Hay Festival 2012 in Beirut: Event highlights It is fitting that we should gather in Beirut to celebrate some of the world's most exciting new literary talent. It was in Lebanon after all that what many believe was the first printing press in the Middle East was established in 1610, at the Convent of Saint Anthony of Qozhaya in the Kadisha Valley. The Qozhaya Psalter, printed in Syriac and Arabic, was the beginning of a tradition that thrives to this day: Lebanon's passion for bringing the written word to a wide audience. When the festival organisers described to me the success of its predecessor Beirut 39, I asked what the number stood for. "Gabriel García Márquez was 39 when he wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude," I was told. Others say - only half in jest - that it is because there are 39 bookshops in Hay-on-Wye, the Welsh home of this remarkable literary adventure. But here's another number designed to delight a journalist like me: in the 1940s, there were 39 newspapers operating in Beirut. Imagine the ferment of free expression behind such a rich concentration in so small a country. The influence of Lebanon's press stretched far afield, in particular to Egypt, while Beirut has always served both as a haven and a major force for Arab publishing. The city hosts two important regional publishing events each year, the Beirut Book Fair and the Beirut Francophone Book Fair. Today that literary heritage is healthier than ever. It is worth pausing to reflect on the commitment to the word as story, the word as communication, that has marked Lebanon's difficult recent history. It is no coincidence that Beirut has kept the spark of free expression alive. Even in its darkest hours, Beirut has nurtured writers and journalists. For the past year of the Arab Spring, Lebanon has been at the forefront of transmitting this amazing story. Over the next few days some of the most exciting names from the worlds of journalism, blogging, academia and literature will try to make sense of the changes that are overturning our assumptions about the Middle East, and discuss how to convey this complex story to a variety of audiences with intelligence and integrity. As a blogger, I wish I spoke Arabic enough to follow what will be a highlight when Sondos Shabayek from Egypt and Marcell Shehwaro from Syria compare notes on how social media confronts censorship and shapes political debate. In that same vein, I look forward to chairing a discussion between Jon Lee Anderson, Robin Yassin-Kassab and Asne Seierstad on the challenge of conveying wars in words. One of the themes of the week is journalism and how reporters make sense of conflict and violence. Anyone watching with concern the events next door in Syria and more particularly here in Lebanon will want to support Lebanese writers Abbas Baydoun, Abdo Wazen and Najwa Barakat when they discuss the role of writers in a sectarian society with Hala Kawtharani Yet this week's festival is about far more than recent developments. Indeed, Lebanon has little to learn from outsiders about the significance of the revolutions reverberating around us. Over three days Hay Festival Beirut will also invite exchanges on how urban spaces shape divisions and how art can bridge them; it will celebrate new writing from as far afield as the Philippines, Croatia and Algeria; fans of the graphic novel will be particularly spoiled for choice, with some of its most significant exponents here and abroad - including Karrie Fransman, Zeina Bassil and Joumana Medlej - trading views and ideas. At its heart, though, Hay is about writing, and with, among others, Paolo Giordano, Kamila Shamsie, Miguel Syjuco, and three finalists from the International Prize for Arabic fiction - Mansoura Ez Eldin, Habib Selmi and Khaled Khalifa - we are promised the secrets of bringing hidden worlds and extraordinary stories to life. Throughout we will try to capture the exuberant spirit of this enthralling city, in which religions and cultures co-exist. Beirut was destroyed seven times over 5000 years and yet it still stands. Where else would someone make an architectural feature of its recent past by putting a frame around the hole left by an RPG? No matter the turmoil, the creative life goes on. Benedict Brogan is the Deputy Edior of The Daily Telegraph