My Experience at the 2024 Frankfurt Buchmesse

A view of the Philippine National Stand

Outside Messe Frankfurt

My little corner of the Philippine creative arts community has always felt like home, despite the rest of the country increasingly feeling unsafe. Filipino creatives sit on the little boat that could, sailing against the tide of the state-sanctioned torture and murder of its own citizens (1 | 2) to loudly say no, to witness and dramatize what others ignore, to leave a record of Filipino (inner) life that exists beyond the human rights abuses that have landed us on international news.

That was not a very cheerful way to start this post, was it? But that's just what happens – the bitter sitting with the sweet – when I think about home.

I was reunited with old friends at the 2024 Frankfurt Buchmesse (FBM or the Frankfurt Book Fair), which ran from October 16 to 20. I had the good fortune to be a part of the Philippine delegation to the oldest and largest trade fair for books. The Frankfurt Book Fair has a history spanning 500 years, established not long after Johannes Gutenberg invented the movable-type printing press in nearby Mainz.

The FBM is held annually for five days in mid-October. The first three days are exclusively for holders of trade visitor passes (this includes our delegation). In the last two days, the Fair opens to the public.

For its 76^th iteration, FBM ran 3,300 events and welcomed 4,300 exhibitors and 200,000 people.

Rights selling

FBM is primarily a place for rights selling (translation rights, film rights, etc), not the selling of actual books. Think book publishing professionals speed-dating each other and less Manila International Book Fair, if you will.

To give you an idea, these are the rights that an author or publisher can license (list not exhaustive):

• Translation rights

If you write in English and you only sold English language rights to your publisher, then the translation rights likely still remain with you, the copyright holder. Translation rights can also be sold by territory (e.g. North America only). Check your contract!

• Electronic rights
• Reprint rights
• Anthology rights
• Library rental lending rights
• Merchandising rights
• Dramatization rights (film, series, musical etc)

While I was walking around the Fair, a Singapore book publisher told me that this was all new to him: “The previous events I’ve attended were all consumer-facing.”

Same, I said.

“Consumer-facing events” are the events that I’m used to. Writers’ festivals, book festivals, Komikon. Events where you speak to readers and not to (possibly jaded and exhausted) rights agents. Where you get your backpack ready for discounted books and not for flyers from businesses shilling their services.

But there’s always an opportunity to learn and educate. Even well-read professionals who have been working for decades in the book industry know little about the Philippine literary scene.

(When I once told someone in Sydney that I have had books published in the Philippines, the first thing they said was, “Oh, have they been translated to English? Can I read them?” Then the shock on their face when I said actually, you can read them now, because I write fiction and poetry largely in English, and the country has produced creative work written in English since the beginning of the 20^th century because surprise! American colonialism—and then I had to stop because otherwise, the conversation would never end.)

Philippines as Guest of Honour

The Philippines sent a larger-than-usual delegation this year (around 70 people) because the Philippines was going to be the Guest of Honour next year, in 2025:

With its “Imagination Peoples the Air” slogan—drawn from the seminal book Noli Me Tangere by Jose Rizal—the Philippines program brought a message from Senator Loren Legarda, as delivered by the ambassador, at the ceremony.

“The Philippines is a nation of storytellers,” Natividad said on Legarda’s behalf, “where the oral traditions of our ancestors seamlessly blend with the written works of our contemporary authors.

“Our writers, artists, and publishers have long carried the torch of creativity, and at Frankfurter Buchmesse 2025, we’ll shine the light on our diverse literary heritage. This includes our Indigenous peoples’ voices, as well as the stories of our 7,641 islands and our international diaspora.

Since 1976, the FBM has named a guest of honour every year, shining the spotlight on one country or region’s literature. The very first Guest of Honour was Latin America. The 2024 Guest of Honour was Italy. Programming revolves around the guest country, which is also given a special exhibition hall.

