Books don't have to be medicine
In Edinburgh, a city long consecrated to the written word, the international book festival is quietly asking whether literature has ever truly belonged to the page alone. Under director Jenny Niven, the 2026 programme weaves together Noh theatre, classical composition, and contested public debate — not to abandon the book, but to restore it to the living world of sound, image, and disagreement from which it was never fully separate. The gesture is both pragmatic and philosophical: in an age of fractured attention and declining literacy, the festival is wagering that the way back to reading may run through everything that surrounds it.
- Reading rates are falling and social media is winning the war for attention, leaving literary festivals to ask whether the traditional 'author in a tent' format is quietly becoming obsolete.
- Jenny Niven is staging Kathleen Jamie's wildlife essays inside a 17th-century kirk with Noh theatre and live smallpipes — collaborations built from the ground up, not readings with a musical garnish.
- Ali Smith's prose will be performed alongside newly commissioned classical music, and William Dalrymple's colonial histories will be fused with the sounds of India Alba, testing how far literature can travel before it becomes something else entirely.
- The festival's 'Changing your mind' theme pits gender-critical barristers against trans rights advocates, big-tech critics against Wikipedia's founder, and AI sceptics against DeepMind insiders — not for spectacle, but as a genuine invitation to intellectual discomfort.
- The open question hanging over all of it: will these experiments draw genuinely new audiences into the literary world, or simply give the already-converted more elaborate reasons to return?
Jenny Niven, director of the Edinburgh international book festival, has decided that authors reading politely to seated audiences is no longer sufficient. This year's programme replaces that formula with something more unsettled: literature staged alongside music, theatre, and visual art, in unexpected venues, designed to reach people who would never ordinarily buy a ticket to hear a writer speak.
The most striking example unfolds at Greyfriars Kirk, a 17th-century church built on the grounds of a former Franciscan monastery. There, the Noh Reimagined theatre company will perform Kathleen Jamie's wildlife essay On Rona — a meditation on the remote Hebridean island North Rona — accompanied by Brìghde Chaimbeul on smallpipes and Aidan O'Rourke on fiddle. Elsewhere, the Dutch ensemble New European Ensemble will compose four pieces specifically for Ali Smith's work, performing them live as Smith reads. William Dalrymple's histories of Scottish colonialism in India will be paired with the fusion sounds of India Alba. These are not readings with musical interludes — they are collaborations conceived as wholes.
Niven's reasoning is grounded in how literature is already consumed: through film adaptations, audiobooks, stage plays. 'Books don't have to be medicine,' she has said — a phrase that captures her impatience with the idea that reading must be solemn and solitary. The festival is also reviving its live cookery events with food writers, further dissolving the boundary between reading and lived experience. Niven has spent her career in cross-genre work, placing Benjamin Zephaniah in a hip-hop production in Beijing and staging Michael Palin in a bird house at Melbourne Zoo. She sees these not as gimmicks but as genuine pathways to new audiences.
The programme is not all experiment. John Grisham will appear with Ian Rankin at the 1,000-seat McEwan Hall, a blockbuster pairing that signals the festival's continued investment in major literary figures. But the deeper ambition lies in the central theme: 'Changing your mind.' In a moment of entrenched positions, Niven is programming genuine disagreement — a panel chaired by former UK Supreme Court president Brenda Hale will bring together a barrister representing gender-critical groups and one championing trans rights to discuss the legal definition of sex. Cory Doctorow, author of Enshittification, will face Wikipedia founder Jimmy Wales. An AI sceptic will debate a former DeepMind researcher. These are not performances of conflict — they are invitations to think differently.
Niven is also watching the digital horizon, where new technologies may eventually create a unified festivals box office across Edinburgh's many events. She is open to the possibilities, though cautious about preserving the book festival's distinct character. The larger question remains unanswered: whether this expansion into music, theatre, and structured disagreement will bring genuinely new readers into the fold, or simply deepen the loyalty of those already there.
Jenny Niven, who runs the Edinburgh international book festival, has decided that authors sitting in tents reading to polite audiences is no longer enough. This year's programme abandons that formula almost entirely in favor of something stranger and more ambitious: literature tangled up with music, theatre, and visual art, staged in unexpected places and designed to pull in people who might never have bought a ticket to hear a writer speak.
