My Vibe book review: McCaffety's The Majesty of the French Quarter
A nascent book reviewer, I last formally critiqued a literary work_a short story_in high school, an uncomfortable undertaking at the time.
Now I'm inspired by two events to share my book vibe: my discovery of the present book and my launch of the present blog. I hope you'll let me know your own take on this and any other books you happen upon that inspire your voice. Look for more of My Vibe book reviews in the future.
Kerri McCaffety's The Majesty of the French Quarter (Pelican, 2000) is, in a word, a gem. It is a well-stocked book of photography and related text on the archtecture, interiors, and courtyards of New Orleans' French Quarter. The majesty is as much in McCaffety's sensibility as in the subjects of her photographs.
My first turn through The Majesty_I immediately knew it would be far from my last_was simply moving slowly from photo to rich photo, only infrequently sneaking a look at the accompanying captions and text. Next time was for absorbing both together, all the better to savor the texture of the photos. Merely opening the newly acquired book's first page dictated how I would spend, coffee in hand, my Saturday's morning. And then afternoon.
The photographs are sharp and grand at the same time, straightforward, beautifully shot and reproduced. It is clear even to my untrained eye that McCaffety is most accomplished at her craft.
The book's layout is engaging and fresh, the page design excellently suited to the material. One particularly seductive series appears on page 76, where eight photos, representing all of two subjects, move gracefully from top to bottom and from side to side. While the caption to the page calls attention to "166 years of weather and ruin," I come back to the images again and again and see vibrancy.
Only occasionally do I get trippped up by a photo that seems overly staged (for example, the studio shown on page 73). On the contrary, a number of images show slight imperfections in detail, such as the side table whose carefree branch-like legs poke into the fabric of the side chair's skirt. I embraced this artistic (intentional?) hiccup for its ego strength.
At first I failed to react to the several images of shuttered windows and doorways. But as I took in the essence of the book, I understood these photos' deliberate utility as emphasizing the contrast between what is seen on the street by the public and what is lived by the habitue.
While many of the scenes evoke a lived-in grandeur, a few images take the breath away for their stark recall: the shadow of a lamppost against a terra-cotta-scarred wall (p. 44), the ornate wrought iron facing burial vaults in states of varying upkeep (p. 65).
These are the types of photos I've always wished I knew how to take. They nudge themselves off the page and into the consciousness with precise angles and clean, exacting color. (McCaffety's profile and accomplishments can be seen on her Web site, http://kerrimccaffety.com/.)
As for the text, it is more than serviceable. It shares only the necessary information, but not in an abrupt or artless way.
One final, sweetly wistful note on McCaffety's illuminating book about a city that has been done to literate death: I'm a big fan of storms (with all due regard to those who endure horrific natural disasters like Hurricane Katrina), and perhaps my favorite photograph in this collection is one of the few taken on a rainy day. The photo on page 12 looks out a gorgeous, dark wood French door with a fan window above to the drenched paved courtyard of the Williams residence, a less-than-cheerful reflection of a table lamp staining a pane of glass in the door, a more-than-hopeful guard of charged green foliage lining the perimeter.
Here's to good literary vibes.
Now I'm inspired by two events to share my book vibe: my discovery of the present book and my launch of the present blog. I hope you'll let me know your own take on this and any other books you happen upon that inspire your voice. Look for more of My Vibe book reviews in the future.
Kerri McCaffety's The Majesty of the French Quarter (Pelican, 2000) is, in a word, a gem. It is a well-stocked book of photography and related text on the archtecture, interiors, and courtyards of New Orleans' French Quarter. The majesty is as much in McCaffety's sensibility as in the subjects of her photographs.
My first turn through The Majesty_I immediately knew it would be far from my last_was simply moving slowly from photo to rich photo, only infrequently sneaking a look at the accompanying captions and text. Next time was for absorbing both together, all the better to savor the texture of the photos. Merely opening the newly acquired book's first page dictated how I would spend, coffee in hand, my Saturday's morning. And then afternoon.
The photographs are sharp and grand at the same time, straightforward, beautifully shot and reproduced. It is clear even to my untrained eye that McCaffety is most accomplished at her craft.
The book's layout is engaging and fresh, the page design excellently suited to the material. One particularly seductive series appears on page 76, where eight photos, representing all of two subjects, move gracefully from top to bottom and from side to side. While the caption to the page calls attention to "166 years of weather and ruin," I come back to the images again and again and see vibrancy.
Only occasionally do I get trippped up by a photo that seems overly staged (for example, the studio shown on page 73). On the contrary, a number of images show slight imperfections in detail, such as the side table whose carefree branch-like legs poke into the fabric of the side chair's skirt. I embraced this artistic (intentional?) hiccup for its ego strength.
At first I failed to react to the several images of shuttered windows and doorways. But as I took in the essence of the book, I understood these photos' deliberate utility as emphasizing the contrast between what is seen on the street by the public and what is lived by the habitue.
While many of the scenes evoke a lived-in grandeur, a few images take the breath away for their stark recall: the shadow of a lamppost against a terra-cotta-scarred wall (p. 44), the ornate wrought iron facing burial vaults in states of varying upkeep (p. 65).
These are the types of photos I've always wished I knew how to take. They nudge themselves off the page and into the consciousness with precise angles and clean, exacting color. (McCaffety's profile and accomplishments can be seen on her Web site, http://kerrimccaffety.com/.)
As for the text, it is more than serviceable. It shares only the necessary information, but not in an abrupt or artless way.
One final, sweetly wistful note on McCaffety's illuminating book about a city that has been done to literate death: I'm a big fan of storms (with all due regard to those who endure horrific natural disasters like Hurricane Katrina), and perhaps my favorite photograph in this collection is one of the few taken on a rainy day. The photo on page 12 looks out a gorgeous, dark wood French door with a fan window above to the drenched paved courtyard of the Williams residence, a less-than-cheerful reflection of a table lamp staining a pane of glass in the door, a more-than-hopeful guard of charged green foliage lining the perimeter.
Here's to good literary vibes.
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