Although it may not yet have the statistics or the industry renown of the Frankfurt or London book fairs, each year the Abu Dhabi International Book Fair attracts writers, readers, and book folk from across the world, from wherever Arabic is spoken, and then some. The event was held this year for the 26th time—not bad for a country that’s only 44 years old—and boasted a record number of exhibitors (1,260), as well as 500 cultural initiatives, 600 authors, 20 artists, and a handful of 3 star Michelin chefs. This year booksellers from 63 countries set up their stalls in the ADNEC convention center, in the capital of the United Arab Emirates, which is itself emerging as an important location for conversation and cultural exchange. For Lebanese publishers and Sudanese translators, for Indian illustrators and Nigerian publicists, the Abu Dhabi Book Fair provides a place to meet in the middle.
I spent the better part of a week wandering through the massive convention hall, who’s striking resemblance to an airport reminded me just how much, and how rapidly, this city is redirecting flight paths and avenues of discussion and innovation. I was able to navigate by flipping between my four overlapping program guides, and weaving through the rows and rows of Arabic books—contemporary, mass market, antique, translated, children’s, cooking, coloring. Fortunately, the hall was never too crowded; the only occasional traffic came from groups of children wheeling suitcase-shaped book carts, courtesy of the event, that rivaled them in size.
ADIBF is organized by the Abu Dhabi Tourism and Culture Authority and by KITAB, a joint venture company between the Abu Dhabi Authority for Culture and Heritage and the Frankfurt Book Fair. KITAB (the acronym means book) is working to professionalize the publishing industry, establish a better distribution system in the MENA region, and also promote reading broadly. The UAE has declared 2016 the Year of Reading, and this week’s fair addressed the regional concern about readership in a number of ways—through children’s activity zones, book competitions and prizes, and a forum for educators and educational publishers, to name a few.
Italy, this year’s Honored Guest, brought with them rare Arabic manuscripts from the 14th through 18th centuries, on loan from the Angelica library in Rome. In keeping with the historical-cosmopolitan vibe, the chosen Personality of the Year was medieval polymath Ibn Rushd, aka Averroes, probably best known for his commentaries on Aristotle. His work, which carried knowledge between Ancient Greece, Andalusian Spain, and Medieval European, has particular resonance at the ADIBF, which seems to be proudly functioning as an intellectual crossroads.
I suppose a cynic could dismiss this book fair—perhaps any book fair—as the commodification of intellectual culture, some kind of literary tourism. But a true bibliophile will recognize that there are many other narratives in the room.
One of the biggest draws for Arab publishers is KITAB’s subsidiary initiative, “Spotlight on Rights”. For five years running, this government funded scheme has supported the translation of books into and out of Arabic by offering a subsidy of US $1,000 for each rights deal negotiated at the fair (publishers can apply for up to 10 grants). Another significant perk: ADIBF is a free zone, meaning booksellers can distribute titles that wouldn’t be allowed on their shelves back home or at other book fairs in the region. Browsing at one publisher’s stall, I’m encouraged to purchase the book in my hands on the spot, because the seller is not permitted to distribute it from their store.
My own proclivities led me to the professional programming venue, the least adored area in the entire hall—two semi-private rooms partitioned by low modular walls. Though many of the scheduled talks were on reading and technology, I was most interested in the conversations about reshaping the publishing industry geographically and politically. Several speakers articulated the need to form new literary alliances, individual and industry partnerships that do not retrace traditional lines of power. The overwhelming strength of the North American and European publishing industries means that most books are filtered through certain channels–specific countries, institutions, and languages. And so the formation of new literary alliances is central, not only to the promotion of reading, but more importantly to the creation of knowledge systems unmediated by European and North American industry.
Vinutha Mallya, a literary agent, publisher, and journalist from India, summed it up succinctly: “Books have to travel in all directions, or else there will just be producers and consumers.” Her talk raised the question of alternative models to the western publishing system, of particular importance for India, which is more likely to look to the UK than to its neighbors in the Gulf. Yet the cultural connection exists between India and Arab countries, and there are many Arabic speakers in India who could facilitate that relationship. Mallya told me afterward that she loves this book fair, which was her first introduction to the region, and she now comes every year to exchange ideas. She appreciates the friendly atmosphere, in contrast to some of the bigger fairs, where she can approach people casually, and even catch authors strolling around unhurried.
