Harrogate: Liver poached in wine, but no fava beans

Written by Mark Billingham

Wednesday, 28 July 2010 00:00

From a darkened room, Mark Billingham reflects on the eighth Harrogate Crime-Writing Festival, a social and professional must for those with blood on their minds, if not their hands

“I can’t make dinner I’m afraid, as I’m being murdered in 10 minutes and then I’ve got to interview Karin Slaughter…”

There aren’t too many places I can think of where I might find myself saying something like that, but the Theakstons Old Peculier Harrogate Crime-Writing Festival is one of them. I’ve just returned from this annual weekend of murder, mayhem and monkey-business, which is always one of the highlights of the year for readers and writers alike, and it will take me a day or two yet to recover. This is because the HCWF is quite unlike any other literary festival I can think of. There is work to be done of course. There are the usual panels, and discussions on everything from hardcore sex and violence in the modern serial-killer thriller to the symbolic use of tea and crumpets in the work of Dorothy L Sayers. There are radio and newspaper interviews, there is top-level schmoozing and any number of publishing dinners (OK, not work in the strictest sense of the word), but there is also a social side to the event that transforms a literary festival into one of the longest and most enjoyable parties of the year.

With more than 8,000 tickets sold this year, the Harrogate Crime-Writing Festival has now firmly established itself as the biggest festival of its kind in the world, but it is more than a fabulous array of crime-writing talent that has made it one of a kind. It is the unique atmosphere that attracts readers and writers from all over the world; something of an achievement considering that almost everyone there is addicted to all things macabre and murderous.

Perhaps the most murderous thing of all is the attendees’ bar bill. The hotel that hosts the festival has let it be known that the crime-writers and readers that fill the bar every night spend more in one hour than the average wedding party spends in an entire evening. I am extremely proud of this. Not because it reveals a deep-seated problem with heavy drinking among the crime-writing fraternity (though that may be true), but because it confirms the widely held belief that those who murder people on the page are actually among the most affable and easy-going people within the literary community. There are of course exceptions to this rule (and I may well be one of them) but the HCWF never fails to disappoint anyone who believes that if they want to have a good time they should look for the crime writers. Paul Cleave – a crime writer from New Zealand – told me that he had arrived on Thursday knowing one person but by Friday morning he had made dozens of new friends. I’m sure there is a certain amount of backbiting going on and perhaps even the odd spot of backstabbing (we are crime writers, after all) but, generally speaking, it is not a genre peopled with writers who subscribe to the philosophy that says, "In order for me to do well, you have to do badly." Nowhere is this attitude displayed better and more publicly than at Harrogate.

While old friendships (and occasionally rivalries) are renewed, the festival also offers the chance to get to know the new blood, with sessions and awards devoted to the newer voices within the genre. Those writers yet to be published are wonderfully catered for by "Creative Thursday", with classes run by established writers and advice provided by the top agents and editors working in the field. The braver of the unpublished writers can then take part in the "Dragon's Pen" and pitch their novels directly at a distinguished panel of agents and editors. This year, it was gratifying to see so many receive such positive responses, despite the panel's reluctance to take on thrillers based around snooker or accountancy. What’s wrong with these people? Can they not see the appeal of “A Cue For A Killing” or “The Spreadsheet Slaughterer”? But what makes this festival truly special is that the readers and writers spend the entire weekend together. There is, at some festivals, an element of "us and them", with writers encouraged to bolt for the safety and seclusion of the Green Room or Writer’s Retreat once they have spoken and signed their books. Harrogate simply does not have this and, over the course of the weekend, more than one reader told me how refreshing it was that the writers they had come to see were happy to hang around and socialise with the people who – let’s not forget – are responsible for paying their mortgages.

Crime-fiction is of course a hugely diverse genre, and this is a festival that caters wonderfully well to those of all tastes. The session devoted to Agatha Christie was a huge sell-out, but so were those featuring the likes of Val McDermid, Ian Rankin and Karin Slaughter, and one of the most popular events featured a hugely entertaining group of forensic scientists pointing out where writers (including myself) had got it horribly wrong! While there are many sessions such as these, one thing that makes this festival a little different is that there are always a few events built into the programme that are designed purely to entertain. This year, after a day spent discussing blood and beastliness, readers and writers alike relished the chance to take part in a particularly nasty version of “Come Dine With Me” that gave them a chance to work out who killed one of the attending writers (hence my being "murdered"). They could enjoy the Friday evening cabaret event or the good-natured battle between UK and US crime writers during which one particularly patriotic Brit stripped off his trousers to reveal a fetching pair of Union Jack underthings. Or they could spend the entire weekend swotting for the Grand Harrogate Crime Writing Quiz on the Saturday evening, where dozens of teams competed for the chance to lift a trophy that the writers present covet almost as much as a CWA Dagger.

So, hundreds of readers and thousands of books sold (which does of course keep the publishers happy); but for me, the appeal of this festival is summed up by the number of writers in attendance who are not actually programmed to appear at all, but who come each year because there isn’t anywhere else they’d rather be. It’s certainly the first weekend that gets marked off in my calendar every year, though I’d better start preparing for next year’s festivities now, because Tony Bennett may have left his heart in San Francisco, but I’m pretty sure my liver is knocking about in Harrogate somewhere.

Photos: top left to right, N J Cooper, Joseph Finder, Chris Carter, Michael Robotham, James Twining; bottom, left to right, Michael Robotham, Mark Billingham, Ian Rankin and Joseph Finder

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