This American: My Trip to the National Book Festival (Pt. 1)
On Saturday, I attended the National Book Festival in Washington, DC. It was my first time. I’d been simmering with excitement ever since I received the invitation, and when my sister Lisa and I arrived at the Library of Congress for the opening program and reception, I knew my excitement was 100% warranted. When the Library of Congress told me I could bring one person with me to their opening program, I knew immediately it would have to be my sister, Lisa. Lisa taught me to read and write when I was four years old, and I’ve mentioned more than once that she’s been a profound influence on my life and career. During the process of publishing The Ballad of Perilous Graves, she’s also been one of my foremost cheerleaders, taking time out of her ridiculous schedule to connect me with booksellers and conduct grassroots outreach and publicity on a volunteer basis. There’s no one I’d rather have by my side as I embarked on this newest adventure. Plus, she cleans up well, and I figured she’d be a perfect companion for the second dress-up event I can remember since the Pandemic began. (The first was the Hugo Awards Ceremony at the DC Worldcon in December. I definitely should have blogged about it, but I was in the thick of book production, so forgive me.)
Before leaving the country in 1992, I lived in Columbia, Maryland for about ten years, so I’m fully familiar with the DMV, and with Washington, DC—its monuments and governmental edifices, with their concrete stairs and august facades. My mother worked at the Library of Congress 55 years ago, and back then, the Thomas Jefferson Building was simply the main Library building. I’d visited the library before—as part of at least one school field trip when I attended Phelps Luck Elementary, but I’d never been back as an adult. I loved books and reading as a kid, but the written word has taken on a much broader significance for me over the years. Now, writing is my primary livelihood, and the smell, the sight, the vibration of books is necessary to my happiness and mental health.
After passing through security, walking into the Jefferson building felt a lot like stepping into the Vatican. Its beautifully tiled floors, its austere marble, its high ceilings, the way knowledge and communication are enshrined there—all of it felt holy to me. I’m not particularly patriotic, but that night was the most positively American I’ve ever felt.
The opening program took place in the Coolidge Auditorium, with presentations by several NBF authors, including Andrea Davis-Pinkney and Nick Offerman. Afterwards, we filed into the Great Hall for a catered reception. The soaring frescoed ceilings and ornate columns would have made quite an impression on their own, but the hall had also been equipped with red, white, and blue lights, so the overall effect was of the grandest ballroom I’ve ever seen. Every step of the way, all the support staff, the other participants, the caterers, security workers, ushers, etc—all treated me with kindness, grace, and respect. I made sure to thank them directly whenever I could because the experience of creating and releasing The Ballad of Perilous Graves has highlighted the importance of small details and has shown me how many people lend their efforts to create books, events, all of the trappings and perks of the literary lifestyle I enjoy. This new understanding of creating, publishing, and promoting books is the most unexpected life as a working novelist, and I hope I never take it for granted. The idea that all the books I’ve ever loved have existed in a similar space, brought to public attention in a similar way—it makes me feel like I’ve joined a secret order.
After the meal, Lisa and I left the building to take some more photos before heading to the hotel. On the way out, we were each given a handbill and an intricately decorated shortbread cookie commemorating the event. Lisa kept hers, and it got crushed-up eventually, but I made sure to eat mine the next day.
The Jefferson building is situated directly across from the Capitol, and the way both buildings gleam in the evening light as they squat among the trees and lawns is just arrestingly beautiful. The entire time we were there, I felt this low ecstatic hum vibrating in my chest, and I couldn’t help but think how I struggled, lost sleep, and sometimes despaired in the creation of this novel and how much help I’ve had to bring it into the world. The fact that I could be part of a program in this place, at this time, with this work was—it’s honestly difficult to find the proper word. It’s humbling, but it’s also deeply gratifying in a way that few things are.
I know my blogging has been spotty—particularly since the book has sold. I can’t promise I’ll shape up on that front, but I will have another blog about the experience of the actual festival later this week. This has been a truly amazing time, and so much has happened so quickly that it’s hard to slow down and take stock. If you’ve never been to the National Book Festival, I urge you: GO! It’s free and open to the public every year! See you soon!