Conventional wisdom holds that as you find yourself in your 4th and 5th decades, your tendency to care what other people think decreases significantly. While I often still overthink the perspective of others, and suspect I will do so until I die, I have found the wisdom to be essentially true. I'm an introvert with a dread of making a nuisance of myself, and - with a decided preference for situations that do not involve multitudinous people - my tendency is very much towards smaller groups in known environments and situations. 



However, in a post-covid world, and now working from home 80% of the time, I'm aware that these preferences and circumstances could mean I risk living in an ever smaller bubble. And in many ways that's not a bad thing! - I like my bubble. It's comfortable and quiet and my family, my sofa, my coffee, and my books are there. But I don't want to become too isolated and, outside of epic fantasy novels, adventures need to be sought; they rarely arrive at your door uninvited.



And so, I made my own adventure. 



I started small. 


When the Islay Book Festival came up on my suggested Insta accounts to follow, I hit that follow button. I liked their posts. I scrolled back to previous years' festivals and saw events that had been held, authors that had visited (Ali Smith, Ian Rankin, Christopher Brookmyre, Val McDermid, Iain Banks ... oh my.)



I discovered that the book festival had originally grown out of a book club that met on the island, and that while they had undertaken some online events during the pandemic, they had agreed that the intimacy of smaller in-person events was part of what made the festival special. With an almost entirely-new committee, a programme of events was once again planned for 2023, and teasers were starting to drop.



Idly, I started viewing accounts of businesses based in Islay and travellers who posted pictures from their visits. Due to my love of peated whisky, the island had always been on my one-day list but these photos were creating a wistfulness that was growing stronger by the day. Until one evening I saw a picture of the book festival line-up and the if-onlies became a solid case of the FOMOs. Several authors I knew and loved, and many others I was keen to read. Then came the post that tipped it for me - putting the events on needed lots of helping hands, and the committee were looking for volunteers. Now we were cooking with gas. I sent an email using the website contact form, and asked whether they still needed any more volunteers. Specifically, a randomer from the mainland who'd never been to Islay before but would happily move chairs or take tickets or whatever else needed done. 



I now know the volunteer coordinator thought I was possibly a right weirdo, or looking for a free holiday, or maybe an author-stalker. But whatever checks they did on me got me through the first hurdle and I was in. I booked my travel and accommodation and awaited further instruction. 



First off, given both my personality and my day-job, I will say I appreciate the value of good organisation. IBF hit that mark and well beyond. There were pre-festival zoom meetings, regular comms, a clear list of allocated volunteer shifts (who, what, when, where), and even mission statements. At this stage I pledged my undying loyalty to the festival and the organising committee, and I hadn't even boarded the ferry yet.



Wednesday


On arriving in Bowmore, I met with the volunteer coordinator who presented me with a name badge and lanyard (who doesn't love a lanyard! and it was yellow!) and then I had a couple of days to explore the island before the festival started. That's probably another post in itself, but suffice to say there were distilleries involved and we'll leave it at that. 



Friday 


Books bought: 1


The first event loomed, and as the afternoon went on I got more nervous. Who the hell did I think I was, turning up in this capable and close-knit community and thinking I could be of any use? Almost all the events were being held at Ionad Chaluim Chille Ìle (the Gaelic College) so I walked the 20 minutes along the road rather than driving, to try to keep my mind busy. 



I shouldn't have worried. As soon as I arrived I met the lovely volunteer coordinator again, and was introduced to the other committee members and volunteers. There was a clear list of jobs to get done, so I got on with distributing chairs, programmes, water bottles, boxes of books and whatever else needed relocating from one place to another. I was allocated the task of unpacking the books for that night's author - The Hebridean Baker, or Coinneach MacLeod to give him his actual name. If you're not familiar with him, he started posting baking videos during the 2020 lockdowns, and has since gathered a huge following across the world, sharing his love for food, Scotland, his husband Peter and their dog Seòras. He's also funny, charming, and just downright adorable. 



The evening roared along, between the island's Gaelic choir doing a couple of pieces, a baking competition, welcome drams and cocktail demonstrations from the new cookbook carried out by a rep from the distillery just across the water on Jura. Coinneach himself can work a crowd magnificently, and had the whole lot of them in the palm of his hand. I had found myself in the happy position of handling the books for sale, and as soon as the event ended we were kept busy selling more cookbooks than seemed feasible considering the number of people in the centre. My additional role that evening was keeping Coinneach updated on the Scotland score - thankfully they beat Cyprus 3-0 so happy news each time. 



