By MAREN MEINHARDT
The Boston Book Festival is now in its seventh year. From its inception, it has attracted enticing and high-profile writers – Orhan Pamuk delivered the keynote address at the inaugural event in 2009; since then, speakers have included Bill Bryson, Amartya Sen, Joyce Carol Oates, Siddhartha Mukherjee and Salman Rushdie.
This year’s event – a concentrated, high-energy affair taking place around Copley Square in the Back Bay area – was opened by Margaret Atwood. The talk had been sold out for months – the woman standing next to me and scanning the pews in the Old South Church sanctuary for a place to squeeze in confided that she had bought her ticket back in July.