
Now, I don't envy the job of programming the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Imagine trying to pull together two weeks of events that represent the range of narratives published in Britain and around the world. There's politics, poetry, prose, creativity, workshops, fiction, non-fiction, and much more. You need a programme for adults and one for children.
There are festival favourites that have to be included, but you want to give new writing and new writers a chance for the voices of tomorrow to be heard. You want to challenge, but no so much that nobody turns up. And you have to do all of this while competing with the dozens [and dozens] of other book festivals that have sprung up in the past twenty years. Nightmarish.
The EdBookFest had an extra obstacle to overcome for 2010, as a new director took over at the start of the year, further compacting the timeline. So the collective effort to pull together the festival has been impressive. But a strand of writing near and dear to my heart was conspicuous by its absence from the programme for adults: graphic novels were M.I.A.

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