New Orleans is a city of intense contrasts. Luxury automobiles speed down cobblestone streets while gaunt-looking carriage horses pull tourist-filled wooden street carts down asphalt boulevards. Scantily-clad beauties prance casually across the portico of historic churches while greasy, dirty, poorly-clad, unshaven men loiter on street corners that are briefly visited by smartly-tailored bride grooms walking to their wedding ceremony.
The St. Louis Cathedral, centrally located in Jackson Square with its memorable architecture and historic past, is an anchor for these contrasts. Pedestrians intermingling activities congeal with the trolley car ramblings. Local artists display the electric, neon portraits along the rod iron fence that encases the sedate statues of the past.
Jackson Squares’ stark contrast continues with the indiscriminate shops that frame it. These stores, that are occupied by conversant proprietors, are the true keepers of the historic encounters of the culturally diverse attitudes of N.O. Their presence is often muted by the glaring tunes of the French Creole street bands and spontaneous Cajun lyrics and rhythm of homegrown tunes.
One such shop owner was at her designated position the festive afternoon I and my friend entered the subdued, unpretentious book store located at 624 Pirates Alley. This quaint literary boutique offered a welcome respite from the auditory and visual assault offered by the festive revelry of the weekend entertainers of Jackson Square.
The wizen, literary proprietor rose from her patine-covered chair as we entered the book store. I asked the rhetorical question – “Is this really a William Faulkner book store?” Her eyes twinkled and the corners of her mouth revealed an understanding smile as she slowly inhaled the idea. “Yes. He actually rented these two rooms in the early 1900’s while he wrote the novel Mosquitoes.”
She graciously conducted a tour of the quaint, cozy rooms with an easy, yet grand, sweeping of her arm as she circled the room. The space was compact so we completed the tour without leaving our initial stance.
Faulkner’s literary collection was audaciously displayed in the middle of the rooms yet they seemed to consume the entire shop by their understated prominence. The sparse book store quickly appeared scanty in trying to contain Faulkner’s substantive collection of literature.
After reviewing the assortment of Faulkner publications, I chose the book entitled – Mosquitoes, an in-depth description of people in isolation relating to each other in an unpretentious manner. The book was not bedazzled with jewels or inscribed with quaint tourist logos but it was a treasure for me. It filled up my senses of sight and sound much like eating a warm, toasty beignet from Cafe’ Du Monde Original French Market Coffee Stand fills up the sense of taste and touch – they are both delicious.
