The Sound of Building Coffins

Interview by Carlos Detres 

Poppy Z. Brite said Louis Maistros‘ novel was “easily one of the finest and truest pieces of New Orleans fiction I’ve ever read.” Since I’m prone to write some of the most cliché stories about my favorite city, I decided that, man, oh man, I had to have this novel and let my mind explore the  real New Orleans. 

Although the novel’s subject is very different from 100 Years of Solitude, one can read The Sound of Building Coffins and achieve a similar, bewitching feeling. The book weaves the complex and beautiful elements of New Orleans with mysticism and history. Just as in Marquez’s most notable book, I began to read Maistros’ again..from the beginning. 

Here, Louis and I discussed the contents of his book and what influenced it. 

1. The title is very provocative. What does it mean to you? 

It started as a joke that wasn’t very funny, sort of a gallows humor moment between my wife and I. 

In 2002, two major hurricanes—Isidore and Lili—were creeping up on New Orleans, one right behind the other, less than a week apart. It was a hyperactive storm season that year—but this latest one-two punch had everyone on edge. That kind of nonstop stress can either break you down or give you a nasty case of the giggles—sometimes both. On the night before Lili made landfall, we were standing outside our house, watching the wind bend the trees, and listening to the constant sound of hammering as our neighbors busily worked to reinforce windows and doors. It’s a very eerie sound, one you never get used to. We had decided not to evacuate this time, a decision we weren’t one hundred per cent confidant about at that moment, and in my resigned gloominess I said to my wife, “It sounds like the whole city is building coffins.” That analogy stuck in my mind—a variation of it eventually becoming the title of the novel. 

2. Your book takes place in the late 1800s and early 1900s, during the rise of Jazz music in New Orleans. Some of your characters actually existed, such as Buddy Bolden. How much research did you do for this novel and why this era? 

I did an absurd amount of research, to the point of obsession—though most of the book-related research didn’t make it into the novel in any recognizable way. Book research often manifests itself subliminally; by immersing yourself in a period you gain a heightened sense of familiarity that informs the characters and their surroundings in ways more subtle than you’d expect. One of the more helpful reading habits I picked up was going over old court transcripts of the era. In these documents, more than any other, I became acquainted with the naked reality of how ordinary people of the era spoke and thought. 

Some of my most valuable research had nothing to do with books. I listened to a lot of the early recordings. Really listened. I listened to the pressure and breath that went into each note, how those notes were bent or played straight ahead, I listened and detected nuances of joy and despair in the hearts of the of the musician or the singer, I listened in a way that put me in the room with the players; feeling the room’s size, its temperature, the heaviness or smokiness of the air in it. I listened so hard that I could smell the alcohol on the banjo player’s breath. I also got into the habit of visiting some of the old buildings from the era that still stand. Many of these are shuttered, but sometimes I’d find a way in, or I’d just stand outside and put my hands on the bricks until I felt I’d gained some kind of spirtual clue or base knowldege that I didn’t have before. I also looked at a lot of old photos, including crime scene photos and mugshots, like these. The eyes of these people, long gone as they are, have a way of speaking to you if you keep an open mind. 

Not all research is traditional library stuff, especially if you’re working on fiction. Research can be a type of séance, a way to mine a spirit through that human link we all share. 

3. The Sound of Building Coffins has many mystical elements, which include souls inhabiting the bodies of fish, the after life beneath the Mississippi River, and the bewitching effects of Buddy Bolden’s trumpet. Why did you approach the novel this way? 

For me the idea of a soul inhabiting the body of a fish isn’t anymore mystical than that of a soul inhabiting the body of a human. I’m not saying that the idea of rebirthing an unborn soul into the body of a catfish isn’t an outrageous idea, but the larger absurdity does seem to be the intermingling of spirituality with flesh and blood in the first place. I mean, if you aren’t a religious person, how in the world would you explain that? It occurs to me that the artistic method—be it music, literature, visual or other—may be our best chance of ever getting answers to those types of questions. So, when writing, I try to delve into these deeper human mysteries, hopefully in a way that is more fun and interesting and less preachy. 

Louis Maistros

4. New Orleans is regarded for colorful characters many of which end up in your book. How does this compare to your city of origin? 

I was born in Los Angeles county. I grew up in Canoga Park, a suburb of the San Fernando Valley. At the age of fourteen I moved to Baltimore—from there it was on to New Orleans, where I’ve lived for the past sixteen years. 

Both Los Angeles and Baltimore are great places with plenty of colorful characters—but nothing compares to the casual departure from reality that can be found in New Orleans every day. 

One of the problems in writing New Orleans fiction is that true-life New Orleanians are often so peculiar that even the most authentically portrayed fictitious representation of them can put a person’s suspension of disbelief in jeopardy. In New Orleans, what’s true isn’t always believable. In “The Sound of Buidling Coffins,” many of the oddest characters are based on very real individuals who I’d personally interacted with in some way. The character Marcus Nobody Special is so closely modeled after an elderly street muscian/storyteller (known to me as Mr. Ike) that, in my mind, there is little difference between the realty of Ike and the fiction of Marcus. When I read back those bits of dialog now, I hear Ike’s voice. 

