THIS year’s Ullapool Book Festival featured an impressive list of Scotland’s best writers: John Burnside, Louise Welsh, Aonghas MacNeacail, Mairi Hedderwick, Roger Hutchison, Alan Spence, Robin Robertston, Rodge Glass, Malcolm Macintyre and Kevin MacNeil, along with newer names like Sue Peebles and Alison Napier.

THROUGHOUT, the festival has the feel of a Highland ceilidh. It’s a three-day long conversation, with no parallel sessions, plenty of talent taking turns with stories, music, poetry and polemic, no shying from the most heartfelt sorrows or fears, laughter never far away, and regular pauses for hospitality to be enjoyed. It is always, as James Robertson said at the start, our favourite weekend of the year, and this time it was particularly joyful, with Aonghas MacNeacail’s 70th birthday celebration built into the heart of the programme on Saturday night.

Louise Welsh (photo Steve Lindbridge)

Although it can be interesting to hear a writer talk about their work, listening to an author reading from their work is even better. It satisfies a childlike urge for a bedtime story. Sitting in a lap (or a chair) being read to, we can abandon ourselves to the flow of words, with their ability to carry us off, out of self-consciousness, and immerse us in somewhere new. Good chairing is so important in events like this and the Ullapool festival seems to get the balance of readings and debate right, giving writers the lion’s share of time to read and allowing the audience to listen and the magic of immersion to happen.

Some poets, in particular, have the ability to spellbind an audience, and the master of them all is Robin Robertson. His mesmeric voice, hypnotic word patterning and tales steeped in myth and legend, left us feeling, as James Robertson put it, ‘as if when we step outside, seven years may have passed without our knowing it.’

Robin Robertson

After several writers have read, themes begin to emerge and metaphors reoccur. We were in deep, turbulent waters a lot this year: Swedish novelist Karin Altenberg drowned someone off St Kilda, and a freak wave carried off a one of the characters of Canadian short story writer Alexander MacLeod. John Burnside read from his latest novel, A Summer of Drowning, and Robin Robertson rowed across the Corrievrecken. Alan Spence took us to hell and hilarity, then let it all go. Always, within the stories and images conjured by the writers, there are deeper meanings flowing, which converge into the perfect maelstrom. Fear and innocence. Doom and wonder. Death and sex.

Every year at the Ullapool Book Festival I discover a writer new to me, who makes an immediate impact, and this year it was Sue Peebles, author of The Death of Lomond Friel. She has an extraordinary ability to write about darkness while finding humour in the cracks. She made the audience laugh whilst simultaneously showing us the bleak holes that can inhabit families, how sometimes it’s the people who are absent who fill our lives, and how we can live with people and love them, yet not really know them. Readings like this send me back into my own life with fresh eyes and renewed compassion, a feeling that it’s really possible to become a better person.

David Robinson, who reviews books for the Scotsman and is an excellent chair of literary events, said at one point that for a week after the festival he always feels as if he is more intelligent than he was before. I recognise that sense of having learned a lot in a condensed period, often because of the intellectual debates sparked by non-fiction writers.

This year, Andy Wightman got everyone talking about land reform and the need for the Scottish government to maintain the progress of the early years of the Parliament. Roger Hutchinson gave an enthralling account of the healing power of art, in the story of Angus MacPhee, weaver of grass, and Mairi Hedderwick, delightfully thrilled to be talking about her ‘grown-up’ writing, wove a tapestry of history, art and travel.

There were ghosts in the room. Giants of Scotland’s 20th century writing scene seem to have a tendency to reappear at Ullapool, not only as literary influences but as larger-than-life characters. Norman MacCaig and Sorley Maclean, whose centenaries have been celebrated in recent years, always seem to make their presence felt through anecdotes and reminiscences, and this year George Mackay Brown took a pew, thanks to Ron Ferguson’s exploration of the Orkney bard’s spiritual life. As the weekend progressed, others, like Edwin Muir, Iain Crichton Smith, Hugh MacDiarmid, even Robert Louis Stevenson, seemed to stroll in and take their place at the ceilidh.

