"[An] erotic, disturbing novel . . . shimmers with intensity . . . irresistible."— New Orleans Times-Picayune Hailed by reviewers as "an electrifying debut" ( Baltimore Sun ) and "perhaps the best evocation of New Orleans ever to appear in print" ( Richmond Times-Dispatch ), Yellow Jack has given Southern literature its own intoxicating hybrid of Caleb Carr, Flannery O'Connor, and Vladimir Nabokov. Russell's "virtuoso storytelling, evocative prose and original conception mark [his first book] as a significant work that we can only hope will be followed by many more" ( Chicago Tribune ). Yellow Jack is a ribald, picaresque trip through an 1840s New Orleans saturated with sex, drugs, death, and corruption. In this "luminously haunting" ( Entertainment Weekly ) portrait of decadence, daguerrotypist Claude Marchand becomes hopelessly entangled with both a voodoo-adept octoroon mistress and the erotically precocious daughter of a prominent New Orleans family. "Russell has distilled the New Orleans of the mid-1800s, the terrible fever of the title, and the savage lives of the characters into a novel of terrible beauty."— Nashville Scene
I'm the author of three novels: A True History of the Captivation, Transport to Strange Lands, & Deliverance of Hannah Guttentag (Dzanc Books, 2012); Yellow Jack (W.W. Norton, 1999), which earned me the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference Shane Stevens Fellowship in the Novel; and My Bright Midnight (LSU Press, 2010), which earned me a National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship in Prose and won the Independent Publisher Book Awards bronze medal for Literary Fiction.
My shorter prose has appeared in the Greying Ghost Press chapbook Pretend You'll Do It Again, and in several dozen magazines, textbooks, and anthologies, most recently Epoch, Copper Nickel, and Not Normal, Illinois.
A book that's all dressed up but chooses to go nowhere. Great setting (New orleans in 1845). Great premise (Daguerre's assistant steals the master's photographic process and absconds with it to Louisiana to get rich taking memento mori portraits of Yellow Fever victims). Wafer thin characters, tiresome and repetitive couplings (can anyone still write sex scenes that don't sound like "National Lampoon" parodies of same?), and decadence that would be divine if the novel had as much narrative thrust as pelvic thrust.
Decent historical novel set (mostly) in 1840s New Orleans. The protagonist is Claude Marchand, the fictional apprentice of Louis Daguerre who absconds from Paris to Louisiana with the "secret" of the new method of portraiture that he calls "soliotype." Most of the story is told from Marchand's point of view, interspersed with "academic" analysis of various daguerreotypes taken during his career and journal entries from Marchand's mistress. While many of the characters are interesting and the history pretty good, few of the characters are sympathetic (including the protagonist) and the overall story is depressing, even beyond what you'd expect in a tale set in New Orleans during frequent outbreaks of yellow fever.
It was bound to happen eventually: I arrived at my first one-star book of my 2021 Reading Challenge. Cheers to it being my one and only (a girl can dream). The synopsis and setting are alluring, but don’t be fooled. This story is a hot mess. It made me want to succumb to yellow fever. Perhaps in my misery, the meaning of this book was missed.
Dark and gritty, sexual and filled with fever, death, madness, and love and obsession. Told in three intertwining narratives. One is an art historian/catalog describing fictional daguerreotypes made by the main character and their import. One is his "octoroon" mistress which I think was closest to the truth and the other is narratives of the main character himself-Claude Marchand. The actuality of the Yellow Fever and the daguerreotype phase are real, all else is supposed and done well. Not for everyone.
Entertaining read, and as far as I know my New Orleans history, it was historically accurate (you know, within the bounds of being a fiction novel). I would have gone for four stars but it just didn't quite cross from popcorn book into "I need to buy a copy so I can re-read and share" territory. Still recommended but I don't think it'll, like, change your life or anything.
In comparison to Ragtime A Novel, this book was rather unremarkable. The protagonist is not a real character, so my googling for the portraits mentioned in the book turned up with no results.
However, one aspect I liked of this book was the amount of play Russell was able to accomplish: from the narrator who described portraits that would dictate the following action, to the secret diary entries of one of the women which provided us with factual information, to the protagonist's own thoughts which are sometimes sharply contrasting to the diary entries, making him a very unlikable character.
I think this would have been much better had the portraits mentioned been actual; if this book were made into a movie, I would want them to be created so that they come alive to resume the action of the plot.
I had long wanted to read this book after reading the cover blurbs, it was in my bookcase for a few years and I tried once or twice to get into it and failed. Finally decided to read the entire thing and thank God, now I can get rid of it. I was disappointed that it stuck so closely to the central character and story, which I found very depressing. It did not illustrate to me anything much about the history or development of the rich and diverse culture of New Orleans, other than the Yellow Jack epidemic. The interesting history of that epidemic and the advent of photography was the only redeeming thing I found in this book. I didn't find it erotic. I found it seamy. It was like spending your summer vacation slumming with a trashy crowd that you really had no interest in getting to know any better. Sordid.
