Three weeks ago, we were treated to a report on a very
bizarre book reading by Kaye Gibbons. Between the news of such an entertaining—albeit unorthodox—reading and my interest in Southern women writers, I was quickly planning a trip to Ms. Gibbons’ next stop in my area.
Chapter #1The Gibbons tour bus does not stop in Baton Rouge. (I’d hoped our fair city could capitalize on the effects of Katrina and draw some of the normal New Orleans events. Forgive me, but BR needs the literary activity. Apparently the planners of book readings do not agree.)
Chapter #2 The next easiest (not closest, but easiest) city to travel to on the Gibbons tour was Jackson, MS. And joy of joys, the date was during the
Mississippi Dixie National Livestock Show and Rodeo, a social and cultural "must" for all good Southerners who appreciate healthy livestock and deep fried oreos (I saw both with my own eyes.) Since I, too, annually join the thousands on pilgrimage to this mecca of sorts, I was thrilled at the possibility of catching both the reading and rodeo (not to mention a church basketball tourney also in town) all in the same weekend. However, travesty of travesties--I discovered that the reading was on Thursday, not Friday. No can go.
Chapter #3 Ms. Gibbons (or her appointed staff) next chose a Sunday reading in Pass Christian, a coastal city in Mississippi still reeling from Katrina. I was willing to forego my beloved Sunday nap to race to the beach between services for the reading , but alas, my birthday festivities took precedence. Who can say no to crawfish ravioli and ice cream birthday cake? But no problem, I thought. I was scheduled to spend the night in New Orleans for work on Monday, and so was Ms. Gibbons. Her tour web site promised a 6 pm reading at Beaucoup Books.
Chapter #4After leaving work twelve minutes later than planned, forgetting my purse and having to go back to work, and finally getting on the road forty-seven minutes later than planned, I still managed to arrive in haze-shrouded New Orleans a few minutes to six.
The details at this point become confusing. I like to blame mapquest and google maps for faulty directions. I also like to blame the fact that many street signs in New Orleans are missing since the storm. I also like to think that perhaps the bookstore had to change locations because of Katrina. (Anything but admit that I dropped the ball.) The long and the short of it all is that I arrived at the corner of Magazine and Jefferson per Mapquest’s instructions, only to find no bookstore.
Chapter #4Not all direction-givers are created equal. We walked a couple of blocks, and trust me when I say there is no such street address as 5414 Magazine Street. This next detail will I know be traumatic for the male readers out there, but I did something crazy. I asked for directions.
Chapter #5The first person I asked had never heard of Beaucoup Books. What a faith-booster.
Chapter #6
The second person I asked pointed me west. We walked a block. Nothing. (Be advised, however, that Uptown has a beautiful new Whole Foods Market juxtaposed to the tiny shotgun-house boutiques lining the historic street.)
Chapter #7Third time’s a charm. The third person I asked knew the bookstore.
Problem: the bookstore is a few miles away “past the Popeye’s and in the same building as Utopia.” It is now 6:24 p.m. (Note: Book reading scheduled for 6:00 p.m., and if anything like previous report, will be over in a prompt half-hour.) But at this point, I’m determined to find the bookstore just to prove the point, reading over or not.
Chapter #8Dog outgrow the chewing stage, miracles happen, and I eventually locate the illusive bookstore. Beaucoup Books is, in fact, located at 3951 Magazine Street, a few miles from our original directions.
Problem: There are only two other cars parked on the street. We approach the tiny book shop, and our worst fears are confirmed: a small sign announces that the store hours have been adjusted due to Katrina and Mardi Gras. The store is closed. What’s more, the sign says the Kaye Gibbons reading has been moved to Latter Library, which I have never heard of. There is no phone number. It is 6:39 p.m.
The EndAt this point, I affect a Marlon Brando “Stella!” moment in the middle of Magazine Street. No, not really. But it would have been appropriate. Instead I silently resigned myself to the thought that the best of life’s adventures come as a result of plans gone horribly wrong, aka poor mapquest directions and ineffectual bookstore advertisings. My co-worker thinks the whole adventure was the grander for it and can't wait to tell her husband Fred. We settle for an exciting dinner at Stake & Ale and chalk one up to “better luck next time.”
The Moral of the StorySo you’ll not get to hear the Gibbons follow-up report from me. But suffice it to say, you’ll thank me later if this teaches you to call ahead when attending out-of-town book readings.