Aonghas MacNeacail

As ever, Gaelic language featured generously, through poems from An Leabhar Mor na Gaidhlig, Aonghas MacNeacail and Kevin Macneil, stories from Martin Macintyre and a novel from Tormod Caimbeul. For the latter, in a first for a literary festival in Scotland, simultaneous translation allowed non-Gaelic speaking members of the audience to experience total immersion in the story.

And there was, of course, music. Kevin MacNeil gave an unofficial launch of a new album he has made with multi-talented guitarist and singer Willie Campbell, the result of a collaboration he nicely describes as ‘working together in a non-right-wing way’. To my amazement, as an opera-atheist, I was moved to tears by the ‘little bit of Tosca’, brought along from Scottish Opera in a cardboard box with a cello and a harp, a single soprano and a brilliant narrator. What a story! And there were plenty of songs, bawdy, irreverent and love-filled, for Aonghas MacNeacail on Saturday night.

As well as the stories and wordplay, it’s the people who make the Ullapool Book Festival so special, and two deserve special mention: Joan Michael, who chairs the committee of volunteers, a reader unrivalled in her enthusiasm for great writing, and James Robertson, the honorary president of the event, who acts as master of ceremonies throughout this weekend-long ceilidh of writing. Long may they continue working together in their non-right-wing way, bringing us the best literary festival in the world.

© Mandy Haggith, 2012

Links

• Ullapool Book Festival
• Mandy Haggith
• Mandy Haggith’s Blog

WRITING a review of the Ullapool Book Festival feels a bit like trying to make dried whisky. How can a weekend of words – erudite, funny, moving, infuriating, delightful and wise – be distilled into a few paragraphs?

From the warm wit of Denise Mina, who opened the 2011 festival, to the emotional closing words of the festival’s new honorary president James Robertson, it was a weekend charged with passionate debate.

Denise Mina

The context of the extraordinary election events, as the scale of the SNP’s political tsunami became clear, undoubtedly added to the mood, but the eclectic gathering of literary voices and the unique way that this festival brings them together, were always going to make a special conversation, no matter how Scotland had cast its votes.

What can this review add to the weekend? It could pick out personal highlights, like the story told by Ian Stephen about the small Irish king who falls into the porridge pot of the large Irish king, or the powerful argument made by Canadian writer Linden MacIntyre that institutions have no morals, or the reading by Peter Mackay of Sorley MacLean’s poem Hallaig.

It could make observations about those slots which, for whatever reason, made less of an impression (the free opera, for example, or the Saturday night hour of short-stories and songs), or note that a gap in the programme caused by the illness of John Burnside was filled with writers from the audience.

But if you were there, you had your own favourite performances, and those you did not enjoy, and if you weren’t, a few glints from me won’t reveal the intensity of the light all weekend.

So perhaps I should try to explain what makes this festival so special. At the UBF, there is no need to make a choice between parallel events, and thank goodness. How could anyone choose between a reading by Don Paterson, Scotland’s supreme poetic technician, and a talk by literary editor Stuart Kelly about how Scott has shaped the very idea of Scottishness?

Yet it is more than this. It is much to do with the way most of the writers stay around for most of the weekend, eating and drinking together at the Ceilidh Place, mingling into and among the audience, with the result that what is created is not just a linear string of spoken word performances, but a community of people exploring, together, what can be achieved with words.

In this community fame and status slip away, so an almost forgotten Gaelic ballad can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with an international prize-winning novel. Boundaries blur between journalism, songs, poetry, memoir and fiction; over the weekend we come to see them all as ways to make connections between people, to bolster communities, even to strengthen the nation.

It is of course enriching to hear discussion between erudite experts on Scots and Gaelic, to hear the works of best-selling writers like Denise Mina and Bernard Maclaverty, to delight in a taste of the language of poets like Chris Powici and Shetlander Robert Alan Jamieson, to hear voices of travelling people from Eleanor Thom and a Manhattan twang from Nora Chassler. Bringing such people to the north west Highlands so that we can be enriched by their words is worthwhile in its own right.

