New Orleans Redux No. 2: Asking for a possibly imaginary short story collection at Faulkner House Books

Does "Why I Can't Talk on the Telephone" actually exist?

On Wednesday, Historiola! launched its revist of “Andrei Codrescu’s New Orleans” circa January, 2001. The idea is to work through his list of 10 things a person should do in NOLA, with the idea of having some fun as well as using it as a litmus test for how much the city has changed.

After crossing off No. 1 on the list — dumping St. Louis Mississippi River water into the river here in NOLA — we’re on to the next entry:

2. “Go to Faulkner House Books in Pirate’s Alley and ask for my book, Why I Can’t Talk on the Telephone. It’s the only one of my books they don’t have and it will drive them crazy.”

John Borsden, the travel writer who solicited AC’s list back in 2001, said trying to find Pirate’s Alley was the only thing that drove him or anyone else crazy, because at the time it didn’t appear on most French Quarter maps. And, of course, we’re talking about smartphone-free 2001, when the only digital navigation available was printing out a MapQuest from a chunky-ass desktop computer and then taking that hard copy with you.

Borsden eventually found Pirate’s Alley “just north of Jackson Square, along the south side of St. Louis Cathedral, between Royal and Chartres Streets, tucked behind St. Peter Street. Old buildings, a sidewalk of old stones, big trees. It has a hint of European sophistication — even when adjacent streets start to get eccentric (around noon).”

The only part of his description that’s no longer accurate: you don’t have to wait ‘til noon for the French Quarter to “get eccentric.” We see New Orleans Possum Man on every visit, day or night. And don’t get me started on Checkpoint Charlie’s!

Having lived here a year (with Thomas making a dozen-plus visits prior to that) we already knew where to find Pirate’s Alley, though we’d never visted Faulkner Books. When Borsden stopped by, he met the bookstore poodle, Zuli, who is no longer with us. The shop (located inside William Faulkner’s former apartment, the site where he wrote his first novel, Soldier’s Pay) still has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves loaded down with Southern and NOLA-adjacent writers. But now, only six people are allowed inside at a time; I’m guessing that’s a pandemic-related policy that stuck. We were lucky to be customers numbers five and six, with the folks who tried to follow us through the door being told to wait outside.

Not wanting to be rude (it was a cold day, for New Orleans) I did a quick circuit and then asked, as Borsden did, if they had a copy of Why I Can’t Talk on the Telephone by Andrei Codrescu.

“No, but we have a lot of his other books,” the clerk said. “Like this one.” She held up a copy of New Orleans, Mon Amour, the book that started me on this quest in the first place.

The clerk Borsden queried gave him basically the same answer. For about 45 seconds, I pondered whether or not Cordrescu was pulling a prank by having folks ask for an imaginary book, and that’s why Faulkner House would never be able to stock it.

Before we slipped out, I picked up a copy of CD Wright’s last book, ShallCross, which includes a very difficult and sad long poem set in New Orleans. As we walked down Pirate’s Alley, I used my phone to look up Why I Can’t Talk on the Telephone.

So, lo and behold: it does exist. It’s a samizdat-looking little guy, published in 1971 in a run of only 250 copies. It’s a collection of AC’s stories, with illustrations by Alice Codrescu (who I’m guessing was AC’s wife at the time?). Pretty much every rare book site selling a copy remarked on the “rusty staples” holding the pages together.

Alice’s illustration for the cover features an appropriately tricksy-looking fellow, the kind of guy who might suggest you head to Faulkner House Books and ask for a book you know they don’t stock.

If you’re curious about Faulkner’s first novel, you can read Soldier’s Pay for free online, but better to buy a copy from your local independent bookstore, right? Like maybe at Faulkner House, or the nearby Arcadian Books, which doubles as human gerbil maze — navigating the labyrinth of stacks ‘n’ stacks of piled-up books is a whole exercise in staying in the moment, if only to avoid a concussion by encyclopedia set. (Here’s Thomas’s dispatch from our first, bewildered visit to Arcadian).

Next week: Our third stop, which shall remain a mystery ‘til it’s posted on Wednesday. In the meantime: happy holidays, all!