After (what seemed like) everyone on Islay had had their picture taken with The Hebridean Baker, and the books were all sold and signed, we tidied up and I was ready to head back to my accommodation - which was when I remembered that my large-city perception of night is somewhat different to the utterly impenetrable blackness that is nighttime on a Scottish island. My Determinedly Brave Face worked nicely though and I was graciously offered a lift back into town. 



Saturday


Books bought: 3


Up bright and early. Coffee. 


Less apprehensive now that I know the set-up, but still. A whole day of peopleing? Deep breath. 



Back to the centre, driving this time - I learn, sometimes - and today I get to play at being a bookseller again. Setting up the various authors' latest and back catalogues on top of a handy piano, I imagined for a moment that this was my actual life. This moment was intensified when a couple of the authors arrived being all normal people and stuff. Suppressing the urge to exclaim "But you wrote! An actual book! Several of them!", I instead directed them towards the green room, offering bottles of water and my oath of allegiance. 



A day of talks, books sales and signings absolutely flew in. I particularly enjoyed hearing Angus Peter Campbell, whose air of eccentric literature professor is more method than acting. His convictions on the importance of Gaelic in our culture, language, music and storytelling was powerful and persuasive. 



Kapka Kassabova spoke on the importance of place and of connection with land, and how we're in danger of losing that in so many of the ways we live now.

In the afternoon, Jenny Colgan made a strong case for why Scottish romance books should have equal recognition and billing with their crime and noir cousins, and shared why she tries never to use real locations in her novels (there are only so many "but the shop is on the LEFT" emails one can handle, is the bottom line).



And to round off Saturday's programme, a panel of female GREATNESS talked of the fun and the challenge of writing fictionalised historical novels based around real people and events. Sarah Smith and Marisa Haetzman (one half of the nom-de-plume'd Ambrose Parry) were chaired brilliantly by Chitra Ramaswamy. I wanted to dance with the joy of so much excellence, but I contented myself with selling more books instead. I was using a wee card-reader doofer by now - "just tap your card there, THANK you so much" and had perfected my slipping-in-a-festival-bookmark move by lunchtime. 



Saturday was rounded off by drinks in the pub for committee, volunteers and authors. I was delighted to spend time chatting with some of the committee I hadn't had a chance to get to know before that evening, and to find out more about what brought some of them to the island. Other than that there was mostly good behaviour, some stories recounted that were definitely not for repeating, and I KNOW there was whisky. 


Sunday


Books bought: 3

Up early. Slightly less bright. COFFEE. 


First session was one I was particularly looking forward to. I've been reading Alan Warner books for years - The Sopranos (now retitled Our Ladies, I guess to differentiate from the TV series) has long been a favourite, and an (unfortunately rare) example of a male author writing vibrant and multi-dimensional female characters. This morning he was discussing his newest book, one in the Darklands Tales series by Polygon where contemporary authors reimagine historical people and events. Nothing Left To Fear From Hell follows Bonnie Prince Charlie as he crosses Culloden Moor, the day after the battle of 1746. 



Further sessions from Chitra Ramaswamy and Steve Brusatte covered the gamut from friendships between the journalist and a nonagenarian Jew, to natural science and history. The audiences for all sessions were smaller than they would be at some festivals - no lecture halls here - but the smaller sizes meant that the audiences were fully engaged. 



More books sold, including to some walk-ins who'd seen the signs outside the centre. I upsold a few back-catalogue novels too. We were just going to have to repack and carry the books away in boxes otherwise, so I was doing everyone a favour. Ditto the books I was taking home for myself. Just as well I wasn't flying and wouldn't have a weight limit. 



Monday


Home time 


A few last hours of exploring before my ferry back to the mainland. I visited the Lord of the Isles museum at Finlaggan - an island in a loch on an island - which was one of those places that felt like history was just touching distance away. Then lunch at Caol Ila distillery and another longing look at whisky I could never afford to buy. Mo chridhe, how I love this island. 




Sometimes we take risks and they don't work out. Sometimes, risks taken end up full-blown winners. Pushing myself way out of my comfort zone to turn up at a place I'd never been with a bunch of people I'd never met turned out to be one of my favourite things I've done in a long, long time. To be fair, People Who Write Books and People Who Read Books are generally excellent people, so I gamed the odds a little there.

Now I want to be someone who visits book festivals all the time, drinking coffee and selling books. Is that a job? It should be a job. 



Which book festivals have you visited?

Which are on your wish-lists?

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