I’ve just got back from the UK where I spent 9 days with family and on the campus of University of Leeds with medievalists—specifically, attending IMC 2023 along with 2,500 other scholars of all things Medieval. I say ‘other scholars’ with a tentative grin because—according to my conference badge—that’s what I am 😀 But I’ve never used it to describe myself.¹

The Congress

I reconnected with some people I’d met once or twice before, met in person those I’d known only through their work or online interaction, glimpsed but didn’t get to talk to a couple of Grand Eminences, and met very many fine people I’d never encountered before. In some ways it was just like going to one of my first SFF conventions: warm, collegial, confusing, busy, exciting, tedious, tiring, and delightful, with all the best conversations happening in the bar.² Also, I got lost a couple of times trying to make my way around the huge campus via accessible routes.

Having said that, I found the University of Leeds campus magnificently accessible!³ One or two steeply-sloping cobbled streets were a bit touch-and-go.⁴ But after travelling to the same venue more than once I worked out more manageable routes.

My previous experience of academic conferences is, let us say, interesting, in terms of both the level of enjoyment and the size. Some, like AWP, are huge and (from a disability perspective) horrible. Others, such as disability-studies conferences, and IONA (Islands of the North Atlantic, more on that below), are small and friendly. What IMC reminded me of most was ICFA, the International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts, which is a lovely combination of about 150 creatives (writers, artists, filmmakers) working in fiction/drama/art presenting readings and screenings, alongside a larger track of 350+ academics attending critical and academic panels, presentations, roundtables and so on covering scholarly examination of fantastic texts and other media. It’s a congenial mix.⁵

IMC felt similar but sharper—some of the academics were there to make their bones; their papers and presentations were vital to their careers. Inevitably, this meant that here and there a response from the audience might get a little…waspish when the presenter was asked a question and their answer, or lack thereof, revealed that their supposedly expert knowledge was, in fact, rather superficial. Overall, though, I was delighted with the feel of true collaboration and collegiality, the willingness to play with each other’s ideas and learn together (always my preferred mode)⁶.

I cruised the book display—very like the dealer’s room at a literature-focused SF convention—and was briefly tempted by a delicious multi-volume set from the 1920s of Arthurian texts. In the end I couldn’t a) justify the cost and b) figure out how to get it home. So I plumped for a Nick Higham book I hadn’t read before.

I attended two panels—one of Gildas-related papers and another on riddles; dipped into another panel virtually; joined one roundtable; and then did my own public event. I liked both in-person panels: Gildas is a focus of interest for me at the moment, and while I don’t know much about riddles I’ve always enjoyed them and have a possibility I’d like to explore regarding riddles and social identity. I disliked the virtual panel: not only were there connection issues but the bits that came across seemed pretty incoherent. The IONA roundtable was fabulous⁷—IONA, you are my people! And then of course had a marvellous time at my event.

The Event

The event, billed as Early Medieval Identities in Hild, Spear, and Menewood: Retelling History, was the brainchild of Clare Lees, Professor of Medieval Literature, IES Director, and Vice Dean of the School of Advanced Study, University of London. I met Clare first through the marvellous book she co-authored with Gillian Overing, Double Agents.⁸ And then again in person in London when she invited me to speak at Kings College. And then a third time in Vancouver when I gave a plenary lecture at the IONA conference. Clare knew a) that I’ve been wanting to attend IMC for years and b) everyone in the world of medieval academia. And she saw a way to bring some of her favourite people and events together, introduce us all, and—importantly—combine funding. So she put everyone in touch with everyone else, including the marvellous Marta Cobb at Leeds University who makes everything at IMC run on time and under budget. And then we all started talking. Eventually we had a workable plan: We’d do a talk focused on Identity and the Early Medieval. The introduction would be by Elaine Treharne, the questions asked by Jenny Neville and Megan Cavell and the audience Q&A moderated by Josh Davies and Matt Hussey.⁹ I’d met Josh before at King’s, and then again in Vancouver at IONA—which is where I’d met Elaine and Matt. And although I hadn’t met Megan or Jenny in person, I’d exchanged emails and blog comments with them about their work—some of it available on their Riddle Ages website.

In the most basic sense, I was very comfortable with the notion of this event. I’ve spoken to large audiences before and am used to the mix of interlocutors, readings, and audience Q&A. Bluntly, I’m good at this stuff and actively enjoy it. But—there’s always a but—I was concerned about the venue. It’s a big, 500+ auditorium with vast vaulted ceilings like a cathedral (though not nearly as pretty). The event had had no advertising, no publicity—the UK is no longer my home base so I don’t have a build-in readership the way I do in the US—and it was the last night of the conference, competing with IMC’s beloved and traditional disco. It seemed entirely possible that the presenters might outnumber the audience. It turned out I needn’t have worried. We had 80+ people and they all thoughtfully sat front and centre so it felt lively and intimate rather than scattered and sparse.

