Reflecting on The Savannah Book Festival

The Savannah Book Festival, a week of hoopla that welcomes thousands of readers and a coterie of talented authors, is an occasion not to be missed.

This year, daughter Tamela, her husband Nick Maxim, and I were there the 8th of February 2026, at the Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Ascension on Wright Square in beautiful downtown Savannah, where I had been christened, confirmed, and married a long time ago.

As we had done in years past, the three of us, plus our darling friends Yvette Acuff, Elizabeth Millen, and Holcombe Smith, were fellow worker bees.

We were given $5.00 food vouchers and yellow-ribboned lanyards that, with our obligatory white shirts and black pants, made us official.

There were two venues at Ascension: Fellowship Hall on the ground floor and the 450-seat sanctuary, on the second floor, where we were assigned.

After “doing our usher duty,” with everyone properly seated and every pew filled to the limit, we retreated to our reserved places in the back of the sanctuary.

Stacey Abrams was to be the speaker, her book Coded Justice.

Born on December 9, 1973, in Madison, Wisconsin, she earned a Bachelor of Arts from Spelman College, a Master of Public Affairs from the University of Texas, and a Juris Doctor from Yale. She has spent her career in public service.
Ms. Abrams has published books: fiction under the pen name Selena Montgomery and nonfiction works, including Our Time Is Now and Lead from the Outside, both New York Times bestsellers. A children’s book, Stacey’s Extraordinary Words, was released in December 2021.

She promised to be most interesting and was.

In 2024, John Berendt, of the controversial Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, was on the program.
In 2025, there was Scott Turow, author of Presumed Guilty.
But in my humble opinion, nobody, not a single author at any of the festivals, no matter how famous, was better than Dorothea Benton Frank when we saw her on Saturday, the 18th of February, 2017.

She was a delight. Casually dressed, wearing sling-back pumps and a rock of a diamond ring, she told us, an entranced audience, how she managed to move back home to Charleston, to Sullivan’s Island, and why she started writing.

Her husband, Peter Richard Frank, was an investment banker, and she worked in the apparel business. They lived the American dream: two children, a home in Montclair, NJ, and successful careers.

But memories of pluff mud between the toes and soft island breezes and the rustle of palmetto fronds and laughing with dear friends over sunset cocktails nudged midnight dreams. Her family home on Sullivan’s Island became available in 1992 when her mother passed away. Dottie wanted it. Listed at $180,000, Dottie needed $149,000 to clinch the deal. Richard was agreeable. “Fine,” he said. And then came the kicker: “If you want your mother’s house, you need to get off your fanny and buy it yourself because I’m not going to spend my money to sit down there and listen to your crazy family tell the same stories over and over again.”

And she did. She wrote a book, Sullivan’s Island, then another and another, one a year, 20 books. And she got her Sullivan’s Island home. Not her mother’s home. She missed that one, but another at 2424 Middle Street.

Pat Conroy called her “The Dotted One.” She called him “Fat Boy.”

Devoted fans call her one of their favorite Southern writers.

I thought about her on this Saturday afternoon, yes, I did, as I seated people in Ascension’s sanctuary.
She was special.

Annelore Harrell’s journey is a tapestry woven with fascinating experiences and extraordinary accomplishments. Even at 92 in 2025, Annelore’s energy and zest for life continue to inspire. Annelore Harrell’s story is a testament to living with passion, resilience, and an unquenchable thirst for adventure.