Joan Bakewell 

Favourite book festival moments: Joan Bakewell

In the latest of our regular series of guest posts by writers and critics, Joan Bakewell reflects on the urgency of big ideas
  
  


Debate is always popular and so it proved. But no one could have anticipated such variety of style and ideas. Having been asked to curate five sessions, I had chosen the overarching theme: ideas that will shape the future.

Then we grouped writers around the topics: creativity, landscape, number, faith and cities. Each session was entirely unlike the others. Each was determined by the character of the writers. So the ideas themselves survived but what made their mark was the vigour and power of the contributors.

First up: Julian Baggini, eloquent and quizzical philosopher, teasing us to examine who we think we are. With him Andrew Robinson, whose book Sudden Genius argues that there is no such thing as genius. . . that creativity comes from long thought, freedom of spirit and surprising moments of insight. Together they challenged us to think anew about how our own minds work.

Then a switch of mood: Olivia Laing talked if her involvement with landscape and demonstrated, through her lyrical reading from her book To the River, how we can all look more deeply and perceptively at the world around us This provoked a wonderful anecdote from an audience member about leaving her office for a smoke and getting caught up watching a trail of ants at work there.

The idea of Number came next: Ian Stewart, edgy and enthusiastic, prowled the stage, explaining the maths behind tigers' stripes and the strange wooing habits of lizards. There's never enough time for these brilliant scientists and everyone would have loved more.

And so to doubt . . . or the future of faith. Such a calming and serene subject you might think. Wrong. This was the noisiest session of all, with Richard Wiseman declaring that religious belief is nonsense and no use to anyone, and Gregory Claeys backing him up: it took Richard Holloway, towering over them both, to redress the balance. Even so voices were raised: opinions shouted. The one moment of calm came when a serene and believing member of the audience spoke up for the joy and comfort of her faith.

And so to cities: I am off to chair a debate with Miles Glendinning, whose book, Architecture's Evil Empire, rages against the craze for iconic buildings, and Michael Symmons Roberts, whose lyrical Edgelands celebrates the in-betweens of our cities . . . allotments, dens, railways, sprawl. Will there be shouting, I wonder.

 

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