Yet the real magic happens when the visitors are just as excited by what local wordsmiths have to offer. Roddie Macleod’s work to gather some fragments of the poetry of the Polbain Bard, Neil Macleod, was hugely appreciated. As he told of how his own grandfather was cleared, as a child, from their home in Badentarbet in Coigach, the emotional significance of the song, Oran Badentarbet, became clear. It was moments like this that proved that words can bring particular moments of the past into the present, transforming local history into art.

Words in a language also hook into the specifics of the culture whose language it is, as Christine de Luca showed in her poem ‘Yarbent’, the Shetlandic name for a cold, dry westerly wind, one of many pithy words that seem to require a whole phrase to translate into English, as many Gaelic words also do.

Yet language also transcends particularity, and allows us  to grope for wider, universal truths, like the issue of the breakdown in trust in institutions, explored by Linden MacIntyre in his novel The Bishop’s Man, or the grief at the loss of a child in one of Margaret Bennet’s songs.

I reflected at one point (when the wee Irish king made the big Irish king a pair of magical shoes), and again (in a discussion about the hilarious instant when a shoe-fetishist in James Robertson’s book And The Land Lay Still has a near-religious experience at the sight of Margaret Thatcher’s feet), and again (when someone referred to the Pope having revived the tradition of wearing ceremonial red shoes), that words are rather like shoes – both are expressions of personality, and both can take us on a voyage.

Over the course of a single weekend in Ullapool, we journeyed over diverse territories, local and cosmic, intimate and political.

With a huge smile Gavin Wallace, head of literature at Creative Scotland, took the stage on Saturday night and said how pleased he was to be at ‘this miraculous festival’, before introducing Bernard MacLaverty, who went on to give one of those readings that you wish would go on all night.

Gavin reminded the audience that ‘This is as good as it gets’. And he was right. No other book festival comes close to the intimacy, intelligence and warmth of Ullapool’s. This time next May I know exactly where my shoes will be taking me.

© Mandy Haggith, 2011

Links

• Ullapool Book Festival

AS IF the sheer magic of strolling the blossom-lined streets of the prettiest town on the west weren’t appeal enough, the unique blend of writers makes it an unmissable event.

Don Paterson (photo Murdo McLeod)

The authors range from the undeniably great, like Don Paterson, Scotland master poet and winner of the Queen’s Medal for Poetry last year, to the downright popular, such as crime writer Denise Mina. Yet the Ullapool Book Festival makes a point of not giving space only to people already established in the literary world, and of introducing Scottish audiences to important writers from other lands.

So local amateurs from the Ross-shire Writers will mingle with international greats such as the Canadian Linden Macintyre, Cape Breton journalist and winner of the Giller Prize for his novel The Bishop’s Man, and  new American novelist Nora Chassler.

One of Scotland’s literary hallmarks is its diversity of voices, and the organisers seem to have an unmatched gift for bringing them together to create a special kind of music. Is it because it’s a port that Ullapool generates such a sense of connectedness between so many different places, so many tones of voice?

As well as the Gaelic of Mark Wringe, Maoileas Campbell and Peter Mackay, this year we will be hearing Shetland writers Christine de Luca and Robert Alan Jamieson, Stornoway story teller Ian Stephen, Eleanor Thom who tells a Travelling family’s tale, the literary erudition of Stewart Kelly and John Burnside, and the current and past editors of Northwords Now, Chris Powici and Rhoda Michael, not to forget central belters Doug Johnstone and Aidan Moffat, who will be singing as well as reading.

In fact, participants are always encouraged to break into song, whether at the late-night sessions in the Parlour Bar at the Ceilidh Place or on stage, and this year will be no exception. The weekend will feature little bursts of opera, Indie rock songs, and Gaelic songs of the Polbain Bard, Niall Macleod, brought to Ullapool by Roddie, Kevin and Ali ‘Beag’ Macleod.

The festival has a new figurehead this year, in James Robertson, author of several important Scottish novels, including the recent And the Land Lay Still, his most political book. He was recently quoted in Northwords Now saying of the Ullapool Book Festival, ‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather be president of than this intimate, friendly, intellectually stimulating,beautifully located and fantastically well organised set of events.’

