The Frankfurt Book Fair

The scope, span and size of the Frankfurt Book Fair can only be described with an air of hyperbole. But I’m good at that. From every corner, mountainside, 112th skyscraper floor, valley and forest of the planet, book lovers came. I’d had a taste of this in Bologna, but my mind was fuzzy and in a mushy haze at the time, and not at all aware of what this business really entails; plus it was only children’s books there. In Frankfurt, everyone is there – carrying and studying and buying books for people from ages 0 to 100. I was among my international kin: like-minded colleagues who read books, write books, sell books, smell books, export and import books, create and manufacture books, collect books, live and breathe the incredible, unstoppable power of books. Books stacked from the ground up in each booth, flung from one country to the next – making Duck on a Bike into утка на велосипеде, and A Tale of Two Cities (14th edition) into Una Cuenta de dos Ciudades. An exchange of words for words, page after page, Euro after dollar after Yen, handshake and bow after toothy smile, all culminating into the raising of a million glasses – cheersing to life, liberty, and the written word! My excitement could nary be contained.
Germany is a perfect port for a fair such as this – the messe hall about the size of Rhode Island, holding hoards of people coming in and out, the city of Frankfurt poised to hold and accommodate and feed three times it’s capacity. The level of organization, cleanliness, dedication, and hospitality makes me question whether or not I’ve flown into an alternate reality.
The majority of my back-to-back meetings entailed a brief introduction, a sharing of exasperation and success of the fair, an awkward exchange of business cards, and then me inquiring about business in Japan, what kids are reading in Finland, what format works for teenagers in Greece. With those tasks completed, I’d launch into my breathless admiration and detailed plotting, along with my appreciation for the interior art and covers of Scholastic’s list. I’d watch as the Chinese men looked, eyebrows raised, at an illustrated gem called Swim! Swim! Or I’d listen while a French woman explained why vampires turn her on.
One meeting particularly entertained me. A small Romanian woman who looked like Harry Potter sat down for a 2:30 appointment on Thursday. I gave her my red & white card and she gave me her black & purple one. (In hindsight, I should have taken this as foreboding.) I asked her how the fair was going, and to let me know a little about her publishing line, her audience, her list. In turn, she went for about 10 minutes in broken English, describing her company’s most exquisite erotica imprint, the best in all Romania. After a few intricately described, nude, leathery plotlines, I thought she’d tell me about the other imprints: children’s, in particular. But she didn’t. So after I started to feel slightly…funny…I put my hand up, and asked her if she was interested in acquiring any of Scholastic’s titles. (I pointed directly at Clifford and the life-size Magic School Bus behind me). She said no, she didn’t have a children’s line. I told her that I did appreciate the meeting, but unfortunately, we wouldn’t be able to do any business, but if she had any sample chapters on hand, I’d be happy to take them back to my hotel… She became crimson in the face, quickly wrapping her scarf tight around her shoulders, and ran off.