Tea in the Library by Annette Freeman Page B

Kind of funky, too. An ideal venue for the Sydney Writers’ Festival.
    The SWF has boomed in popularity in recent years, and it is now hard to get into the “big name” events without buying a ticket in advance. But a few years ago, when I first started attending, part of the thrill was the adventure of just turning up, seeing what was happening, and joining in, wandering in and out of sessions, chatting with other aficionados, and spending the day at the wharf with like-minded souls and plenty of erudite and interesting speakers. You can still try this at the SWF, but expect forty thousand other people there too.
    On this particular morning, I was circling in the schedule which authors I wanted to hear. I wandered in to a panel of Australian novelists, including Louis Nowra talking about his book set in the immigrant communities of Melbourne. I listened to a university professor argue cogently for his vision of an Australian republic seamlessly reconciled with its indigenous people. I heard with fascination a panel of overseas novelists tell us exactly what techniques they used to create tension in the writing of their thrillers — secrets from the experts! I was disappointed that Margaret Whitlam was unable to attend and talk about her latest book, but these things happen, and the Writers’ Festival schedule can get a little fluid. In fact, as I was starting on my second cappuccino of the day, there was a surprise addition to the program — a book launch by then-aspiring politician, Mark Latham. And — wow! — it was to be launched by the Great Man himself, Margaret’s husband Gough Whitlam. So I swiveled around in my seat and joined the crowd. Mark told an anecdote about the time when Gough was the local member in the electorate where Mark went to high school. In this capacity, he came along to make a speech at the end-of-year prize giving function, as local members are wont to do. It happened that Gough was Prime Minister at the time, and Mark was about eleven years old. The high school was an agricultural school, with many boarder students from the country. Their farmer parents were present at the prize-giving, and were not happy with a particular policy that Gough’s government had recently implemented, so they booed and heckled him.
    Mark said he thought at the time that it was amazing that people were allowed to boo and heckle the Prime Minister — “and now it’s my job description!” Well, Mark Latham has since left politics with plenty of boos and heckles himself, but he is still writing books. They’re selling quite well, too.
    Each May I make sure I set aside several days to go along to the Writers’ Festival. There is a buzzing atmosphere and just about everyone seems to love the stimulation of hearing interesting speakers on a huge range of topics, and the chance to ask questions, raise issues and make their own comments. I hadn’t been long at my first festival before I thought “Our demographic!” All around me were people who would love Tea In The Library. I hatched plans to advertise in the festival program, and talked about the shop to everyone I met. If only we could funnel these people down to the shop, we’d have hit the mother lode of customers.
    The festival organizers strike a deal with a particular bookshop to run the Festival temporary bookshop, sited down at the wharf  — and in the foyers of many other venues, as festival events are held around town. Dymocks, a large well-established chain, was the festival bookseller for many years, although the role has now been taken over by Gleebooks. I watched in fascination how this was managed  — what a virtuoso logistical exercise! The bookseller has to source all the books of all the writers at the festival (and there are several hundred). These are piled in high stacks in the temporary premises. Temporary phone lines and point-of-sale computers are