I've found that New Orleans is a place that is difficult to describe. I know I've said that before, but even after living here for six months I struggle to put this place into words that I feel will really do it justice. It's much better to just come see it for yourself.
One part you can't see for yourself, though, is Hurricane Katrina. You hardly even hear the name here, really. There's no need. It's just The Hurricane. The Storm. The Flood. As far as storytelling in New Orleans goes (there's a lot of that here), time seems to be split in two: there are the things that happened before Katrina, and those that happened after. It doesn't take long, still, to find the spray painted X's that remain on all too many houses, constant reminders of someone(s) that had to leave more than six years ago and never made it back. But we can't really see it, or know how it felt. Despite the fact that New Orleans does at times feel like home now and will forever hold a part of my heart, I've just been here for half of a year, and I'll be gone after another five months. No matter how many people I talk to or how many stories I hear, I will never ever truly understand what it was like and what this city, her people, and much of the Gulf Coast have been through. Sure I can tell you that the water came up to the light switch in my house, but I wasn't the one that saw it rise. I'm not from here. I wasn't there. I will never know. It makes me nervous to write about reactions to the storm, even, because I am terrified of unintentionally misrepresenting or minimalizing what happened to this city and the region surrounding it.
So, instead of saying more about it myself, for now I just want to offer two book suggestions that share varying perspectives on the days and years leading up to, during, and following the storm. No judgement here if you're not into it, but if you'd like to read more from the people who were here, check them out. The subject matter is obviously difficult to read, but both volumes also offer small glimpses into the resiliency of this city that I have come admire so much.
The first is Dan Baum's Nine Lives. If you've talked to me much at all about New Orleans, you've probably heard me mention this book already. While the author is not a native New Orleanian himself (he got to know the city as a reporter for The New Yorker), he chronicles the lives of nine people with various ties to New Orleans, in the context of a timeline that starts with Hurricane Betsy in 1965 and moves through Katrina and the days that followed. Baum takes countless interviews with the nine main "characters" and others, and crafts them into pages of narrative. He takes small liberties here and there but still, from what I know, provides accounts that are on the whole an accurate portrayal of events. I read Nine Lives before I arrived in New Orleans, and even being mostly unfamiliar with the city it was incredibly powerful. And now that I have found a relative familiarity with street names and neighborhoods, I find myself interpreting accounts of Katrina through an entirely new lense.
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| Brief bios of the nine main folks in the book can be found here. |
The next literary suggestion I offer is Chris Rose's 1 Dead in Attic. As the title and book cover imply, it is blunt look at the aftermath of the storm, this time from the eyes of one New Orleanian journalist. (While Rose isn't "native" in the born-and-bred sense, he'd been in town for more than 20 years when the storm hit.) The book itself is a collection of short essays by Rose that were originally published in The Times-Picayune. This account offers the perspective of a New Orleans resident faced with the challenge of reporting on the dire condition of his own decimated home town. Standard journalistic objectivity goes out the window, and although the author's own home didn't flood, his words make it painfully clear that Katrina deeply affected every single New Orleanian regardless of the physical damage sustained by his or her belongings. To read the November 2005 article for which the book is named, click here. The image at the beginning of the article displays just one example of spray paint markings used by rescue crews, some of which are still visible on houses across the city. I'm not quite finished reading this one yet, but I can already tell you it's worth a read if you're interested in a glimpse into the immediate aftermath of Katrina.
As I was reading some comments on 1 Dead in Attic, one reviewer stated: "The storm is not over, and recovery of the entire Gulf Coast will take somewhere between ten years and infinity." Although that comment was posted more than a year ago, that minimum estimate of ten years is still more than three years away. And just to imagine infinity...that the road to recovery may never end. As heartbreaking as that is, I'd believe it. That hurricane and the flood that followed are forever an enormous part of this city's story. I'm quite sure that road to recovery still has many miles yet untraveled, and there is still plenty to be done. But I have also found New Orleans to be such a vibrant and beautiful place, and I am quite sure she won't be giving up any time soon.
In a display of the character that is so unique to this city, Chris Rose writes: "Dear America, I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana. You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard. We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't." Cheers to you, New Orleans.
Love,
Allison.
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