Mallya’s sentiment echoed the words of Richard Ali, a lawyer, poet, and editor at Parresia Publishing in Nigeria. In his paper, “Arabic as a Bridge to Africa”, he called for a translation bureau in sub-Saharan Africa that would deal directly with Arabic language publishing. Ali first drew attention to the shared heritage of the Arab Peninsula and Africa, to historic manuscripts written in Arabic, awaiting translation in cities like Timbuktu, Katsina, and Zaria. He then turned to the violent extremism afflicting regions of Africa today: “I know that this is a book fair, not an arena for politics, but this issue is very important in the matter of building bridges to Africa. For we who love books, who write them, who read them, are often the first victims of extremism.” Translation, of course, is only the first step. There is also need for serious discussion. The point is not just to share literature across borders; “The purpose of words is to break down borders.” (Ali’s paper is forthcoming in Jalada).
The question of how different languages can form beneficial relationships seemed particularly important at this book fair—or at least at the talks I attended. Mark Camillero, founder of the National Book Council of Malta, spoke about the challenges of reading and publishing in a bilingual society (English, Maltese). The mediterranean island of Malta is a particularly interesting case. Malta is the only catholic country that speaks a Semitic language, although Maltese dissociated itself from Arabic and has been shaped significantly by romance languages. I had expected Camillero’s attitude toward the Arabic language to be in direct contrast to Richard Ali’s, but Camillero was open minded. When the only people who speak Maltese are Maltese, and when the country only publishes 600 books a year, publishers have to look to outside voices. Camillero also emphasized the importance of translation as a tool to develop language—translation as a catalyst of local literary production. “After you translate several texts you create a consistency,” he explained. “Translating books into Maltese is good for our language.” And so Camillero is here in Abu Dhabi, not only to promote Maltese literature abroad, but also for the sake of the Maltese language.
Languages are not islands. Relationships between languages are necessary for one another’s growth. And the same can be said of publishing industries. Nowhere was this more clear than during the Arab Publishers Association meeting. The APA, founded 1969, became truly active in 1995 under its current president Mohamed Rashad, this meeting’s moderator. The central issue then was piracy, which is still a huge problem, however this discussion focused also on the need to look to China and other markets in East Asia.
Arabic book sales are bleak. The Arabic book industry only supplies 1% of the books printed in the entire world—and Arabic is a language spoken by nearly 300 million people! Readers complain that books are expensive, and booksellers complain that people don’t read. Meanwhile, book shops are few and far between. The union agrees that most of these problems must be solved by governments, primarily the enforcement of copyright laws. The UAE is doing a lot to, as it says, professionalize the industry. In years past, booksellers benefited from additional sales at the ADIBF through government distributed vouchers. This is no small detail, considering that Arab booksellers rely on book fairs for 75% of their sales. This syndicate meeting devolved into grumbling at the news that there would be no vouchers this year. And I don’t blame them.
Though there are between 1 and 2 thousand publishers in the Arab world, I’m told at the APA Meeting that only 500 are active. Of course, things were not always this way. Before the civil war, the industry in Syria was thriving; there were nearly 2000 active publishers. Until recently, Iraq and Libya were major markets as well. Today, most Syrian publishers have relocated to Beirut. This week, a few Syrian book stalls were empty because their publishers could not obtain visas. This is all to say that the problems for Arab publishers are multifaceted, and run much deeper than the publishing industry alone. These are the world’s problems.
But I want to take heart in the words of people like Richard Ali, in potential bridges across these many gulfs—of war, of language, of history. I wonder: What will be the contribution of translation? Assumed in my mention of translation is the presence of the English language, but this is not necessarily the case. When is translation an act of survival—for a language, for a country, for a human soul? When is translation a forecaster of alliance—where, and between whom will these alliances form? Finally, in recognition of the causal relationship between the political climate and the commercial book trade: what is the responsibility of countries outside this region, in restoring, not just professionalization, but maybe something more?