It began with an introduction from Elaine. I’ve been introduced a lot at literary events, and I’m used to for-the-public praise; it’s usually fairly superficial and designed to sell me in order to sell books—which is in the best interests of everyone involved (festival producer, bookseller, publisher, author, audience). I learnt pretty early to not take it seriously; for a writer it’s unhealthy to start believing your own publicity. So I tend to smile and just let it flow over my head. Not this time. As soon as Elaine began I realised she’d taken a lot of care—done a lot of reading, exploring my websites, and thinking. It was a masterly introduction, weaving together beautifully many different aspects of my life, career, and research, into a warm and astoundingly generous summary. A critical appraisal in miniature. And it did what the very best critical responses to my work do: it made me consider that work in a new light.¹⁰ Also, seriously cool 😎

Megan, Jenny and I had spent some time formulating the questions I’d answer. This was a new situation for all of us: they had never interviewed an author before, and I had never been interviewed for medievalists. I knew what a reader of Hild or Spear or Menewood would probably want to know, but I wasn’t sure what aspects of my work a professional medievalist might be interested in. So this conversation was collaboratively shaped. We had one Zoom call a couple of days before I left Seattle, an exchange of email, and a drink in the Union bar the night before. Most of that was just getting to know each other, learning and getting comfortable with each others’ styles. Megan also made a lovely, simple slide—the event title, the three covers of my history-focused novels, and then the logos of the event’s funding sponsors¹¹—and we all thought that would enough. Normally I don’t even have that much; I find visual capture can seriously detract from the kind of word-as-story events I do. This time, though, when I investigated the venue beforehand as part of my prep work and saw those huge—seriously, cinema-sized, and three of them—screens above the speaking area I had an idea. So the day before, working with my iPad and spotty hotel wifi, I added some brightly-coloured maps.¹²

The conversation went brilliantly, smooth as silk, as though we’d written and rehearsed it as a play. It was great—Jenny and Megan are naturals. If you’re a medievalist with a new book, or a historical novelist who wants to address medievalists, get Jenny and Megan to be your interlocutors.

I had a great time. And then we did the Q&A, ably moderated by Josh and Matt. As always I was left longing for more time—there were so many questions left unanswered. But the booksellers at the event (Steve and co-worker from Truman Books) and those in charge of facilities all had homes to go to, so we did our best to wrap on time. It did still run over a bit—there was a long line of people who wanted their books signed and to ask just one more question—but I think iti was worth it.

Conclusion

I loved IMC. I would do this again in a heartbeat. Now that I know how it works I’d do a lot more prep work:

• Look up who was going to be there
• Make a list of panels and other presentations
• Not expect to do anything outside the conference with, say family or friends
• Reach out ahead of time to schedule lunches, dinners, drinks, coffee etc. with those I want to talk to.

Even so, if previous experiences of my favourite conferences is any guide, it would still leave me wanting more.

So, again, I loved IMC. If you get the chance to go, you should. And if you do, reach out: let’s have a drink!

¹ It turns out that this conference has been a real turning point for me—many things slid into place. If you’re interested, I’ve written more about that on my personal blog: Coming Out As a Scholar.

² I had forgotten how cheap students’ union beer is. Wow. If I still lived in Leeds I’d be wangling my way onto campus every day—and might even sign up to learn something just to have that super cheap Guinness.

³ Of course, it’s likely the public conference events were sited in the most accessible parts of the campus, with the poky, steps-up only, no air-conditioning old buildings left off the itinerary. Even so, I was impressed, particularly by the number, variety, and placement of accessible parking spaces.

⁴ The bane of any wheelchair users existence is a surface that slopes on two planes at once. They’re not only exhausting to manage but given the vagaries of both gravity and wheelchair design, can lead to complete loss of control of the chair. I wouldn’t tackle those slopes without a companion willing to grab the chair if one wheel suddenly loses contact with the surface.

⁵ Especially as it’s held in Florida, in March, and most of the conversation happens at the pool bar while ibises and egrets and alligators provide colour.

⁶ No one on the planet knows everything, and, in my experience, the less willing you are to play with, even eagerly hope you’re wrong so you can learn from it, the more likely you are to find yourself walking down narrower and narrower lanes until you reach a dead end. As I explained to my nephew over a pint of Tetley ‘s (I find I’m enjoying playing Old Wise Relative 😎), I’m a huge fan of strong opinions lightly held. Especially if those opinions are well-informed to start with.

⁷ It should have been allotted more time, though, and scheduled for a less awkward hour. And then we should all have gone to the bar afterwards! I was positively itching to talk to one of the presenters about the Humber levels (related to a project I’m working on right now), to two of the other panelists about ways to connect the dots between their work, and to one of the audience, who asked a question about attitudes to landscape and nature/weather-event management, about relative infrastructure and levels of Romanitas influencing acceptance of climate/natural disaster mitigation, but I was starving and had to leave for a dinner appointment.

⁸ Lees, C. and Overing, G.R. (2001) Double Agents: Women and Clerical Culture in Anglo-Saxon England. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. This is the book that helped crack open my outdated historiography by pointing out that so many erroneous assumptions about the Middle Ages can trace their origins to Bede.

⁹ The details of how we finessed this and got around that until we had a workable plan might not be interesting to everyone, so if you want to know more, just ask in the comments.

¹⁰ See note 1.

¹¹ Which, in case the images above aren’t clear enough, included UKRI | Arts and Humanities Research Council, Institute of English Studies | School of Advanced Study University of London, and IONA. I believe IMC itself also chipped in some funds—but I’m happy to be corrected on that.

¹² Also, I love making maps and this was an excuse to show them off if they came up in the Q&A. And in fact they did—and, wow, it was pretty cool to see a map I made displayed at the same size as the side of my house…