This year, the Italian Pavilion was housed inside a 2,000-square-metre hall, featuring a piazza (Italian public square) surrounded by rooms celebrating their heritage. One room showcased art from national Italian museums, including frescoes from Pompeii. Another celebrated Machiavelli’s The Prince.

If you’ve been to the Fair before, you would see that my first experience of the Frankfurt Book Fair as a Filipino author was atypical, because I was invited to join during an exceptional year. As the Fair geared up for the Philippines’ spotlight in 2025, we were given more programming spots to talk about our literature. More space, more time. More attention.

The business part of it all

I’m not privy to the guest of honour application and selection process, but to quote Butch Dalisay, “nations vie and pay for the honour” and

I know many who will wince at my reference to books as commodities, but let’s be absolutely clear about this: the bottom line of book publishing and book fairs is business, not “Kumbaya”-type international peace and understanding.

I’m among those who winced, even though I know exactly what he’s talking about.

I have said before that my favorite part of writing is “figuring out” the piece I’m working on. When things click into place, that moment feels like magic. It feels even more magical when readers take the time to reach out and tell me that they loved the story I dreamt up and wrote.

My least favorite part of writing is the business part of it all. The book proposals, the cover letters, the marketing meetings, the promotional drives, the networking, the endless “buy my book” posts, the “tell me three things that make your book unique” emails, the “why is your Instagram set to Private” conversations, the “why are you not active on TikTok?” reprimands, the “it’s easier for us to sell a cool author than a cool book” reminder.

In the era of the online influencer, self-promotion is the bane of my existence. (The paradox of the communications professional earning a living in marketing: I would very happily promote something or someone else, rather than promote myself). I find myself nodding when I read this insight from Sally Rooney’s novel: “people who intentionally become famous – I mean people who, after a little taste of fame, want more and more of it – are, and I honestly believe this, deeply psychologically ill”. I read this snippet of an interview with Donna Tartt, a novelist who doesn’t give talks, lectures, or interviews between books: “They're just distracting. It's better for me to be at home and getting on with my work than standing up and talking about a book. It's very counterproductive.”

I know, Donna Tartt! Must be nice!

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t even be on social media.

But it’s not just up to me, is it?

Not only capital capital

I could have just kept my writing in a drawer and locked it away forever, but I decided to work with a publisher to reach more readers. The success of my titles will mean success not just for myself, but for other people and their families as well. With the guest of honour spotlight turned on the Philippines next year at Frankfurt, success also means not only capital capital, but cultural capital on the international stage. So, for better or for worse: I do need to do that interview, give that talk, sit in that meeting, create that post on Instagram. (Until…until what? Until I’m so financially successful I can just f** off to a farm or a castle like Enya and not give another interview??)

The business side of the book industry – the schemes in the market often invisible to readers, and which authors like me love to pretend don't exist because the story will inevitably find its audience la la la – is inescapable at the Frankfurt Book Fair. How can it not be, when it’s the rationale for its very existence? To illustrate: the Philippine National Stand was in Hall 5.1, sharing the hall with countries like the United States, the United Kingdom, and China, and the size disparity in these nations’ literary markets – and revenue – was evident in the size of their stands. Penguin Random House, based in New York and one of the Big 5 trade book publishers, had a stand twice the size of our country stand, with a sea of tables to facilitate meetings. Those tables were always full. And that was just one US publisher.

During a tour of the Fair Grounds with Barbel Becker (who worked at FBM for nearly 40 years before her retirement), we were given a chance to take a peek inside the Literary Agents and Scouts Centre (LitAg). To book a table inside the LitAg, each agency had to pay €1,404. This is equivalent to AU$2,329 or PhP88,765, double the average monthly salary in the Philippines. Only guests with an appointment could enter this part of the FBM. Inside, all you could hear was the roar of a thousand conversations, a thousand lucrative deals being made. The vibe was…stressful, to say the least.  

