A storytelling case study in cultural programming
What makes a writer hesitate to publish their first novel? And what makes a cultural programmer turn that question into a theme adopted unanimously by a cultural diplomacy consortium of decision makers at the EU Delegation in Algeria?
This is the story of how a Jane Austen movie, a friend's secret doubt, and a quiet curiosity became the central theme of the Euro-Maghreb Writers' Encounters in 2016.
But first, let me introduce you to a close friend – a young Algerian writer.
I have watched The Jane Austen Book Club more times than I can count. Not because it is a masterpiece. Because I enjoyed the fact that all the protagonists were central to the story. At some point, each of them could be inspired and supported by Jane Austen's books as if it were a form of group therapy. They questioned the meaning behind each story – where love, family, friends, and society tie around us like a spider's web, leveraging and compassing our decisions and paths.
That movie gave me the desire to read Jane Austen's books. Thus I discovered that Jane Austen's first published novel was Sense and Sensibility in 1811, followed by Pride and Prejudice in January 1813, which firmly established her reputation. Although she had drafted Pride and Prejudice much earlier (1796–1797 under the title First Impressions), it was only published after she had already entered the literary scene with her debut work.
That detail lodged itself in my mind.
Years later, a close friend – a young Algerian writer – handed me a digital copy of her first book. It had won the President's Prize (Prix du Président de la République Ali Maachi du 1er roman) at the 2008 Algiers International Book Fair.
I could not stop reading it. When I finished, I asked her: "Are you planning to publish it?"
Her answer surprised me. Despite numerous proposals she had received, she decided not to publish it. She was already writing another novel.
Why? The first novel felt too personal. Too raw. Too uncertain. She did not answer that question. But perhaps someday she will return to it, and we will know why.
She has since published several novels and continues to write and thrive. Her first book remains a quiet testament to a moment of hesitation overcome.
I thought of Jane Austen again.
Then I thought: What if this is not rare? What if this is a pattern?
Now let me share the obstacle, not just the result.
At the time, I was working at the EU Delegation in Algiers as the person in charge of cultural diplomacy affairs, coordinating cultural activities with the 18 EU member states represented in Algeria.
The Euromaghreb Writers' Encounters – a literary dialogue between European and Maghrebi writers held during the Algiers International Book Fair (SILA) – used to evolve around political themes. But with the EU Ambassador at the time, Marek Skolil (whom I truly appreciated working with), we wanted to move into raw literary topics and themes.
There was a big challenge with this kind of book culture encounter: the books were missing.
Most of the European writers invited to the event were unknown and unpublished in Algeria (Arabic and French are the main languages read in Algeria). How could we make the dialogue real without giving the book itself a central place?
I believed then – and still believe – that the philosophy and psychology behind literature can and should be the pillar of our discussions. That kind of dialogue is meaningful and inspiring. It can fill the gaps of absence and distance by considering the human philosophy and psychology of writing. It crosses borders and generations. It brings all of us together, no matter who we are or where we come from. Universal and timeless subjects elevate intercultural dialogue, revealing the interstices of our shared humanity.
I walked into the weekly meeting with the cultural representatives of the 18 member states.
"What if we talked about our first novels?"
I advocated for the opportunity to bring together young and established writers and publishers – which was the first time ever.
I shared my suspicion that every writer – and every reader – has a relationship with "the first" novel that is complicated, intimate, and rarely discussed.
Then I proposed something bold. "Nos Premiers Romans" with three perspectives: the first novel we read, the first novel we write, and the first novel we publish.
For the audience, the first novel we read resonates deeply. It becomes a great catch.
Each member state has its own cultural priorities, sensitivities, and expectations. Unanimity is rare.
But it happened.
Would established authors want to talk about their vulnerable first steps? Would publishers reveal their selection criteria?
The 18 member states approved the theme unanimously.
The writers came. The publishers came. The audience filled the room.
Writers talked about inspiration, about fear, about doubt, about the strange courage it takes to publish a first book. Established authors spoke alongside debut writers. Publishers revealed what they look for in an unknown manuscript.
A few months later, we made it happen. And it was a success.
At the back of the room, I thought again of Jane Austen. And of my friend – that young Algerian writer.
She has since published several novels and continues to write and thrive. Her first book remains a quiet testament to a moment of hesitation overcome.
The theme "Our First Novels" was not just a program. It was a recognition that every writer – even the most successful – once stood where first-time writers stand today. Vulnerable and hopeful.
And every cultural programmer, too, takes risks on ideas that come from somewhere unexpected.
— Wahiba Ghanem
Algiers, 17 May 2026