5. There’s a chapter in your novel, which reads like a love letter to your adopted city. Could you explain this personal message? 

I think you’re talking about Chatper Fifty-Six, The River. That was one of the very few parts of the novel that was written after the big storm of 2005. The chapter was a love letter, but also a thank you note and a get well card. The city has always been a place where people have come to reinvent themselves, to find a new start. New Orleans itself even began that way, its original population consisting mainly of hardcase prisoners and other social rejects. When I first came to New Orleans in 1994, I was in a rock bottom state of mind and the city helped me through that. When I began writing the novel in 2000, I meant for it to be, in part, a grateful look at that cycle of hope and rebirth, that tendency to transform lost souls. Or, as it says in that chapter, “Here is where miracles come up from mud.” 

Some people are surprised to learn that the novel was written prior to Hurricane Katrina, but the city has always had this miraculous gift for regeneration. The Rebirth Brass Band had its name many years before the big storm hit. 

6. You’ve written jazz music into your book unlike anyone else. It factrors prominently in the exorcism of certain characters. Could you explain the influence of Jazz in your book? 

Thank you. I don’t think you can talk about New Orleans history without talking about jazz. Jazz is more than just a symbol or product of New Orleans culture, it is a kind of embodiment of our spiritual reality. New Orleans has always been challenged by hard times and struggle, but it has always managed to improvise its way through these seemingly hopeless situations by harnessing its collective passion for life. Sometimes that passion is born of joy and hope, sometimes it’s born of tragedy and despair. That is jazz, but it’s also the blues. Jazz isn’t just a type of music, its an expression of necessity. When I wrote the novel, those basic principles of rhythm, melody and improvisation were always in play. I couldn’t have told the story otherwise. 

Typhus Morningstar was based on this face.

7. The hurricane in the story actually happened. I felt the addition of the hurricane was a statement about Katrina. What message did you hope to get across? 

Actually, the hurricane in the story is made up—a combination of details from other storms of the era. To be very clear, the hurricane element of the story was in place well before Hurricane Katrina. Although I did add a few sections after the real-life storm, most of the storm-related content in the novel was actually removed after Katrina. The original manuscript was much longer, and much of what was cut out dealt extensively with the storm theme. After Katrina hit, a lot of that stuff felt inappropriate or exploitive. It made me uncomfortable, so I trimmed out some of the more difficult scenes. 

Remember, before Hurricane Katrina, fear of the so-called “Big One” was a daily part of our lives. Many of us didn’t think it would come during our lifetimes, but few of us were very surprised when it did. So the fact that the hurricane was written into the novel well before Katrina shouldn’t be too surprising. 

8. Why did you choose Buddy Bolden’s inclusion as a character? 

Buddy Bolden is a perfectly mysterious and mythologized figure in New Orleans and jazz history—and so he is perfectly suited to fiction, I think. There has been much said about him, but few actual facts are known. The great jazz historian Donald Marquis wrote what is probably the most definitive book about Bolden, but it is a thin volume, mostly dedicated to debunking falsehoods. There are so many holes in Bolden’s true story that will never be filled—it seemed an obvious choice to try to fill some of those holes with the kind of poetry that can be found in a novel. 

9. You wrote the book, revised it, and sent it off. What did you expect and are you surprised by the general critical praise it has recieved? 

I didn’t have any realistic expectation that it would be published, and was even somewhat fatalistic about that. I had totally accepted that the book would probably be just for me and a few close friends. The strangest part of being published was the realization that this very private part of my life—an imaginary world that previously existed only in my head—was now being read by thousands of strangers. I still have a hard time grasping that concept. 

Yes, the positive reviews have been surprising. My favorites are the ones where the reviewer has clearly “gotten” what I was trying to put across with the novel. There are some elements of the story that run so deeply and personally that I’m pleasantly surprised when others make a connection to them. These are the moments when I feel the book has really succeeded in some small way. 

10. How has your life changed since the release of your novel? 

Nothing has really changed. If anything, my perception of myself as a writer has altered—just a little bit. Before, writing was a lark. No one expected me to do it, or even wanted me to do it—there was no pressure, good or bad. Now there are people who would like to know what I’m working on, when it will be done, what it’s about, etc… It’s very nice that there’s interest, but now I’m worried about whether the next one will be as good as or better than the last one—things like that. It’s a little bit harder to enter that private creative world when there are expectations attached. Still, I’m very grateful that people are interested in my work at all. I understand that the bottom could drop out very easily 

11. Do you have any new projects in the works. If so, what are they? 

I’m working on a new novel called “Holy Meaux.” It takes place in New Orleans, 1963, and is about a bible-thumping, piano-pounding, junkie-pimp who gets wind of the Kennedy assassination before it happens and tries to stop it. Also, there are crows in it. Lots and lots of crows.