They took a block-square park and filled in the 25m or so from each street with tent-like structures to have several theatres, and a permanent cafe/signing tent, a largish bookstore for all the featured author's books, and the remaining 30mx30m space is still a park where people lounge, talk, and of course, read.
There were some almost bizarre juxtapositions - Neil Gaiman and Margaret Atwood, shown below, did not just happen to share the signing tent at the same time - they gave a joint lecture together; sold out, so I have no idea what things in their work had some commonality.
vThe "walls" of all the theatres are covered with posters for all the featured, lecturing authors at the fest, all done by one photographer months ago - Chris Cook.
All of them try to be engaging, of course, most looking out cheerily at the camera, some mugging in a funny
way, a few looking dramatic, like China Mieville, second from right.
There was only the one I saw where the author had his eyes closed - also the only one where he was signed up to appear and read from his new book, but couldn't make it on grounds of severe health problems. During the trip, I finally read the signed copy of The Crow Road I bought years ago in London, a new copy of Complicity, his one non-fiction book with much autobiographical material woven into his trips around Scotch distilleries ("Raw Spirit" - wow that guy could drink and have Fun, capital F)...and at the bookstore, I bought "The Quarry", the last book, that he would have read from there, and The Wasp Factory, his first.
His slot at the festival, long sold-out, was filled by a celebration for him with fellow authors and friends talking. Some coverage of it by The Scotsman just came out.
Just today, I found his last interview, in the The Guardian, where he noted that The Quarry was a rather small effort, a few characters, one location, not what he would have preferred to go out on...."I would have preferred to finish up with a huge, rollicking Culture novel". Oh, sob.
The Quarry, which he was 90% finished when he got the months-to-live diagnosis in late 2012, concerns a family about to lose their father to cancer. And that he brought his laptop to the hospital and wrote the passage where the father lists all the things about life he won't miss - about 10 minutes after finding out he wouldn't see 2014. He mentions that he doesn't dare do as weird things in his SF novels as his mainstream ones, because they would reduce believability too much - that real life is stranger than SF. What can you say.
