When the award-winning poet, who also happens to be an eminent London publisher, declared, “You have made Edinburgh the template for the rest of the world to try to imitate”, we blushed becomingly and passed over the used fivers in the brown envelope. In truth, though, he was far from alone. Authors appear to fall peculiarly in love with (and sometimes at) the Edinburgh International Book Festival, as do audiences. This is the biggest festival of its kind in the world (more than 700 events in 17 days this summer), fuelled and fed by ardent demand. We had more than 215,000 visitors last year. Writers, mighty and modest, fêted and unfamiliar, flock to our festival from all parts of the planet.

All our authors have been chosen for a reason: invited for their vivid ideas or vivifying words, for useful provocation or ravishing of the soul, and because I passionately believe they have something to offer within the rich and interconnecting resonances of our carefully constructed programme.

Yet why are they so extraordinarily eager to come? It is unlikely to be for the weather. It is hardly because we are the only available option.

When we began, back in 1983, there was a tiny handful of serious literary festivals in Britain. Now there are hundreds, the number ceaselessly snowballing. Writers and publishers — and punters — are spoilt for choice.

What then makes this festival distinctive, beloved, even? Edinburgh itself is, of course, a factor: the festival city par excellence, a city built on books, the first Unesco City of Literature in the world — a permanent and pioneering designation in which we played a leading role.

When the late Dame Muriel Spark came to the festival in 2004, for what would be her last leave-taking of her home, she wrote: “Edinburgh is a city of books and learning, open to all knowledge. The stones speak.” Our festival, in the geographical and intellectual heart of the city, in a beautiful green garden in a Georgian square of perfectly proportioned elegance, epitomises that spirit, that openness.

This is a deeply democratic festival. All are treated with the same respect. We abhor celebrity nonsense and ivory towers. This is a highly participatory festival, political and argumentative, benign and buzzing.

We think very carefully about the spaces and means by which we bring people — authors and public — together.

Openness must also, crucially, mean openness to other cultures, other languages, other literatures. This festival, rooted deeply in its place, looks out to the world and brings it in to our garden.

Internationalism is integral to who we are, what we do — there will be authors from more than 40 different countries this August, more than ever before, leading us out of our habitual zones, our lazy Anglocentric ways. Our garden then becomes a global crossroads as well as a carnival.

If that is a template to be imitated, well and good. Join us in our glorious meeting place of the mind.

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