The line of eager literary Melbournites wrapped around Town Hall and up the hilly street. Vocal fears of an oversold event from fellow ticket-holders were hushed as we swiftly swept up the stairs and into the magnificently glowing building. I love the people that come that come to these sorts of events. They, and the entire hall, buzzed with anticipation of the evening.
It was clear that Saturday night wasn’t simply about celebrating the Wheeler Centre’s new presence in a place that was recently named a “City of Literature” by UNESCO. It was carefully placed on the anniversary of the Apology, paying homage to the oral nature of storytelling from years passed, a commonality shared between the night’s guests as well as the traditional owners of the land.

Each of the speakers were captivating in their own way, and I could go on about this forever, so I’ll simply touch on my highlights.
Cate Kennedy spoke about her grandfather, Bill Kennedy, and his “reckless generosity and fearless charisma”. Through the jokes and the hilariously horrific anecdotes, she didn’t even attempt to hide her admiration for the man. Her storytelling was all the more enjoyable for it.
Shane Maloney stumbled onto the stage, incredulously gaping at his large name on the overhead screen. One of the funnier speakers of the night, he managed to induce every type of laughter from the audience, from the appreciative chuckle, or the surprised laugh, to the breathless bellow or a guilty giggle (particularly at his more self-deprecating jokes). He manipulates silence as a tool of comedy.
John Safran aptly titled his story, “Teachings From My Father: Nothing Is Illuminated”. From his lisp, to his animated voice, to his Art Garfunkel hair, my love for this guy is ever-growing.
Paul Kelly’s short love story about Uncle Bob and Judy was sweet. He finished it in song: The South of Germany. We learned that we are slightly misled through the lyric:

“Seven children I have raised, I love some more than others
The hardest thing to do is to set them free”

They in fact had eight children, but of course, rhythm dictated an extra syllable.

Of course, it’s scientifically impossible for me to get through a dignified evening without sufficiently embarrassing myself.

I was lucky enough to meet up with Mae from Mad Bibliophile afterwards (her post is much better), and as we’re both directionally retarded, it was a while before we met up in front of Town Hall. As I sat on the bench, I became spasmatically excited, watching Shane Maloney walk past with Jennifer Byrne, followed by John Safran and Christos Tsiolkas hopping into respective cabs. I contained myself enough to not run up to each of them begging for a photo for my book blog and instead chose to sit there ringing my hands and cursing aloud at my slow reactionary skills…

So anyways, Mae finds me, and as we’re sitting there, I see Alex Miller walking past.

Me: Psst Mae! Alex Miller is walking past.

Mae: Where? *head swivel* Oh!

*Alex Miller notices us gaping at him as he walks past, barely a metre in front of our seat. He smiles awkwardly*

*We smile back.*

*I die of mortification*

*Mae and I proceed to a bar to drown my embarrassment in vodka cocktails*

Considering this was pretty much the reason I booked a weekend trip to Melbourne, it was an undeniable success.

The weekend was a success, I attended Writers at the Convent and the Sticky Zine Fair. More on this in my next post.