The most striking example is what's happening at Greyfriars Kirk, one of Edinburgh's oldest religious buildings, constructed in the early 1600s on the grounds of a former Franciscan monastery. There, the minimalist Noh Reimagined theatre company will stage a performance of Kathleen Jamie's wildlife essay On Rona—a meditation on the remote, uninhabited Hebridean island North Rona—accompanied by the Scottish musicians Brìghde Chaimbeul on smallpipes and Aidan O'Rourke on fiddle. Elsewhere, the Dutch contemporary classical group New European Ensemble will compose and perform four pieces written specifically for Ali Smith's work, with Smith reading alongside the music. William Dalrymple's histories of Scottish colonialism in India will be paired with the fusion sounds of India Alba. These aren't readings with musical interludes. They're collaborations designed from the ground up.
Niven's reasoning is straightforward: people already consume literature in multiple forms. They watch film adaptations, listen to audiobooks, see stage plays. The festival, she argues, should reflect that reality rather than pretend the book exists in isolation. "Books don't have to be medicine," she said—a phrase that captures her impatience with the idea that literature must be serious, difficult, and consumed in silence. The festival is also reviving its 2024 initiative of live cookery events with food writers, further blurring the line between reading and experience.
This approach is partly pragmatic. Literacy and reading rates are declining. Social media competes for attention in ways that didn't exist a decade ago. Niven has spent her career experimenting with cross-genre formats: she once put poet Benjamin Zephaniah in a hip-hop production in Beijing, and staged Michael Palin in a bird house at Melbourne Zoo. She sees these experiments not as gimmicks but as ways to reach audiences who might otherwise never show up.
Yet the festival's 2026 programme is not all experimentation. John Grisham, the thriller writer who has sold an estimated 500 million books, will appear with Ian Rankin at the 1,000-seat McEwan Hall—a blockbuster event that signals the festival's continued commitment to major literary figures. The real innovation lies in the festival's central theme: "Changing your mind." In a landscape where people seem increasingly locked into their positions, Niven wants to create space for intellectual flexibility. The festival will host debates on contested issues—gender rights, artificial intelligence, big tech—but not as spectacle or headline-grabbing confrontation. Instead, she's programming speakers and authors with genuinely different views, betting that audiences will seek out these conversations to challenge themselves.
A panel chaired by Brenda Hale, the former UK supreme court president, will feature Karon Monaghan KC, who represents gender critical groups, and Keio Yoshida, a barrister who champions trans rights, discussing the legal definition of sex. Cory Doctorow, a big-tech critic and author of Enshittification, will appear in conversation with Wikipedia founder Jimmy Wales. Steve Crossan, who worked on Google's DeepMind AI project, will debate with Alan Finkel, Australia's former chief scientist and creator of the AI-free certification service ProudlyHuman. These are not performances of disagreement for entertainment. They're invitations to think differently.
Niven is also watching developments in digital infrastructure. The Edinburgh fringe festival and Festivals Edinburgh, the sector's umbrella group, are investigating new technologies that could eventually create a unified festivals box office or app. Niven says she's open to these tools—they could mean more tailored ticketing for overseas audiences—but she's cautious about protecting the book festival's distinct identity. "I'm open and I'm genuinely quite excited about the potential for these new tools to make more of what we have," she said. The question now is whether this expansion into music, theatre, and debate will actually bring new readers to the festival, or whether it will simply give existing audiences more reasons to return.
Notable Quotes
In a world where people are very certain of their positions about all sorts of issues, all kinds of polarised, in all kinds of ways, how do we stay flexible in our thinking?— Jenny Niven, festival director
I'm open and I'm genuinely quite excited about the potential for these new tools to make more of what we have— Jenny Niven, on new digital infrastructure for festivals
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why move away from the author-in-a-tent model? Isn't that what people expect from a book festival?
Because people don't actually read books that way anymore. They watch adaptations, listen to music inspired by stories, see plays. The festival was pretending literature existed in a vacuum when it doesn't.
But doesn't putting Noh theatre and smallpipes around a text risk drowning out the writing itself?
That's the bet Niven is making—that the writing doesn't get drowned out, it gets amplified. When you hear Brìghde Chaimbeul play while Kathleen Jamie's words about a remote island hang in the air, you're not choosing between music and text. You're experiencing them as one thing.
The festival's theme is "Changing your mind." That seems almost defiant in 2026.
It is. Niven is saying: in a world where everyone's locked into their position, we're going to create space where you can actually think differently. Not by shouting louder, but by bringing people together who genuinely disagree and trusting the audience to engage seriously.
What about the Grisham event? That feels like a step backward—a blockbuster author in a big hall.
It's not a step backward. It's ballast. You need the major draws to fund the experiments. Grisham sells 500 million books. That audience pays for the Noh theatre at Greyfriars Kirk.
Do you think it will work? Will new people actually show up?
That's what Niven's betting on. But honestly, the real test is whether the people who do show up leave thinking differently than when they arrived.