What gets me, Daniel, is the tragic comedy of it all. A writers’ festival that should thrive on risk instead serving up HR boilerplate like it’s a bowl of beige porridge. Safety codes masquerading as moral virtue, when what they really do is pre-scrub thought until nothing remains but antiseptic platitudes.
You’re right: it infantilises both writers and audiences, as though we need a comfort blanket before encountering an idea. At the very moment words are most urgent, the festival politely strangles them. A place for literature becomes a place for silence.
What you’ve written feels steady & necessary. A reminder that absence, when chosen with care, can speak as plainly as presence. And thank you for bringing into light what others might prefer to leave unspoken. You’ve shown that silence is never neutral—it carries meaning until someone has the courage to name it. I’m grateful you did.
What gets me, Daniel, is the tragic comedy of it all. A writers’ festival that should thrive on risk instead serving up HR boilerplate like it’s a bowl of beige porridge. Safety codes masquerading as moral virtue, when what they really do is pre-scrub thought until nothing remains but antiseptic platitudes.
You’re right: it infantilises both writers and audiences, as though we need a comfort blanket before encountering an idea. At the very moment words are most urgent, the festival politely strangles them. A place for literature becomes a place for silence.
Plain speaking. Wish I could. But you can. Thankfully.
Daniel—
What you’ve written feels steady & necessary. A reminder that absence, when chosen with care, can speak as plainly as presence. And thank you for bringing into light what others might prefer to leave unspoken. You’ve shown that silence is never neutral—it carries meaning until someone has the courage to name it. I’m grateful you did.