A gate banging shut

I attended a Book-to-Screen Masterclass co-presented by the FBM and Matriochkas, a firm based in France that serves as liaison between publishing houses and production companies, handling negotiations and supporting the people involved throughout the years-long development process. A member of the audience asked why it takes so long to adapt a book for film or TV. (This was not their example, but in another panel, Budjette Tan shared that Trese’s journey from comic book to a Netflix animated show took 10 years.)

There are so many decision-makers at all levels, the speakers from Matriochkas said. That's why it takes so long. Huge budget, huge risk.

Another audience member asked for practical advice for authors who want to have their work adapted for the big screen. The two speakers looked at each other. The silence stretched for a few more seconds. “We’re a B2B business,” they began to say. You could almost hear a gate banging shut.

‘Authors can’t survive on royalties. They would die.’

Despite this display of wealth and exclusivity, only a very, very, very small percentage of authors earn a living wage from writing alone. In a panel on Asian publishers, Andy Ang of TrendLit Publishing said, partly in jest, “Authors can’t survive on royalties. They would die.”

Jokes aside, the number of books sold is only one factor. I was a speaker in a panel called “Can Fiction Change the World?”, and the irony was not lost on me that while my co-panellists and I were trying our best to answer this very big question, we were sitting on a stage surrounded by market forces that could make or break stories. That could make or break us. That across the fairgrounds ran the Palestinian Liberatory Book Fair, established following the decision by the FBM to cancel Palestinian author Adania Shibli’s award ceremony in 2023. That across schools and libraries, several book titles, many dealing with sexuality and race, are being targeted for censorship. That a book (or its author) could end up never seeing the light of day, just because an author’s politics ran against powerful business interests.

Can fiction change the world? How can it, when it’s being suffocated?

Against the tide

And yet, this compulsion to read and write and publish remains. With every creative piece, my hope, in addition to stumbling upon new insights in the act of narration, is to be able to represent the world in a fresh way, so that my reader (hopefully) will be able to see the world anew, and (hopefully) do something to change it, even through something as small as changing the way they think about certain issues.

Or even just the way they think about Filipinos.

I felt proud standing in the crowd during the Handover Ceremony, where Italy presented the GuestScroll to the Philippines, where the Philippines screened an amazing animated short by Mervin Malonzo (my After Lambana partner!) and shared performances by Waway Saway and the Philippine Madrigal Singers. Filipino excellence in full display.

You can also watch the full video here. Animation is by Mervin Malonzo, written by Rody Vera, with music by Chino Toledo, creative direction by José Estrella, and English translation by Phillip Y. Kimpo Jr.

I felt proud when an Italian translator approached me and said that after listening to our science fiction panel, she now feels a closer kinship to the themes Filipino SF writers are preoccupied with, compared to the SF writing from the US, which continues to dominate the market and the cultural landscape. (I share the introductory statement that I read during the panel at the end of this post.)

Science Fiction in Asia panel. L-R: Christian Benitez, Baoshu, 

Atty. Dominador Buhain from REX, Renato Tranquilino, and me!

I felt proud when MJ Tumamac (Xi Zuq), children’s book writer and head of Aklat Alamid, said during a panel of independent publishers: “We don’t follow the market. We follow what the community wants.”

While I know that the Philippines will need to “play the game” as Guest of Honour in 2025, there’s still value in listening to the whispers beneath the roar of multimillion-dollar deals, in finding the small boats sailing against the tide.

The Guest of Honour Philippines presentation at Frankfurter Buchmesse 2025 is a joint project of the Philippine National Commission for Culture and the Arts, the National Book Development Board, the Department of Foreign Affairs of the Philippines, and the Office of Senator Loren Legarda.

