Books about the famous and the fascinating

Letters from before the flood
Rob Walker wrote "Letters from New Orleans" (Garrett County Press, $13) as a celebration of the city where he and his girlfriend lived for three years. In the wake of the city's evacuation after Hurricane Katrina, it would be easy to read it as an elegy, to a place and a way of life that may never return, not as it was. Somehow I think Walker, and the New Orleanians he writes about, would rather it be read still as a celebration.

The slim book is exactly what its title says: Letters Walker wrote, and distributed online, as he discovered the charms and quirks of his new city. It starts slow, and you never really get to know Walker or his girlfriend (who never gets a name, just "E"). But once he delves into New Orleans' culture and character, you're reminded why the city is such a treasure. (Although he feels he must diss such cities as Seattle, Boston, San Francisco and others in the process, hmmph.)

It's easy to find foreshadowing of the Katrina devastation: The second page of the book mentions hurricane danger, and later, Walker takes a walk on one of the cities' levees. He also doesn't shy away from discussing the city's omnipresent poverty, and discusses the surprising election of Mayor Ray Nagin, who became the devastated city's face in the storm's aftermath, literally begging for aid. The seeds for the hurricane's aftermath were all there, if one had known to look.

Sure, much of the book focuses on the city's well-known customs and charms, from fried poundcake to jazz funerals. But Walker doesn't give just the tourist bureau's view of the Big Easy. He's as mystified as any non-local would be by the many Mardi Gras Krewes and balls, and blunt about how the city is not one that can afford such an aristocracy. He relates the story of the crumbling Desire Street public-housing complex and the few families who still refuse to leave it. Yet he himself is dumbstruck when a visitor pronounces New Orleans "a very segregated city."

It's almost impossible for one person to get a complete view of the city, and Walker certainly doesn't provide that. But the city's personality shines through, and reminds us why, in the words of the old song, we now know what it means to miss New Orleans.    —G.F.C.

Through a glass darkly
The legend of Jimi Hendrix, unfortunately, has collapsed over time into a play in two parts. In Act One, Hendrix sets his guitar on fire and plays “The Star-Spangled Banner.” In Act Two, he dies of a drug overdose two weeks before Janis Joplin.

“Room Full Of Mirrors: A Biography Of Jimi Hendrix” (Hyperion, $25) represents an effort (though certainly not the first) to flesh out Hendrix’s life. From his unsettled youth through his days as an Army paratrooper and his brilliant but brief period of heavy public exposure, Charles R. Cross (who has also written about Kurt Cobain) provides a detailed account of a complicated history.

Ultimately, the book is a little too gauzy and self-consciously lyrical in its treatment of Hendrix. It isn’t quite brave enough to let readers draw their own conclusions, frequently making the mistake of giving a piece of information — particularly an unflattering one — and then explaining how reaction to it should be tempered by other things we already know.

Still, Cross has written an accessible and readable story with an abundance of input from people Hendrix knew. It’s not the most balanced biography, but it’s worth reading nevertheless.    —L.H.

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