Frankfurt, City of Books

Each fall, the world’s large and small publishing companies converge on Frankfurt to spend a week at the International Book Fair occupying ten huge pavilions not far from downtown, forming a miniature state within a city. Here one finds even special shuttle buses taking visitors from one pavilion to the other. And there is a huge tent in the fair’s central square. Inside it one can attend nonstop presentations of visiting authors: three writers an hour on a literary conveyor before an attentive audience. Here one can also buy books and have them autographed by their authors between speeches. The rhythm is head spinning, with tens of thousands of visitors leafing through books submitted by thousands of publishers, copying scheduled meetings with writers from posters and billboards, as well as hurrying from one presentation to the next.

For the ordinary visitor, the event is a bibliographic cornucopia; for the participants, it is a week of backbreaking yet gratifying work: meetings with partners, selling copyright overseas, arrangements for news conferences and interviews.

Every year the IBF management chooses a country whose literature will be in highlighted. This year it was Hungary. As a result Hungarian authors were displayed in all German bookstore windows (in German translation). German bibliophiles not well read in Hungarian literature were eager to fill the gap. And there is enough to fill it: over 40 Hungarian authors are regularly translated and published, among them the most noticeable being Peter Esterhazy. He is quite young (not yet 40), hair always disheveled, tall, with a fluent command of German, and this time he was a real star. Apart from his established popularity, he was now singled out as a leading Hungarian author, representing Hungarian literature at the book fair.

A number of large publishing houses invited their best authors to visit IBF. Lubbe (Germany) invited Ludmilla Ulitskaya from Moscow (her novels Medea and Her Children and A Merry Funeral are firmly on the German bestseller list). Volk und Welt, a former East German publisher, released a German version of Viktor Pelevin’s Chapayev and Void, inviting the author. It turned out an easy task, for the man was in Berlin on a grant. Lesser publishing companies brought their authors’ portraits, which also attracted quite a few visitors looking for familiar faces or matching names they knew with faces they had never seen.

And the difference between bigger and smaller publishers was not always evident at the pavilions. In Pavilion No. 6, the Germany’s Bertelsmann quizzed readers. The winner (i.e., the best read) would get a gorgeous Porsche. In Pavilion No. 9, a compact 5 square meter stand accommodated Great Britain’s number one publisher, Harwell Press. When I wondered aloud about such modest a presentation, one of the female British attendants explained that they had come to work, not advertise themselves. Well, every good business has its own special approach. Watching professional publishers at work was much more interesting than the visitors. Every publishers I managed to talk to had 15-20 business appointments to attend, ranging from business lunches to business cocktails and dinners. I also partook of all kinds of business gastronomy. And to have an idea of the results, suffice it to say that one small Austrian publishing company sold publishing rights in 14 countries and bought 8 such rights.

But work is work, and you have to love the public. The IBF organizing committee spared neither time nor effort; one could bump into extraterrestrials wandering the pavilions, British bobbies smartly saluting sweet young things, and giant Mickey Mouses. By a stand advertising a publishing company specializing in thrillers pretty girls dressed up as brides offered every visitor a black rose. All this heightened the festive atmosphere.

And there was the so-called general stand of Ukraine. I explored it and found many interesting publications, but there was one little thing it lacked: English or German brochures with a survey of modern Ukrainian literature, along with photos of writers, let alone English or German leaflets with summaries on bestsellers. Even Arab publishers striving to get access to the European book market had such booklets and leaflets. The situation can be corrected as there is a whole year until the next Frankfurt exhibition. Also, one should remember that in several years Ukraine will be selected for the IBF limelight. I will not guess which authors might accompany the official Ukrainian delegation, but people will judge by books in foreign translations. Considering that Ukraine has neither agents nor prestigious publishers with reliable foreign contacts, one is reminded of the recent Soviet past when the VAAP All-Union Copyright Agency did the advertising for Ukrainian authors abroad. Its current version is on the same premises in Kyiv (formerly Lenin Street, now Khmelnytsky). It put out a staggering amount of English language brochures dealing with new Ukrainian books. Those booklets appeared abroad, mostly within the socialist camp, but also outside it.

All I can say, we have writers of the European caliber, yet someone should see to it that their names become familiar there, that people elsewhere in Europe can read them. In that case there will be no question of who will represent Ukrainian literature at future Frankfurt book fairs.

The IBF ended, but only in Frankfurt, continuing across the rest of Germany. It was as though someone had fired a starting pistol and off went participating authors to hold soirees in cities and towns. It was interesting to watch them compete, even if subconsciously, for audiences. In Heidelberg, my soiree coincided with those of Peter Esterhazy and Michel Ualbeque. Fortunately, it was a university town, and there was an adequate reading public.