Tips for the 2025 Frankfurt Buchmesse

If you’re planning to attend the FBM next year, I humbly share with you some of my tips:

• People kept saying that the Frankfurt Book Fair is massive, that it’s the size of six football fields. I was skeptical. Surely that’s an exaggeration. Well, now I can say, no it wasn’t. There were some halls I wasn’t even able to explore, and we were there for five days! Be kind to yourself and wear comfortable shoes.
• They will check your bags at the entrance, so when calculating when to arrive to get to an early-morning meeting or panel, take that into consideration as the lines can be very long.
• You can bring snacks, but there are food trucks in the Agora (the open space surrounded by the fair halls) and some places where you can sit to eat and enjoy the sunshine.
• There are also cafes inside the halls, but it’s good to also step out every once in a while, to get some fresh air.
• There are spaces to sit in the halls themselves, but spaces are limited and the seats are not very comfortable. Pace yourself.
• Very important to stay hydrated. Bring a water bottle. There’s a place in the Agora where you can get drinking water, but the queue can also be quite long. (Especially during the weekend, when the event opens to the public.) Best to bring your bottle already filled with water into the fair.
• Exhibitors are not keen on lugging back their browsing copies to the airport and home, so on the last day of the fair, books are finally sold at discounted prices (50% off or more) or even simply given away. You’ll see tables with signs that say ‘Grab one, free copies’. Transactions are cash only! Save your euros.
• Your fair ticket doubles as a public transport ticket. And to answer the question that past Eliza took way too long to figure out: Frankfurt’s train stations have no turnstiles, so you don’t need to scan a ticket to gain entry. You just walk in. But you do need to print the ticket (or buy one at the station) and keep it on your person in case ticket inspectors board the train and ask to see your travel document. If you're caught without a ticket, you'll have to pay €60.

Bonus: My introductory statement at the “Science Fiction in Asia” panel, Asia Stage, Frankfurt Buchmesse 2024

While watching the latest season of the Apple TV+ show For All Mankind, where the world’s superpowers are racing to become the first to set foot on Mars, I got to thinking about where the Philippines would be in this alternate universe.

Then I realized that it is positioned exactly as I was positioned in this universe: as an onlooker, a bystander. Just someone watching the screen from the sidelines of scientific development.  

I don’t say this with envy. I’m often suspicious of techno-optimism because narratives that spring from this mindset often don’t consider social inequities and the people and lives bulldozed along the way to quote-unquote scientific achievement.  

At the same time, the idea of depicting advanced technology in a country, like the Philippines, often seen by the rest of the world as primarily a source of cheap labor, rather than a bastion of scientific knowledge, can be seen as subversive.  

I’m quoting from a young scholar, Anna Aguto of Brown University, who writes, “the depictions of technology in the Philippines can be seen as subversive as they counter racist and imperialist conceptions of the Philippines”. She is referring to the way the United States portrayed the Philippines, specifically Manila, after World War II, as underdeveloped or backward. 

In a past sci-fi panel in Singapore, I was asked, How would you circumvent sci-fi tropes in your fiction? And my answer is, I don’t circumvent them, I embrace them.

Or rather, by virtue of my position as a Filipino writer writing stories set in the Philippines and populated by Filipinos, and drawing both from my imagination and my lived experience, these quote-unquote tired tropes become fresh and new. At least that’s the hope. So I have robots in my novel Project 17, biomodification and artificial intelligence and surveillance in Nightfall, and medical experiments in Wounded Little Gods, in addition to actual wounded little gods.

Now I must point out that I started writing science fiction really young, and began publishing stories in my early 20s. I didn’t think I was being subversive when I wrote like this, I didn’t think I was opposing some major school of thought about what’s expected of a Filipino writer. I didn’t go into reading and writing with the intention of specializing, I didn’t discriminate between genres and just consumed everything. And I just wrote what I wanted.

I only felt that I was seen as being subversive in my writing when I started joining national writing workshops in the Philippines. I wasn’t a Literature major, so this came later in my life and in my writing life. The panellists’ reactions in those workshops were fascinating. If my stories were set in the more technologically advanced and highly industrialized countries of Asia – Japan, South Korea, Singapore, China – they wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. But since I’ve set them in the Philippines, they found the stories unrealistic, at times even unacceptable.

It is as if they’re saying that my imagined Philippine future is never going to happen.

(We jump into the discussion after this.)