A literature festival is a curious thing. A time when solitary writers become public authors, the private act of reading becomes a communal exercise in listening, our silent musings become lively conversations and a giant wooden typewriter becomes a thing of joy to nostalgic adults and children who’ve never even seen one.

Literature’s ability to touch on any topic makes a festival dedicated to it a departure point for discussions ranging from painting to politics, sex to science. Whatever the subject, at its core a literature festival is about celebrating the art of storytelling, the ability to hold an audience, young or old, in awed (or even uncomfortable) silence or prompt collective gasps, laughter or applause.

Although the traditional set up of a brightly lit stage replete with sofas, bouncy uplifting intro music, knowledgeable guests and slick comperes makes it seem like a ‘them’ and ‘us’ situation, by discussing literature en masse the atmosphere at any given talk or panel event becomes collaborative by default and not just thanks to the ability to communicate via an interactive Q&A app.

Writers and hosts are at the mercy and in receipt of the energy of the room. The musicality of the shuffle and descending hush, the polite but audible pause while a presenter remembers their next prompt, the calling out of excited, frontal children, the quiet comment from one audience member to their neighbour, all add their own reverberation to the primary audio.

The listeners carry the speakers as much as they captivate in return and it’s a dance involving many bodies to get from opening notes to closing remarks in a graceful way. We may find ourselves variously jolted by content, shifting in our seats, or enthralled and delighted, head bent acutely to one side in the attitude of calm appreciation.

Then we spill out from the tents, in search of coffee, not minding the meandering river of a queue our brains are so full of ideas and questions. It’s ripe territory for eavesdropping. We head to the popup bookstore, to browse or to buy, to witness the flourish of an author’s pen over endpapers or hear the delightful snapping of a hardback.

We’ve been part of a perfectly curated series of somethings and – book proudly clutched or empty handed – we take a small piece of the festival back to our homes where it can gently distil. Challenging views may lead us to greater clarity, stirring insights may inspire us to creative action. We've let words in and we’re the richer for it.