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Books Louisiana through a loving lens
LOUISIANA
FACES: IMAGES FROM THE RENAISSANCE Photographs by Phil Gould Text
by Jason Berry Louisiana State University Press, 152 pages,
$39.95 |
REVIEWED By RAYMOND A.
SCHROTH
Some years ago -- it may have been in New Orleans -- a charming
young woman told me at a party that one of her family had murdered Huey Long.
She just thought Id like to know; and she was right.
One of the charms of New Orleans during my 10 happy years there
was its intimacy -- I mean the proximity of legendary and newly famous scenes
and people who, in another context, we could only read about. I could bike with
a student friend along the Mississippi all the way to the battlefield at
Chalmette, tracing Andrew Jacksons steps, or do long runs through the
ancient oaks of Audubon Park, or jog by the Garden District home where
Jefferson Davis died or the house from Walker Percys The
Moviegoer. I could bump into Albert Finney on the steps of the Columns
Hotel and invite Richard Ford or Jason Berry to talk with my writing classes at
Loyola U.
My Louisiana was both narrowly focused, on my journalism classes,
and occasionally broad -- Mass in the New Orleans city jail cell block; retreat
at the Jesuit novitiate at Grand Coteau; a visit to the Louisiana University
Lafayette, and the state prison at Angola in the steps of Sr. Helen
Prejean.
But Louisiana was and is a two-faced society. The famed
Louisiana-born CBS-ABC TV commentator Howard K. Smith was convinced that its
big easy lifestyle condemned it to perpetual mediocrity. In
national surveys, Louisiana consistently leads the nation in political
corruption (which local people find amusing), illiteracy, infant malnutrition,
child poverty and environmental pollution.
Photographer Phil Gould and writer Jason Berry know this, but they
love the place nonetheless. They see the state in the midst of a cultural
renaissance inspired by three forces: the civil rights movement; its religious
heritage; and, above all, the chemical interaction of a variety of cultures --
black, French, Spanish -- that they call creolization, with its
effulgence of poetry, fiction, folk music, jazz, cooking, sculpture and so on,
making a bayou backwater an artistic hub.
Jason Berry is best known as a muckraker, author of the classic
exposé of pedophile priests, Lead Us Not Into Temptation, but he
is at heart a cultural historian, author of books on civil rights, American
Indians and jazz. He would rather celebrate than condemn, and Goulds
camera has a loving lens. This beautiful volume introduces famous and
less-known artists and writers who make Louisiana, if not Paris or New York, an
exciting, creative place.
The volume has three elements: a narrative survey of the artists
and their work; Faces, photos of prominent musicians, chefs,
politicians and so on; and full page essays on renaissance stars -- like Nilo
Lanzas, the Nicaraguan painter, who depicts O. J. Simpson, Saddam Hussein and
Al Capone together in hell.
From time to time, the books logic limps. According to the
prologue, they wanted a gallery of images to suggest the settings and
themes of cultural identity. So historians Stephen Ambrose and Douglas
Brinkley and novelist Richard Ford, because they are local national figures not
writing about Louisiana, dont fit. But retired congressmen, ex-governors,
and the current mayor get full-page portraits, though their only contribution
to the arts is that, as types, often corrupt, they give novelists
raw material to exploit. And Robert Olen Butler, whose stories about the
Vietnamese in New Orleans and Lake Charles in A Good Scent from a Strange
Mountain are among the best Ive read in years, merits a picture, but
not a paragraph.
But so what? The fun of doing your own book is you can put in it
what you want. I might as well tell a New Orleans chef how to season his
dirty rice or intrude my fiddle into a Cajun dance band. Better to
enjoy the good things we have.
We see Fats Domino, 72, father of four sons and four daughters, in
a yellow sport coat, in front of a sofa designed as a pink Cadillac tail-finned
rear end, living simply and obscurely, attending Mass and shaking his head at
the decadent antics of the Jerry Springer TV show.
I am reading Ernest J. Gaines 1993 book A Lesson before
Dying, about a young black Louisiana teacher in 1949 who has been asked to
teach dignity to an ignorant black boy about to be executed for a murder he did
not commit. In Faces, Gaines, 67, leads us through the cemetery of the
False River plantation where he grew up. He cannot find the grave of the aunt,
the model for The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman (1971), who raised
him while his 16-year-old mother worked in the fields.
The aunt was crippled and crawled all over the floor like a
child because that was the only way she could move. She pushed herself on the
ground so she could pick pecans. She washed our clothes and cooked our food.
Never once did I hear her complain about her condition.
Gaines is not offended that her grave is unmarked:
Shes there, still part of me, with the others.
Jesuit Fr. Raymond A. Schroth is the Jesuit community professor
of the humanities at St. Peters College in Jersey City, N.J. His e-mail
address is raymondschroth@aol.com
National Catholic Reporter, August 10,
2001
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