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The Auckland Writers & Readers Festival has nailed its status in the international literary circuit with an outstanding weekend in what is now set to be an annual four-day event.
The Aotea Centre, home to the festival for the first time, was a dream central location, and ticket sales were last night edging towards the 12,000 mark, slightly more than the 2005 festival and around 35 per cent up on the 2003 event.
American writer Richard Ford was a star attraction on Saturday, hosted by a relatively restrained John Campbell who asked him why he was abandoning Frank Buscombe, the everyman of Ford's Sportswriter-Independence Day-Lay of the Land trilogy.
"Quit when you're ahead," drawled the former sportswriter, who went on to describe President George W. Bush as a nitwit and observe that sportswriting could never achieve greatness because "sports is a lower order of behaviour".
In response to a question about blokeishness, Ford also said he did not believe there were huge differences between men and women - this was perhaps contradicted by the fact that a high proportion of his audience was female.
Rachel Seiffert, who has German and English heritage and wrote the Booker-nominated Dark Room about the aftermath of the Holocaust, offered some compelling insights into the processes of crafting fiction based on historical events.
But those who anticipated the similarly exciting prospect of disclosures from Australian Kate Grenville, there to discuss her prize-winning Secret River about the slaughter of Aboriginals by early colonisers, may have been disappointed by the zealousness of her chairwoman, Women's Bookshop owner Carole Beu, who inserted herself a little too much into the event.
Sardonic Lionel Shriver's session centred on The Post-Birthday World, which plays out the parallel outcomes consequent to a kiss that did/did not occur. "I didn't want to put together Mr Perfect and Mr Crap," said Shriver. "That's not really a choice is it? I'm much more interested in Mr and Mr Not Quite. Which is all there is out there really."
Eccentric English children's writer Philip Ardagh, of tall height and long beard, was the 50th event in the festival when he took to the stage yesterday morning, alone. Ardagh, a consummate performer, announced himself as "the world's greatest writer", then pleaded with his mother to stop following him. His hour flew - what a pity there were not more kids there to lap up his lovely madness.
Indian Vikram Chandra was also a crowd-pleaser, skilfully chaired by Ian Wedde. Chandra's latest novel, Sacred Games, about the clash between the Indian mafia and the law, was not so far removed from real life. He's done the interviews, the research and has met people on all sides. Corruption in his world is everywhere.
If the festival had a Supreme Award, Canadian performance poet Shane Koyczan would have won it, packing out the lower theatre and receiving a standing ovation. Koyczan played heartstrings like a brilliant fiddler. He included a Bush speech constructed out of Steven Seagal lines and a couple of absurd haiku.
Neurosurgeon Edward Mee chaired the session with neuropsychologist Paul Broks as if he was the shrink and Broks was a patient he didn't entirely trust. This was a refreshing departure from the style of other sessions and Broks was clearly up to the challenge.
Tim Winton attracted an enormous crowd, read like a dream, and was an engaging interviewee with a quick, dry humour.
