Joesph Langdon

Eye of the Story

Close Reading: Writing American Cultures

In reading Writing American Cultures I felt compelled to look at the way different narratives are brought to the literary table through the author’s writing. This compulsion stemmed partly from the nature of our program, and partly out of a larger desire to explore methods of contextualizing personal narratives within a larger framework of shared history. Coming from this direction, I decided to delve deeply into a passage from “Lived-In Experiences of Architecture in New Orleans”, which I felt layered multiple narratives in such a way that they informed each other, painting a much larger story than could be told from any one point of view.

On page 235, in a passage entitled “Open Air Warehouse”, Curran writes, “The Open Air Warehouse is an example of architecture employing methods of structural ventilation by the inclusion of large open windows near the roofline and an open entryway where two people can sit and have a conversation. Responsible ventilation practices create a breezy environment in the Open Air Warehouse, where a constant air of tobacco and sawdust is not only bearable, but somehow romantic and life-giving.”

This passage starts by painting a picture of the structural image of the building Curran is interested in. She focuses not on providing an surface overview of the layout or look of the building, but rather immediately hones in on the feature she (as a pacific northwesterner in New Orleans) finds most notable, it’s remarkable ventilation system. She points out what makes this building unique, what gives it a life of its own. I would also note that she has set the stage for the reader’s conceptualization of the conversation to come.

“Omar’s warehouse, a place where wooden windows and ancient doors come to vacation. They lean on each other in massive shelves awaiting his caresses. Someday Omar will take them out of the Open Air Warehouse and put them back into the vacant orifices of historic homes. Air flows fluidly through the neat stacks of material on sabbatical. The passionate Moroccan carpenter moves past the shelves admiring his favorite guests. I follow behind, mesmerized by ornate slabs of functional cypress wood.”

Here Curran shifts the attention of her narrative from the life of the building itself to the life it contains. She has begun hinting at the more personal stories that live within the Open Air Warehouse, while still maintaining her focus on the functionality of the building. She begins to paint a picture of its inhabitants, one of which will play a much larger role in the structure of this passage, a role that will require us to look at Omar with much the same eye that she does, for the conversational nature of the piece to work.

“While the breezes circulate the air within Omar’s warehouse, his memories become active and colorful. ‘It was the gay community in here,’ he says, recalling the height of his historic restoration career in the late 1980s and early 1990s. ‘They come and they buy a lot of houses in the French Quarter, and the Marigny.’ These people possessed the imagination and the money to invest in the restoration of the Creole cottages, double gallery townhouses and antique shotguns that populated the fatigued historic neighborhoods of New Orleans. ‘It was like ninety-seven percent were gay people. There wasn’t no straight. Straight people, they don’t pay.’”

Three paragraphs into the passage Curran makes the move from the architectural and professional functionality of the Open Air Warehouse, to the personal and historic memories of its inhabitant. She chose to frame Omar’s recollection in such a way as to call attention to his nostalgia and connection to the space and city (calling to mind a much larger narrative). The recollection itself informs the reader of the historic context in which the building stands; a context that is shown through the lense of the one who lived it.

“It comes down to a lavish purple story. There was a man named Art who entrusted Omar with the complete artistic restoration of a decayed historic building. It was a massive long open room. ‘I would say at least eighty to a hundred feet long, maybe more. It was the whole length of the building. He wanted me to paint it purple; In Art’s community, competition to create beautiful interior environments in the exhausted antique buildings was fierce. Life was being pumped into the old buildings of the Vieux Carre and Marigny neighborhoods with a sensuous vigor not seen since the original construction of the hohouses. ‘You see, when you go to your friend’s house, and he have this beautiful house, your house have to be nicer!’ Omar remembers. ‘It was all show-and-tell, but in the meantime, it’s working for the economy, it’s working for the city of New Orleans.’

Curran separates here, for just a moment, from the warehouse, delving headlong into another story of another building. We might feel lost, were we not already anchored into the warehouse’s breezy entryway, listening to her and Omar speak. The narrative in this paragraph is tied to the recollection and reverie of the previous one, but this opens the door to a story much more personal than historical. No longer am I hearing about the building, but the community surrounding it. In this moment I can catch a glimpse at the larger culture surrounding the buildings discussed in this piece– I get a closer look at how the people who live in these buildings live in these buildings. It is in this paragraph that I begin to see what Writing American Cultures is trying to show us in its unique narrative ethnographic approach.

“Omar painted the room the deep shade of purple requested by his customer. Satisfied, Art began to hang silky drapes over the delicious walls. ‘That room start looking beautiful, like you are in Heaven. Gorgeous’”

This small paragraph provides a lot in terms sensory imagery. Deep shade. Silky drapes. Delicious walls. At the peak of the story Curran doesn’t want us to make judgements or conclusions; simply to sit there with her as she listens to Omar talk about his work. She draws us in with the pleasant sonorous contrast of her easily imagined words, then she goes in for the coup de grace.

“The memory of total sensual transformation colors Omar’s story, recalled from the central bunker of his sheet metal and aluminum warehouse. Purple paint drips through the air, and I can almost hear the old windows and doors laughing with pleasure. Maybe they will take part in such a revitalization of space, opening and closing at the hands of ornate artists, who call out from some deep well of fashionable bounty to mystify walls of old.”

Curran draws us in from the rich imaginings of Omar’s revitalization and guides our attention back to the Open Air Warehouse. For just a moment we hold the simultaneous image of both buildings, and the almost anthropomorphic personality they seem to share. Then the doors close, we are no longer sitting on a porch in New Orleans, rather we are left with the reflections of Curran, which in a distinctly wistful tone, somehow manages to parallel our own.