One of the standard questions featured in The New York Times Book Review author interviews is, “What kind of reader were you as a child?”
A frequent response is that they were “voracious,” gobbling up whatever they could get their hands on. Perhaps, even, late at night under the bed covers with the proverbial flashlight to avoid detection for waking-hours curfew violations.
I’m not an author, but I’ve given the question some thought. And the answer for me is that I was the same kind of reader I am now: more or less constant, often two-timing a weighty nonfiction offering with a quick crime novel. Preferably British.
This despite the fact that every hour I spend reading these days represents a significantly greater portion of my remaining time among the living than an hour as a 9-year-old did. Or as a 40-year-old, for that matter.
It’s a trade-off I consider worth the cost. The fact is there are few activities I enjoy as much as reading, and those I do – conversation and libations with friends, say – are not as readily available at any given moment. Reading matter, on the other hand, is almost always available, in one form or another.
All of which brings me to this year’s plug for the Southern Festival of Books, Oct. 26-27. Which, as I noted in last year’s plug, is Nashville’s premier annual event. Sorry, CMA Fest. You’re just a tourist attraction.
I arrived in Nashville as a feature writer for The Tennessean in October 1990, and among my early assignments was writing about the festival, then in only its second year.
My job was to promote a celebration of words and reading, which is like asking a fish to sing the praises of water. If, of course, fish could sing.
I didn’t just write about it, I attended. And was immediately hooked on the experience. So much so that, during my 20-year absence from Nashville, I felt the separation most keenly in October.
(If there is a Northern Festival of Books, it has escaped my attention.)
I did manage to schedule one visit back to coincide with the festival, and it was a doozy because it included a talk by one of my very favorite nonfiction authors, Bill Bryson. (If you’re not familiar with Bryson, do yourself a favor and become familiar.)
Since my return in 2018 I’ve missed only the COVID-canceled 2020 edition.
I began my preliminary homework for this year’s event as soon as the author lineups started taking shape, and last week got down to serious contemplation of the schedule and my options.
Ann Patchett and Margaret Renkl, basically Nashville artists in residence, are both available. So is Ace Atkins, a Mississippi novelist I’ve found entertaining.
Carlos Lozado, a Pulitzer-winning New York Times columnist, has a book on how to “read” politicians by examining their writings that sounds engaging. As does a book on the Tennessee Capitol by Jeff Sellers, a director with the Tennessee State Museum.
Alas, as sometimes is the case, Lozado and Atkins are scheduled for the same time slot, so I’ll have to choose. (Edge: Lozado.)
Other book topics competing for my interest include the Beatles, President (and Tennessean) James K. Polk, the Webb telescope, the history of gun-control policy and the natural world of animals, bugs and plants.
My preview for last year’s festival included mild criticism that the event had moved away from the downtown library and Legislative Plaza, which seemed to me the ideal venues. Well, guess what: The new setting, encompassing the state museum, state library and environs, is just fine.
Especially when the weather is as ideal as last year’s. I hope I’m not jinxing anything with that comment.
In addition to agreeable atmospheric conditions, last year served up a session with a former Times colleague, Tim Egan, whose book on the Ku Klux Klan in Indiana was an eye-opener.
Carl Hiaasen delivered laughs in the service of his latest book, as did Gary Gulman, a comedian I wasn’t familiar with whose memoir now sits among my personal library.
It also provided what turned out to be my last opportunity to see Randy Rayburn talking about food and Nashville.
Here’s hoping for another in a long string of literary treasures.
Joe Rogers is a former writer for The Tennessean and editor for The New York Times. He is retired and living in Nashville. He can be reached at [email protected]