I do love my rituals. Binge-watching Scandal, plus Indian take-away. Glass of Merlot while starting to read a new thriller. Post-lecture New York Best. Sunday morning espresso and newspapers. Yes, I know they all involve food or drink.

Other rituals are travel-related. One is a steak – at the same place, possibly same table – at a nondescript diner next to my hotel in Brussels. I don’t travel there often, but I’d had a lovely dinner with an ex-lecturer on my first trip to the city, so that institutionalised it as ritual.

And last November, in Brussels for the EU Prize for Literature ceremony, my steak and frites was interrupted by a phone call from the Book Council chairman, somewhat irate at my postmortem of last year’s book festival in this same column.

Truth be told, I was more upset at the interruption of my quiet dinner than anything else. So this year I decided to behave – hoping he won’t interrupt my dinner again – and, anyway, there’s plenty else to kvetch about that doesn’t involve the festival organisation machine.

The Malta Book Festival 2015 started off on the wrong foot, as it was cut short on its busiest day due to a clash with the Migration Summit. However, my misgivings and all the extra expenses and last-minute rescheduling that this entailed notwithstanding, it was a very successful edition of the festival, with great turnout, strong sales and – at least on the stand I was running – a healthy book vibe.

So it is slightly demoralising to see some of the exhibitors approaching the festival as just another bazaar sale: shoddy stands, random selection of books, 1980s throwback stand design, dismantling the stand an hour before closing time “to be home in time for tea and biscuits”.

Investing in quality is the only way we are going to lift the industry, and the festival, from the clutches of mediocrity to the spires of excellence to which we say we aspire. I shan’t get into the role of the Book Council in this because, as the lovely Italian expression goes, “ho già dato” – plus I’ve just promised not to upset the festival organisers this year.

This edition also proved, sadly, that we publishers are unable to join forces and make our collective voice heard. Perhaps it is inevitable on a small island – no wonder we’re one of the only EU countries without a publishers’ association.

There are fewer greater pleasures than advising someone on their next read after having taken the time to enquire about their tastes, latest reads and favourite authors

The book festival is, for me, primarily an opportunity to meet readers, chat about books and what everyone is reading, and showcase new titles. Which is why I try to keep a supply of wine flowing during weekday evenings.

This is possibly the only time in the Maltese cultural calendar – the wonderfully chatty Inizjamed Literature Festival in summer being the other instance – when authors, editors, illustrators and readers meet and get to chat at length and at leisure.

Whichever time of the week you visited, you’d practically always find at least one author on the stand, with plenty of book signings going on, but also authors randomly spending some time catching up with their readers.

That, to me, is a successful book festival vibe – beyond the deafening terramaxka music that, lovely and Maltese as it undoubtedly is, tore our eardrums asunder for four long hours every morning of the fair. Oops, but I’d promised no arguments this year. Ok, sorry.

This book vibe is why I prefer the weekday afternoons and evenings, to the weekend. Sure, the weekend is when sales are made and the crowds turn up but, as any serious booklover will know, weekdays are the days to visit if you want to be able to browse at leisure.

It’s also when we get to discuss our books with readers, and anyone in the trade will tell you there are fewer greater pleasures than advising someone on their next read after having taken the time to enquire about their tastes, latest reads and favourite authors. Weekends are simply too busy for that, with people, prams and pets thronging the aisles.

Five days at the festival also mean random musings during those rare quiet moments: one thing that struck me is that virtually no one under the age of 15 has a notion of flipping a book to check the price sticker on the back. For those of my generation and older, it is second nature. But I had hundreds of children coming up to ask about the price of a book, never it crossing their mind the price might be stickered on the back.

And the look of bafflement when I showed them the sticker, would be one of “why on earth would anyone put it there?” Could it be that their brains are programmed for digital, where prices are displayed online next to the item and looking behind the screen is as ridiculous to them as it is counter-intuitive?

Also interesting, I suppose, is the dearth of politicians at book festivals. You rarely see one around. And don’t give me the “we’re so busy” excuse. We are all busy, we make time. There is, of course one exception, when the aisles suddenly go aflutter with politicians of all stripes marching in: that is when there is a book launch, or event, of one of their ilk. Rest assured that the launch of the latest politico memoir or – as is the fashion now – joke book will attract an MP quota to make the Speaker of the House jealous.

In the end, what remains after the five festival days, after all the unpacking and dismantling and paperwork is done, is the high of a full-immersion experience into the world of books and reading. A glimpse into what it would be like to live in a world where books are at the centre, not the tattered periphery. That, and a major headache or a bout of flu.

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