - legitimizing a passion that has always been a bit awkward when trying to have a conversation with others -try explaining to people why you do not know who is on "Dancing with the Stars" or the names of the finalists on "American Idol." (It's actually amazing that I even know these programs exist!)
Nell Painter Irvin, author of "A History of White People," followed Mrs. Bush, and Dr. Irvin was thought-provoking. When I listened in the same tent at the very end of the day to David Remnick, author of a biography of President Obama entitled, "The Bridge," I wished that the two authors had appeared side-by-side. Dr. Irvin believes that race is a political construct that is no longer relevant; Remnick's book, which I have read, makes the case that Obama constructed a racial identity for himself when he entered adulthood. It would have been an interesting discussion - had it occurred.
The speakers in the Contemporary Life pavilion raised some interesting questions about our lives, especially Professor Henry Petroski, who talked about the difference between science and engineering - making the case (convincingly, I thought) that engineering goes hand-in-hand with innovation, whereas science can sometimes stifle innovative thought.
The Fiction speakers whom I heard were interesting and inspiring. Their focus was not to read from a recent work, but to talk about the writing process. I, as a writer, appreciated hearing about it from those whose names are better recognized in the vast pool of authors than is my own.
Late in the afternoon, as I headed back to the History & Biography pavilion after hearing Dr. Petroski, I was stopped by two staff members of the Library of Congress, who asked if they could videotape me for material they would post to the LOC's website about the festival. I was a walking advertisement for the Library of Congress already. I wore a ball cap with the Library's name embroidered on the front, and a shirt with books printed on it, also purchased, during a prior visit, from the LOC's book and gift shop.
What did I think of the Festival? they asked. I know I gushed, but I replied that it was marvelous. The ability to listen to authors, to hear what audience members where thinking when they asked their questions, to engage in the free exchange of ideas in the public square - it was an intellectual high that one often does not experience. It was also energizing to be in the presence of so many others who are excited about books and ideas.
And, they asked, what was the value of reading? I noted the phrase on the winning bookmark - somewhat paraphrasing it from memory - that with reading, you can be anything, go anywhere, or think anything.
The day was magnificent, and I my finally fulfilled dream of attending a National Book Festival, with the hope that it will be the first of many similar dreams in the years to come.
