I'm writing this text having just arrived home from a fleeting visit to the Lisbon book fair. Taking place in the coming days, this is, most likely, the national literary event that attracts the most people. On this Sunday, with summery temperatures, thousands of people let themselves be carried away through the organized corridors of Parque Eduardo VII, their eyes fixed on the different stalls. Like another ghost, I too let myself be carried away, promising myself that the next stall would indeed be the last.

Despite its size, the Lisbon Book Fair is far from being the only one in the country. Whether defined as a fair, a festival, or simply a party, it is reading that is celebrated in each of these gatherings that are increasingly frequent from North to South; reading is celebrated, yes, but also the book, the authors, the booksellers, the good deals, and the encounter between authors and readers. Perhaps therein lies the (commercial) success of these events, but there is something deeper.

I think about myself. I'm a regular at bookstores, always independent ones, the kind that, these days, have almost become places of resistance. Where the booksellers know us, where they know our tastes, and they advise and recommend some reading material. Where they know what we've already read and ask us if we liked it. Where they become close, even friends, in an emotional friendship that unites those passionate about books. That's why we feel comfortable there, in a second home, where we know we are welcome and, as such, can let time pass without ever feeling rushed to leave.

But it is the opposite that we see in these large gatherings, far from the solitude and concentration of bookstores, where the spirit seems to separate from the body while the eyes scan back covers and indexes. There, there is no isolation, and absence is complicated. But there is an impulse that leads many of us to never miss these gatherings. And in them we find all kinds of readers, from regulars at bookstores, to those who only buy something to read at the annual fair, parents who are dragged along by their children, curious people who pass by the stalls time and again without buying anything.

What will lead us all, so different after all, to want to share the same experience? Part of the answer lies in... the pleasure of the tangible In an increasingly virtual world, there is certainly a sense of community and belonging, with a hint of the need to say that one was present. In these gatherings, we are all brothers and sisters of the reading community, and there will always be at least one book there for us. Perhaps that is the main reason: the need for a shared experience in an era where such experiences are increasingly scarce.

We can still be driven by the traditions we ourselves create, whether it's eating a "fartura" (a type of fried dough pastry), as I discovered is a habit among many of the attendees at the Lisbon book fair, or something else entirely. It was, to a large extent, a "tradition" and a "book of the day" that led me to the fair today. After buying the first volume of Naguib Mahfouz's so-called "Cairo trilogy" at the 2024 Lisbon book fair and the second volume at last year's Porto book fair, I went today in search of the third volume, which I am now leafing through. A personal tradition that ends today, certainly awaiting the creation of a new one.

Let's return to this Sunday at the end of May 2026 at the Lisbon book fair. Everything is there. First of all, it's a portrait of the book market itself in Portugal, with the (few) large publishing groups represented on a disproportionate scale, with an offer that seems to encompass everything, with entire aisles dedicated to them, beautiful, clean, operational, a small industrial production line with a small army of workers dressed in full uniform. Don't think that this concentration – and the challenges it represents – is uniquely Portuguese. Today it was... An interview with the president of the French bookstores' union has been published. (representative of independent bookstores in the country) where she warned of the dangers of the concentration of the book market in few hands, to which other dynamics were added: inflation, the smaller number of readers, the international situation, increases in rents in city centers and wage increases.

And yet, right next to the major publishing houses, are independent bookstores and publishers, some sharing the same stall, with books piled high, always trying to highlight some detail that might catch the eye of a motivated reader. At these stalls, invariably more disorganized, with that healthy chaos that is more of a strength than a weakness, we can still exchange a few words with the vendors, often key players in the publishing process of the books on display and much more than just salespeople.

To a great extent, these fairs are also a unique opportunity to expose thousands of people to publishers and works they would otherwise never know. And at a time when we have several small publishers in Portugal releasing some of the most original and beautiful works in our country, this knowledge becomes a matter of public interest. A condensed portrait of the book market in Portugal, with all its difficulties, but also with evidence of its vitality and capacity for reinvention.

Today, I also saw a distinct portrait of authors and readers, with long lines for autographs in some cases and, in others, more numerous, solitary authors with anxious eyes searching for a reader who might be interested in their work. I've been in that situation before, watching dozens, hundreds of people pass by, with almost no one stopping, in a mixture of sadness and resignation. But even then, I return home with the same certainty: a book will always be a celebration.