Impossible admissions
A new round of the book fair has Samir Sarhan almost at the end of his tether, find Youssef Rakha. But what does the seasoned publisher have to say?
"The Publishers' Union is a full partner," General Egyptian Book Organisation (GEBO) Director Samir Sarhan supplies in the middle of a phone conversation. "Of course," he continues quickly, "the organisation cooperates with all those high-ranking institutions, both official and private, that make a valuable contribution to publishing books and hence to the fair. In the context of the Family Library initiative, for example, the organisation assigns private- sector publishers the task of producing special editions of books selected -- books to which they have the copyright -- in large numbers. This year, as always, the book fair will reflect the magnitude of what is being done on the part of the government to raise the status of literature in this country. It is only..." Yet, before he can continue, Sarhan must review and sign a new batch of documents. Berating his secretary, he turns to one side and yet another visitor has arrived. Sarhan looks harassed.
Hectic would be too weak a word to describe the atmosphere in which he is currently operating. The final preparations for the 35th International Cairo Book Fair (23 January- 7 February) can only be described as trying. The two-chamber office compound from which Sarhan works bespeaks disorganisation, as always.
Yet this week there is something almost ominous about the expressions on the faces of those present: in the smaller of the two rooms, at least, a kind of mania, alternating inanity and hysteria, seems to have beset the team of secretaries.
In an hour and a half veteran academic Fatma Mousa, novelist Ibrahim Abdel-Meguid, vernacular poet Abdel-Rahman El-Abnoudi and an as yet unidentified German-speaking Arab, in the company of a podgy German publisher, have all made their voices heard; some march straight into the larger, fluorescent-lit room from which Sarhan commands interactions; others, including the present writer, stiffly await their turn.
There are plenty of casually communicated professional exchanges -- one young man, for example, is repeatedly ordered to "go and sit in front of the doctor" -- as well as sociable, if slightly bored, chatter; topics range from the academic progress of the children to health problems and weight loss. Occasionally, Sarhan's own voice drifts magisterially through the half-shut door. Inevitably perhaps, the Kafkaesque phenomenon of perfectly respectable people waiting, indefinitely, on their fifth or sixth attempt to meet with Sarhan, persists; in their aspect there is not a hint of surprise or discomfort.
Some six hours later Sarhan is finally ready. Having waited this long, the present writer finally walks into the room to discover that Sarhan has not been informed of his presence. The latter has been waiting himself; he even reconfirmed the time and venue of the interview to make sure no mistake had been made. Yet Sarhan's overworked secretaries have failed to make the connection between "someone from Al-Ahram who should arrive at two" and the Al-Ahram Weekly visiting card that, at 20 minutes past three, still lies discarded on one of their desks. At this point more pressing concerns have taken over and the appointment is quickly rescheduled. This time, reassuringly, one has to endure no more than the obligatory 15 minutes before being ushered into the room, handed a number of information files and asked to sift through them while Dr Samir makes that last phone call.
Entitled "The Egypt of Mubarak in a Changing World: Modernising Efforts," the files indicate the fair will be held over a total area of 165km in the fair grounds, Nasr City; that 3,125 publishers from 97 countries (three of which will send official delegations, and five of which -- Indonesia, Canada, the Ukraine, Russia and India -- are participating for the first time) will contribute five million titles. The usual, disembodied statistics. Nor do the seminar titles listed imbue the official, forever abstract account of the fair with any spirit: the repercussions of 11 September, the so-called dialogue of civilisations, modernisation projects under Mubarak, a free economy in the shadow of multinational corporations...
These topics sound outdated by now. They will be pronounced upon by the usual array of government-affiliated authorities unlikely to approach either the daily issues facing the average Egyptian or the possibility of a genuine cultural renaissance. According to the files, indeed, the fair, an otherwise vital if never very cultured popular event, emerges as nothing more than a set of "impressive" statistics and "serious" themes.
What to make of this round's emphatic "uniqueness", though?
At quarter to nine Sarhan is not much help. Through the duration of the conversation he casts sidelong glances at his watch. His shirt ruffled, he is palpably exhausted. He is constantly interrupted -- or he interrupts himself -- by phone calls, interlocutors, tasks undone and suddenly remembered. At one point Sarhan begins to say something, enunciating classically, but no sooner does one turn to one's notebook than the volume of his voice goes down; it turns out that he has left the room mid-sentence. What makes this particularly difficult is that, following each interruption -- and they are very frequent -- one has to start anew.
"Yes," Sarhan repeats desultorily. "What was that? "It is perhaps to be admired that, despite being in this state of mind, surrounded by such bureaucratic dissociation, Sarhan still manages to elaborate a consistent line of argument.
"I am not sure I understand what is meant by the changes witnessed during 2002," he says in response to one question. "What does that mean? Do you think there were major changes during that year?" All that matters, one points out, is what he thinks. "Of course, important novels appeared, the Family Library produced the grand Description de l'Egypte, the establishment of the new, larger Egyptian Museum is underway... Such things are major developments. But does this imply enormous changes?"
It is, rather, regional turmoil that explains the expression "changing world" in the main symposium title this year. "As for your concern over the position of Washington, the bombing of Iraq, the Palestinian question -- well, the fair takes account of all this. In fact," Sarhan seems to have just remembered something, "this year the fair is a focal point from the political and Arab point of view. The variables that surround us, political and regional variables -- the fact that the Americans seem to be adopting an antagonistic position towards Arabs and Muslims everywhere, for example -- necessitate an integrated, specific and serious cultural stand. As you can see in the files you've been given -- you'll find a lot of information in those files -- many seminars this year revolve around that necessity. You could say that this round of the fair will comprise a serious dialogue between Egyptian, Arab and Muslim intellectuals on the one hand and the West, spearheaded by Washington, on the other."
Indeed, in the course of the fair, Sarhan insists, a "Cairo declaration," formulating the cultural perspective on the Arab world in relation to the West, will be issued.
And this is but one aspect of the reported uniqueness of this round of the fair. To listen to Sarhan, disjointed as his approach may be on this particular occasion, one would think that he is describing an event different in essence.
"This year will witness a massive development in the fair in terms of both form and content," he testifies. And the introduction of six new book fair awards reserved for non-Egyptian Arabs, the use of specialist companies for building the infrastructure of the fair, the elimination of various logistical obstacles are but a few examples of the development at hand. Problems, such as the fact that vast numbers of books never made it to the fair last year because they were blocked by customs officials, will be avoided.
"That," Sarhan retorts on being reminded of the glitch in question, "was practically a tax-evasion issue. The publishers in question simply refused to pay the required tariff. But we've been more selective this year. And anyway," he insists, "no such detail could ever take away from the importance, the value and success of the fair."
Does Sarhan have any reservations, though? Is there room for improvement, perhaps?
"Look," the publisher responds. "This fair is the most important, and certainly the largest of its kind in the Arab world. It is a hugely successful event, a confirmation of democracy, or the margin of democracy, that exists in Egypt now. The official opening of the event has become, under Mubarak, an occasion on which the president meets with thinkers and public figures to discuss everything, field any question, with a remarkable degree of freedom in a remarkably open atmosphere. It might be an exaggeration to say that without the fair life wouldn't be as democratic," Sarhan intones. "but there is no doubt that the fair is, in more than one sense, the very embodiment of democracy."
