The social detective: crime novelist Leslie Glass infiltrates the Sarasota Reading Festival.

SHAKESPEARE SAID,

"The play's the thing." For Sarasota, it's the event. As I write, it's off season, but at the Sarasota Reading Festival, chaired by Renee Richardson Kling (and with a board of directors that includes me), it is high season, and a passion for books is the thing. In past years, author-collecting had been the sole province of former Sarasota News and Books owner Caren Lobo, who knew the ropes better than anyone. When Amanda Stiff took over as chairperson, she was the one to travel to the million-author march at the Book Expo, held that year in Washington, D.C., where publishers' titles for the upcoming year are laid out in a huge convention center. Five minutes of face time can be had with the publicists, and one has to talk fast to get their attention.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

The Sarasota Reading Festival is a free day of books and author talks on Nov. 4. Its only fund raiser is a cocktail party at Selby Library called "A Novel Affair," Nov. 3. The festival traditionally follows the St. Petersburg book festival, and competition to get the best authors is always high. Back in August you should have heard us comparing theirs to ours. We think our authors are bigger and better, though it pains me to talk this way. If the authors only knew.

In any case, the idea is to cajole publishers to pay for sending the creme de la creme our way, but sometimes they have their own ideas of who should come--and never mind if we've never heard of them, or if they're not really suitable for our audience. Last year we got the author of French Women Don't Get Fat, and she cheated by reading from her book. Authors aren't supposed to read; they're supposed to speak cleverly off the cuff. She might have been thin and French, but no one could understand a word she read. And then there were the authors who were charming but who no one really cared about and only nine people bought their books. Publishers don't like that.

In the past, the method for procuring authors was pretty much catch as catch can, and board members' wish lists for their own favorites were like vapors, lost in the thunderheads of summer. Susan Rife of the Herald-Tribune, who coordinates the special festival tabloid that the H-T runs and writes all the author features, had no idea until the very last minute who was coming and sometimes wondered if she were chopped liver. Programming was also a secret rite performed in the dead of night, and executive directors didn't tend to stay very long.

This year the Reading Festival was like a Dr. Seuss book in which changes really happened at the zoo. There was an actual programming committee with actual member participation, and oh, the e-mail was abuzz with author chatter all summer long. Jane Summerville of the New College Library Association would not stop going on about Dan Brown. No one would oblige her by inviting him. Renee kept asking if anyone knew Stephen King. He doesn't take phone calls, and no one is totally sure he even exists anymore. And Carl Hiaasen seemed to be hanging his head over the failure of Hoot, the movie. He wouldn't take phone calls, either, and his publicist was like the devil in The Devil Wears Prada. Don't try calling her.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

Dear Michael Connelly, the newest New York Times serial novelist in the Sunday magazine section, was a leader in the "yes" department. He came in right at the start. His book Echo Park is about a dirty bomb, and I'm scared already. John Jakes signed on with his novel about Newport snobs, The Gods of Newport. Apparently the protagonist is some nouveau rich dude who wants to get in with the in crowd, which will work perfectly for us. And then the ball was rolling. Jim Lehrer, the PBS anchor, said yes. The committee rejoiced and plunged on with greater confidence, deciding to build the Reading Festival around subjects of interest to the community. What a novel idea.

Foodies can debate carbs or no carbs all day long in the cooking pavilion, which features cookbook authors, while history/heritage buffs can learn more about World War II, the first female television correspondent, Nancy Dickerson, and the shot heard 'round the world. (In case you didn't know, it has something to do with baseball.) There will be comic novels about--what else?--Florida, and Marie Antoinette in novel form. Don't ask me how we got that one. All right, we couldn't resist the first sentence. "Like everyone, I was born naked." I ask you, what kind of first sentence is that?

We also got a lot of serious stuff, too serious for me to talk about here: ecology, swamps, everglades, trees, stem cell wars and a panel titled "The Politics of Science", moderated by Mike Michalson, president of New College. He's going to ask a lot of incendiary questions, and you should, too.

When I arrived at the first scheduling meeting in the history of the festival, which is celebrating its ninth birthday this year, Julie Taylor was up at the bulletin board ready to slate the authors in their slots, and Renee was hyperventilating into a paper bag. Whatever was the matter, I worried? I'd brought the cookies and was eager to get at the table full of food. There was a whole dinner waiting, but everybody was too glum to eat.

"Haven't you heard?" Terri Weldon of Comcast asked. Terri is responsible for bringing CSPAN and the Discovery Channel to the Festival. And thousands of free books to children in the children's tent. And Sponge Bob Square pants, whatever they are. "Jim Lehrer dropped out."

"Why? Shock traveled around the room as a dozen people panicked. "Something about the elections; he didn't want to miss them," Renee said. Dan Hoffe wondered why it took Lehrer so long to realize they were coming. Betty Morris, who is head of operations--oh, the tents and vendors--said she'll never listen to him again.

Former mayor Richard Martin, in charge of history/heritage (or is it science/environment? One of those serious non-fiction pavilions) begged for calm. More beseeching calls were made to Al Gore. Please, pretty please with sugar on top, come to our festival. No, Al couldn't come, either. He was up to his ears in elections, too. He said he'd come later, after he'd finished raising money for candidates. Lisa Endriss, the new festival director, got all excited about that. She wants to have reading festival projects all year around, and so does everyone else.

How about Anderson Cooper? He's hot. Renee's face lit up, and Liz Nolan reported that he cried when he spoke to the librarians in New Orleans this spring. Anderson didn't seem like such a good choice to me. Every time the least little thing happens, he hits the road and doesn't come back for a long time. Somebody begged me to call Alex and ask for Somebody Big. (Alex is my son and a literary agent in New York.) I called Alex, and when I said I needed an author, he called me right back. "Who do you want?" he asked. Somebody big, I told him.

He promised to look into it, and everybody cheered up. Julie started slotting in authors. People filled their plates with food and then went back for more. The environmental committee had a private pow-wow while Renee moped just a second longer. Her first cancellation felt so personal. But we all moved on, and now the festival is finally here. Enjoy.

Leslie Glass is a playwright and the author of 14 novels, including the best-selling crime series featuring the NYPD's April Woo.