I just realized I want Ray Bradbury to be my grandpa. And Don Cheadle to be my uncle.
During my walk-through of the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books on Saturday, I was overwhelmed. So many people, booths and books and not enough patience. I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing, madly grabbing at books and random paraphernalia and spending a lot of money.
I stood there wondering if it was all worth it. What was the purpose of coming when I could go to the local bookstore and pick up the same texts? Everyone was selling and I wasn’t buying. I was disappointed that this “festival,” which I thought was supposed to celebrate the written word, felt merely like promotions and press junkets. I wanted new ideas and discussions, not glossy paperbacks.
Then came the first redeeming factor: Don Cheadle, 2004 Academy Awards’ Best Actor nominee for “Hotel Rwanda,” smiled at me. At least I’m pretty sure he smiled as he and coauthor John Prendergast discussed their new book, “Not on Our Watch: A Mission to End Genocide in Darfur and Beyond.”
Their speech impressed me with the lack of shameless self-promotion. Other tents, on things such as Scientology and dieting regimens, focused on special book discounts, with people working who hadn’t even read the texts they were peddling.
Cheadle and Prendergast spoke on the issue of the genocide in Darfur and ways citizens can get involved. They didn’t employ the pathetic strategy: “Read this book and then learn what to do to help.” Rather, they outlined their advice onstage, even reading out the number to the White House so audience members could take action.
Cheadle and Prendergast candidly expressed the expectations of their marketing department; they poked fun at it, holding up the book and slowly rotating it for the audience.
Furthermore, they completely hypnotized me with their story of a Sudanese refugee mother who witnessed the death of her two children.
The audience embodied the very ideals that I held for the festival ““ to seek out and gather knowledge. The authors imparted this insight, and not for commercial gain, as the proceeds from the book will go to charities countering crimes against humanity. I was experiencing something meaningful. It was a call to action, not a call to buy.
I was suddenly ready to march to the White House and put pressure on Baby Bush to help stop the genocide.
But first, I just had to see Ray Bradbury at Royce Hall. Ever since reading the short story “The Veldt” in fourth grade, I’ve had a perpetual fear of nurseries and a perpetual admiration for Ray Bradbury.
My admiration has only increased since hearing him speak about his “loves,” his reasons for and influences over his writing. Seeing “King Kong” as a child and going to a carnival instead of a wake taught him to embrace life and the future.
His lecture was not a dry expounding of his works, but rather a heartfelt encouragement to the audience to awaken to life. He spoke as a father, and not a man who defined the science-fiction genre while simultaneously becoming a notable poet, playwright and screenwriter.
His modesty and grounded attitude brought me back to something real. His belief in learning from life and from people, instead of learning about them, encouraged me to put down the books for once and unleash my creativity.
I wanted to sprint over to the little typing room in Powell Library where Bradbury said he wrote “Fahrenheit 451,” and write something that would change the world’s, or at least my, existence.
These authors symbolized the kind of writer I wanted to become. They represented a genuine care for their works, and a genuine care for their readers. I ended my Saturday caring more about my future and the world because they stepped away from superficial marketing ploys.
The festival wasn’t about book sales, or coupons or $5 water bottles; it was about the purpose writers can give to their readers. The power and passion they can share makes even the longest wait and worst sunburn worth it.
Which writers give your life purpose? E-mail abissell@media.ucla.edu. Send general comments to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.