Nestled within the grand, sloping expanse of Eduardo VII Park, a beloved Lisbon ritual unfolds each year as spring turns to summer. From late May to mid-June, the city’s iconic green space is transformed into a sprawling, open-air temple of literature, a bibliophile’s dream recognized as the country’s largest bookstore. The 96th edition of the Lisbon Book Fair is a vibrant testament to the enduring power of the written word, featuring 350 stands hosted by 128 participants, representing a staggering 900 publishing brands. This is no quiet, solitary affair; it is a communal celebration that draws an average of 850,000 visitors, a river of humanity flowing between tables laden with tens of thousands of titles. On sunny days, especially when a public holiday grants a midweek reprieve, the park thrums with an infectious energy, proving that reports of reading’s demise are, at least here, greatly exaggerated.
Within this bustling marketplace of ideas, one finds a heartening cross-section of Portuguese society, a gathering of generations united by a common passion. Young fans queue patiently for an autograph from a trending author like S.T. Ashman, while nearby, in the bustling Praça Leya, seasoned readers mingle with literary stars spanning styles and decades—from Hugo Van Der Ding and Rodrigo Guedes de Carvalho to the wise, celebrated voice of Angolan author Pepetela. It is this very sight that moves Pepetela to reflect on the fair’s significance. “Year after year there are more people, more crowds,” he observes, “people say no one reads any more… but there are pockets of resistance, let us say, and this is an example. It is a celebration, exactly as we like it to be. Books are a celebration.” This sentiment is echoed by writer Carla Pais, who traveled from France to launch her prize-winning novel, marveling at the scene of families—children, parents, grandparents—sharing space and a love for stories.
The fair’s capacity for creating profound, shared moments was powerfully demonstrated by one of this year’s highlights: the appearance of acclaimed American author Siri Hustvedt. Presenting the Portuguese edition of her memoir Fantasmas, which reflects on her life with the late literary giant Paul Auster, Hustvedt drew one of the largest crowds of the event. Attendees spilled out from the seating area, content to sit on the ground just to be present for this poignant bridge between a celebrated past and a continuing literary legacy. For readers like Paulo Santos, a devoted Auster fan, this was a meaningful opportunity. “Siri is one of the links that keep Auster present,” he shared, explaining how Hustvedt’s work, with its similar blend of memory and identity, offers a pathway forward after the loss of a beloved author. These encounters underscore the fair’s role as more than a marketplace; it is a living, breathing dialogue between writers and readers, past and present.
Steering this massive undertaking is the Portuguese Publishers and Booksellers Association (APEL) and its president, Miguel Pauseiro. For him, the commercial metrics, while important, are secondary to the festive, cultural core of the event. “What matters to us is that this is a moment of celebration, a celebration of books, so that books can once again become central to our lives,” Pauseiro emphasizes. However, this vision is not without its challenges and critiques. The prominent presence of large publishing groups like Leya and Porto Editora is noticeable, leading to discussions about diversity and access. Pauseiro counters that these groups’ footprint at the fair is actually below their market share and points to the participation of over 1,100 authors as evidence of a rich variety. Yet, he acknowledges the structural limits of the park itself, which force difficult choices about who can participate.
These choices have sparked debate, particularly following the exclusion of the small publishing collective DNL Convergência, which protested its omission via a public petition. Pauseiro addresses the situation calmly, noting that while a handful of participants were not accepted—some for selling non-book items, others for undisclosed reasons—there is no animosity. “In future we will see how we can bring these participants back on board, while complying with the criteria and rules,” he states, framing it as a logistical puzzle inherent to an event bursting at its seams. The aspiration, he insists, is always for more: more publishers, more authors, more titles. This tension between inclusive ideals and physical realities is part of the fair’s ongoing evolution.
As the 2024 edition draws to a close on June 14th, the Lisbon Book Fair stands as a resounding success, a vivid affirmation that in the digital age, the physical book and the community it fosters remain vital. It is a place where literary legends and first-time novelists share the same air, where a reader can discover a new favorite voice or connect with a long-admired one. Beyond the sales figures and the stand counts, the true measure of the fair is found in the crowded aisles, the quiet conversations, and the shared understanding that, for two and a half weeks each year, Eduardo VII Park becomes the beating heart of Portugal’s literary culture—a paradise built not just of paper and ink, but of people and passion.