What makes it so special? Most book festivals are either spread out over such long periods that it is not possible to stay for the duration, or alternatively so many events are crammed together that they overlap and you cannot get to everything. A large part of the pleasure of Ullapool’s festival is the way it manages to avoid both evils, with the result that, over two-and-a-half days without parallel sessions, a conversation unfolds.

Speaking from experience the chair of the festival, Joan Michael, says, ‘A thread will appear.’ Over the weekend, as writers move from audience to stage and back to audience, questions become more penetrating and answers are informed by the dialogue so far. Boundaries between readers and writers blur and unexpected connections are made. The 2011 Festival looks set to deepen that continuing conversation. Don’t miss it.

The Ullapool Book Festival runs from 6-8 May 2011.

© Mandy Haggith, 2011

Links

Ullapool Book Festival

Angus Peter Campbell (photo - Scottish Book Trust)

THIS EVENT served to launch the upcoming Ullapool Book Festival, but there was purpose beyond unveiling the programme for the event in May, or offering tickets and refreshments. Bi-lingual writer, journalist, broadcaster and poet Angus Peter Campbell from South Uist spoke with luminescence about the “joie- de-vivre of language.”

He enjoys Ullapool Book Festival because writers stay for the whole duration of the event, rather than parachuting in for their own slot then making a swift exit.

Campbell switches between Gaelic and English with the ease of a fisherman who negotiates shifts in the weather by pulling on an oilskin and then discarding it. Similarly, he veers from comic observation to serious deliberation, taking the audience with him.

On the subject of writing – in any language – he had this to say: “Putting words together, even very beautiful words, is a lovely thing to behold, but it is not art. Art is when the spirit of language is released, or soars, so that both content and meaning become inextricably entwined, like a butterfly on the wing. A butterfly on a flower is one thing: on wing, however briefly and however frail, it is quite another.”

Campbell is a fan of modern European literature and its reach for universality. No longer does his work seek to tell the whole story. Instead, the reader is invited to attach their own meaning onto the pared down simplicity of his final edit. A short poem about a cow leaving the croft in the morning and returning at evening evokes an enduring image – without exposition or conclusion. Language, after all, says Campbell “is a raid on the inarticulate” he says

Drawing on the metaphor of Michelangelo removing the mass from marble to reveal the angel that lies within, Campbell seeks to lighten his work and pare it down to a minimum. And he is happy to hand it over to translators and let it become something else. In fact 60 of his poems are currently being translated, each one into a different tongue.

At 56 he now feels free of any obligation to represent the history of his culture and says he is more impressed by the birds outside his window than any of the bards that surround him.

Unsurprisingly, as someone who comes from an aural tradition, Campbell is preoccupied with the sound of language and posits the idea that poetry is “more auditory than authoritative, more sensuous than serious, a joyous display of verbal magic rather than any serious contribution to society”.

Campbell concluded his address by blessing the Ullapool Book Festival. “May you all sit outside the Ceilidh Place, or run down the streets naked or lie under an upturned boat somewhere in the old Bardic Tradition chanting to the dancing skies” Another enduring image to launch a successful and distinctive literary event.

The Ullapool Book Festival itself will feature contirbutions from fiction writers Iain Banks, Ron Butlin, Regi Claire, Jason Donald, Anne Donovan, Iain Finlay Macleod, Kevin MacNeil, Andrea McNicoll and James Robertson. Both Iain Banks and James Robertson will be giving exclusive readings from new works (the former reading is a National Library of Scotland event.

There will be poetry from Umberto Ak’abal (from Guatemala) and Scotland’s Stewart Conn and Tom Leonard. New non-fiction comes from Andrew Greig, and this year’s Saturday morning storyteller will be Jess Smith, who will also tell stories to children in the afternoon.

Add The Moira Monologues from Alan Bissett, writing workshops with both Alan and Kevin MacNeil, and the Mandy Morning sessions with local short story writer Mandy Henderson and published poet and author Mandy Haggith from the neighbouring parish of Assynt, plus some late night line ups and a limited number of places on writing workshops, and there is no shortage ofchoice.

The Ullapool Book Festival will run from 7-9 May. See link below for further information.

© Jenny McBain, 2010

Links

• Angus Peter Campbell at the Scottish Book Trust
• Ullapool Book Festival