(Formerly the journal of Poppy Z. Brite. Trying on a new name for size.)
"Dispatches from Tanganyika" is a reference to one of the incomprehensible editorial letters John Kennedy Toole received when he was trying to sell A Confederacy of Dunces (my favorite book of all time). "[W]hen someone like yourself is living off from the center of cultural-business activities, with only a thin lifeline to that center, through vague and solitary contacts, everything gets disproportionate, difficult to analyze, to give the proper weight to. It is like those odd people who turn up in New Zealand or Tanganyika or Finland, writing or painting masterpieces –- they have their own power, but they read or look as if the artist has had to discover the form for himself. They don’t have the assurance of worldliness and mutual interest and energy with others." I'm not sure the editor realized New Orleans was, in fact, part of the United States. (I'm not sure New Orleans is, in fact, part of the United States.) Ever since I read this, the word "Tanganyika" has been linked in my mind with the attempt to write fiction about the New Orleans that really exists, rather than perpetuating the fantasy.
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You can e-mail me at funkyegret (at) yahoo (dot) com, but please be advised that I hardly ever answer e-mail, not to be snobby, but simply because my chronic back pain and sciatica have worsened over the years to the point where I can scarcely find enough energy to do even the things that keep body and soul together. This is also why I stopped doing public appearances (book signings, cons, and such) in 2007.
As I have earlier said, the thing I love about New Orleans is that it tends to be deserted, and there you may find peace. It is in the quietude, the deserted streets, the green and eccentric palms. Shortly after five o'clock the business district is deserted, and you won't find a person on the streets, except for one fellow in a seersucker suit. He will be walking slowly down Gravier Street, smoking a cigar. Tending his own garden.