With poets from the art’s enfant terrible Luke Wright to spoken word and mandolin maestro John Hegley and his new show ‘Letters to an Earwig’, small wonder the Poetry Arena’s rammed on Thursday night. Outside, the eerie red glow of a hollowed oak’s trunk, books hanging from its few remaining branches, draws the crowds in to see sets from Joe Dunthorne’s subtle satires to Aisle 16’s inimitable Ross Sutherland.

In the literary tent across the way, it’s a similar tent-bursting scenario. Even the Theatre Arena and the breathtaking ‘Music In Spheres’ on the lake aren’t enough to distract from WordTheatre’s John Schwab, an American actor who looks more Latino gangster reading from Aimee Bender’s sensual ‘The Meeting’ in sharp pinstripe and stylish fedora. WordTheatre promises an eclectic set across the weekend, too, with enticing show titles including ‘The Affairs of Others’ and ‘Fevered Youth’.

For now though, the focus is on Robin Ince’s Book Club, which the man himself introduces, promising the usual literary shenanigans as well as versions of indie-rock hymns by the accompanying band that’ll get the whole tent singing. This time round it’s a belting acoustic rendition of R.E.M’s love song to apocalypse ‘End of the World’ that more than delivers. The sarcastic readings that are the Book Club’s trademark follow, highlights including the affected nervousness of Joanna Neary’s talk on sex toys (you really had to be there) and Susan Bale’s dance interpretation of comic actor Arthur Mullard’s curious biography.
 
Even Geordie comedian Ross Noble (on in the Comedy Arena, Friday), a self-confessed dyslexic whose ever-lengthening hair and beard give him the aura of a multi-talented hobo, turned up to read hilarious passages from ‘The book of Netherland Dwarfs’ (rabbits, apparently), featuring ‘shit pictures’ and questionable advice on feeding and breeding. By the end of his set, Ince returns to the stage, and the two indulge in an impromptu face-off of John Peel impressions that’re so absurdly spot-on (‘I remember the terrible trouble that man used to have with Shredded Wheat’) that you can’t help but laugh. 

All in all, Thursday’s spoken word offerings bode damn well for the rest of the weekend. Fingers crossed that the glimpses of sunshine do too.


Ben Wilkinson