It’s all true (except for the limousines). I have never seen a literary festival anywhere with such a cast of thousands – and such a willing spirit. Everyone was a volunteer – and most were parents of students at the college. The twenty-two writers who headlined the Celebration this year were treated, not just as literary figures, but as celebrities. For the most part they lapped it up. And things ran like clockwork. When the advertised closing time for a session arrived, an impeccably-dressed college prefect would stand up to offer a vote of thanks to the speakers, even if they were in mid-sentence.

This quirky but effective form of closure was ‘Somerset’ all over. There were no bells rung, no clocks waved; just a subtle form of pressure. While some participants were a little miffed, there is no doubt it worked. By the time Sunday morning rolled around, all five participants in the session ‘Writing Women’s Lives’ (Ruby Langford Ginibi, Jackie Huggins, Fiona Kidman, Marion Halligan and Helen Demidenko) were deferentially asking the chair how much time each had left to speak. In spite of these strictures, this was one of the festival’s best sessions. Anger was a fascinating subtext in all the presentations, but it was strongly linked to creativity. As Kidman put it, despite all the disincentives, when she became pregnant she did not ‘go home to knit booties’. Instead, she wrote a book – and then relished in a Kiwi reviewer’s claim that she was probably ‘the dirtiest-minded woman in New Zealand’. Huggins continued the theme: ‘five years ago I was a very angry person but now I deal with it in other ways. I have found therapy in my writing, but to deny that anger would be a terrible crime’. For Demidenko the outrage is partly linked to perceptions of genre. As she put it, when told ‘Oh, women don't write war books’, she simply rebelled ‘I have written in The Hand That Signed the Paper what can only be described as a war novel’. And even Ginibi confessed, ‘I’m an old romantic, you know – when I’m not angry, that is!’

Whereas many literary festivals are sprawling and testy, Somerset was marked by an almost genteel civility. Words like ‘fascinating’ and ‘lovely’ wafted over the coffees and the questions posed were more polite than probing.

An exception to this was the Saturday afternoon session on the interface between science, literature and technology which featured Douglas Adams, Bill Caelli and Barry Jones. Adams gave a virtuoso performance; a thirty-minute tour through evolution, Gondwanaland, Madagascar and the impact of technology upon nature. He was irreverent and engaging throughout. The remaining two speakers swung the discussion around to the Internet, which rapidly became the hot topic of the day if not the festival as a whole. Can a system which was invented by the Rand Corporation in the 1960s to ensure ‘continuity of control under nuclear attack’ now become truly open to all? And, as one member of the audience put it, ‘The Internet now seems to be a runaway train, but what about access for the less­privileged and the technology-poor?’ This was a good question, so pertinent that no one really answered it. Jones called on Australia to develop a national information policy as a matter of urgency but Adams responded that ‘the problem is that the net will win: it will be more democratic than any national government’.

Adams was undoubtedly the star at the end of the Celebration. The author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series was enticed to Queensland because of family connections in Brisbane, and it was an inspired invitation. Though seriously jet lagged, the London-based Adams spoke brilliantly, giving a witty after-dinner speech on literature, life and inspiration.

The Gold Coast audience loved it. It was interesting that the hundreds of guests were not a typical festival crowd. In addition to the literati, I spoke with a restaurant owner who had flown up from Melbourne just to hear Adams; there were newsreaders, politicians and police officers, none of whom was on duty. This was literature as entertainment.

And this is probably what separates the Somerset Celebration from all other Australian festivals. As organiser Gail Parr expressed it, ‘We aim to focus upon books that are popular in the community as well as literature with a big “L” ... there is also an intentional cross-over here between adult’s and children’s fiction, because you don't have children who value reading unless the community as a whole values it.’ This is certainly true: the first two days of the Celebration concentrated almost exclusively upon writers of juvenile and young adult fiction, from Jill Morris and Natalie Jane Prior to Victor Kelleher and Morris Gleitzman.

Attendance at the weekend sessions too was reportedly up seventy per cent on last year’s figures; amazing when one considers the $45 price for an adult day-pass. In some areas, the Celebration has set a new standard in Australian festivals. The design of the programme and poster was the best I have seen anywhere; the overall organisation was terrific. And the sense of bonhomie was equally apparent.

The Somerset Celebration has tapped into an important need on the Gold Coast, and has done so with style and flair. We can only hope that the organisers don't price themselves out of the market – or into just one market – in 1996.