A First Lady, Several Renowned Writers and One Beloved Knucklehead: National Book Festival 2008

I almost didn't go (sore ankle and a forecast of rain) but then I whacked myself on the head and said: of course, you're going! Everyone else in the blog world is in Portland. Who will take bad cell phone pictures and report Jon Scieszka's hijinks if you don't?

I arrived around noon, and stumbled directly upon the Festival's hostess, Laura Bush, as she posed with some of the Festival volunteers before her departure. Her back was to me, or I would've tried for a picture. Jenna was already in the black bulletproof vehicle, waving from the back seat.


I love this shot of the Festival flag with the Capitol in the background. Note the puddles. Much muddier than last year, but not nearly as hot. Pleasant, really.



I was too late to score the full poster by Jan Brett, but the bear on the flag is beautiful, don't you think?

The session with Neil Gaiman was underway when I found the Children and Teens Pavilion, but I could've told you who was speaking without even entering, because the audience overflowing the venue was....20-somethings in funky hats and cool clothes. They absolutely didn't mind that he wasn't promoting an adult read like American Gods, but The Graveyard Book, his novel with a 14-year-old protagonist. He read a funny excerpt in which the boy seeks the help of a long-dead but still highly verbose poet. Gaiman is a natural dramatic reader. He never veers into camp, he never shortchanges a word or a pause, and he has complete confidence in his material. He took questions, and his answers were perfectly encapsulated stories, one of them involving an ancient human elbow bone. My favorite line: when talking about why he doesn't outline, he says he loves to find out what happens, except that three-quarters of the way in, he sometimes feels like "he's jumped from a plane and must knit himself a parachute on the way down."

After Gaiman, I stayed to hear the Our White House: Looking In, Looking Out panel: Mary Brigid Barrett, Steven Kellogg, and Katherine Paterson.

First, surprise guest Lynda Johnson Robb (daughter of President Johnson and former board chair of Reading is Fundamental) read her contribution as one who had "looked out." Her wry essay about how her rather boring and antique-free bedroom at the White House did not meet her high expectations had everyone laughing. (Upon further investigation, she found out that her room was witness to Lincoln's autopsy and several other deaths, which didn't improve her affection for it.)

Then, second surprise guest and National Ambassador for Young People's Literature, Jon Scieszka, read a Prelutsky riddle poem that had readers guessing the identity of "who" at the White House "didn't need ID" and "did what he pleased." It turned out to be the Clintons' cat, Socks, but Jon, in his evil genius, casually mentioned Dick Cheney before he began...and the resulting parallel meaning was so...um...catty...that I was certain the Secret Service was going to haul him away. Perhaps the Ambassador medal he had received at the gala the night before protected him. He showed it to us---gleefully and to great applause---several times.


Katherine Paterson closed the panel by reading a blessing for the White House penned by John Adams in a letter to his wife, Abigail.

After that, it was time for lunch, so I headed to the National Gallery to eat at the cafe. While waiting in line, I was impressed by this eye-catching display of Iggy Peck, Architect.



One day, I'd like a book of mine to be in the National Gallery. Maybe if I name all my future characters after famous artists...

More art:


Kids doing crafts at the Scholastic table.
(I was tempted to ask them: do you know that I have a book coming out with Scholastic next fall? But you all know that I'm scared of glue.)


After lunch, I caught Mr. Scieszka again, who read from his autobiography, Knucklehead. (See Becky's great review here.) I'm telling you, this guy is fearless. Growing up with five brothers apparently does that. He was telling a story about PEE. All the while, he kept up a game with the sign language interpreter, repeating PEE in rapid fire succession to make her sign it. She played right back, switching to signing the letter "P" in retaliation instead. It was a hilarious bit of impromptu theater.

I wish I had more pictures. And a Festival poster. And a book in the National Gallery. And a voice like Neil Gaiman's. And devoted, beautiful fans of all ages like Katherine Paterson. I don't wish for five brothers. My own two are great. But I did get an afternoon on the National Mall in the company of people who love books. I'm glad I didn't stay home.