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Loading... The House on First Street: My New Orleans Storyby Julia Reed
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Amazon.com Product Description (ISBN 0061136646, Hardcover)Julia Reed went to New Orleans in 1991 to cover the reelection of former (and currently incarcerated) governor Edwin Edwards. Seduced by the city's sauntering pace, its rich flavors and exotic atmosphere, she was never entirely able to leave again. After almost fifteen years of living like a vagabond on her reporter's schedule, she got married and bought a house in the historic Garden District. Four weeks after she moved in, Hurricane Katrina struck. With her house as the center of her own personal storm as well as the ever-evolving stage set for her new life as an upstanding citizen, Reed traces the fates of all who enter to wine, dine (at her table for twenty-four), tear down walls, install fixtures, throw fits and generally leave their mark on the house on First Street. There's Antoine, Reed's beloved homeless handyman with an unfortunate habit of landing in jail; JoAnn Clevenger, the Auntie Mameālike restaurateur who got her start mixing drinks for Dizzy Gillespie and selling flowers from a cart; Eddie, the supremely laid-back contractor with Hollywood ambitions; and, with the arrival of Katrina, the boys from the Oklahoma National Guard, fleets of door-kicking animal rescuers and the self-appointed (and occasionally naked) neighborhood watchman. Finally, there's the literally clueless detective who investigates the robbery in which the first draft of this book was stolen. Through it all, Reed discovers there really is no place like home. Rich with sumptuous details and with the author's trademark humor well in the fore, The House on First Street is the chronicle of a remarkable and often hilarious homecoming, as well as a thoroughly original tribute to our country's most original city. (retrieved from Amazon Fri, 24 Apr 2009 07:58:10 -0400) The first test round has been closed. Visit the Open Shelves Classification group for details. |
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Perhaps it's a flaw in my character, but when someone has the regular services of a maid, and said maid's extended family when throwing cocktail parties for 100, and has a handyman (however drug-addicted) on call, when that person can buy a mansion in the Garden District that has a dining room which holds a table seating twenty-four and proceeds to renovate that mansion with extravagantly expensive materials, I find it difficult to summon up much sympathy when she complains about the costs she's incurring. Nor, when the house is left nearly unscathed by Katrina, can I empathize with her worries about her jewelry and whether her champagne will be ruined by the heat.
It's very odd, because Reed seems like a generous, warm-hearted, fun-loving person, the kind of woman I'd probably like to hang out with. But there's a disconnect that I can't quite fathom between that person and the one who has to keep bending over to pick up the names she's dropping. And that irritated me to the point where I simply could not enjoy her book.