Very unlikeable characters -- surprised the author got it published, given how much editors dictate what is likely to sell. I understand the theme of how documenting history and reality rarely are reconciled, but found the story not particularly compelling, though I was more tied in with it toward the conclusion.
A novel set in 1840s New Orleans, about Claude Marchand, the (fictional) apprentice of Daguerre, who steals his technology of daguerrotypes – early photographs – flees to New Orleans, and becomes rich taking memorial photos of the dead during a yellow fever epidemic. Along the way he hooks up with Millicent, a mixed-race woman who becomes his mistress, and Vivian, the young daughter of a prominent white family. The most interesting thing about this book is its stylistic conceit. The story is told through three intercut threads: Claude speaking in the first person, in which he is very obviously an unreliable narrator, frequently changing events to make himself look better; excerpts from Millicent's diary; and a modern-day academic study meant to accompany an exhibition of Claude's surviving daguerrotypes.
All I have to say is that it's a damn good thing the multiple styles are interesting, because nothing else about this book is worthwhile. Right on page one the academic study says, "Because of his constant contact with the mercury vapor used to develop daguerreotype images Marchand had lost all of his teeth and was reportedly mad for the final months of his life." so it's not a spoiler to say that Claude is increasingly a complete and total dick throughout this book. I guess going insane from mercury poisoning is a pretty good excuse for beating a young enslaved child until his face needs stitches, taking nudes of an eight-year-old, nearly having sex with an eleven-year-old, mistreating all the women in his life, and generally being an irredeemable asshole, but knowing that the author is doing it on purpose doesn't make spending two-hundred pages with Marchand remotely pleasant.
There are so many things that irritated me about this book that it's hard to decide which tops the list. Perhaps how the author continues to refer to Millicent as an "octoroon" even when he's discussing her in modern-day interviews, or the scene where a dude in the 1840s figures out mosquitoes transmit yellow fever because I guess the author didn't trust his readers to understand that people in the past don't have access to the full scope of modern knowledge, or just the overall sleazy attitude of the text, which seems to think that it's oh-so-shocking because it has (extremely mild) sex scenes and a main character who uses drugs. Yellow Jack thinks it's saying something deep about the nature of perception – can a photograph ~really~ capture the truth, or is reality dependant on the beholder? – but it's really just a few shallow ideas wrapped around the story of an equally shallow asshole.
First things first: the daguerreotypes referred to in the text of this book are entirely fictional (I supposed the fact that there are no actual plates to go with the plate numbers should have been a clue, but I presumed it was a decision made for the eBook edition of the novel). This bugged the hell out of me, to be honest, because the story is interspersed with these allegedly scholarly discussions of the subject matter that sent me looking for more information. That's time I'll never get back again.
Now, maybe you think this is a selling point ... and maybe it is. The author has so cleverly convinced the reader of scholarship that at least one person went haring off to learn more. Instead, I found that it pulled me right out of the story.
And what a story it is Claude Marchand steals his mentor's equipment and his friend's name ... and leaves Paris for New Orleans to become a daguerreotypist or, as he calls himself, a soliotypist. He has a free woman of color as a mistress, and is something of a libertine.
He becomes obsessed with Vivian, whose picture he first takes when she is an 8-year-old child ... and follows her life story from the fringes throughout the entire book. The obsession begins when he hears she has succumbed to the titular "yellow jack," as yellow fever was sometimes called ... and then survives a disease that kills many.
This is a story about civil rights, the roles of women, the history of photography, and the history of New Orleans from a medical perspective. It's well told and the characters are engaging. Still, the faux scholarship in between chapters served solely to jerk me out of the story and make it hard to get back in. You've been warned.
The story takes place in New Orleans in the 1840s. The title refers to the Yellow Fever epidemic that took during that time, and which serves as a backdrop to the events. The protagonist is a protege of Daguerre who lands in New Orleans and have a livelihood that is sustained largely by taking memorial photos of yellow fever victims. The story is told from three viewpoint: his own], that of his mistress, and that of a present-day curator of an exhibit of the protagonist's pioneering work. The first is possibly closest to the truth of the events, or maybe not, as it is likely that the artist is becoming affected by chronic exposure to the chemicals he uses. The second shows just how wrong the artist sometimes was about the events going on around him. The third shows just how wrong historians can be when making assumptions about the past based only on the relics of that past.
I would actually call this more like 3 1/2 stars. It is engagingly written. Although not perfect, it is the author's first novel. I will gladly seek out more.
I don't think of myself as a historical fiction person, but I guess I am. The pre-Civil War era of New Orleans seems very mysterious and I love when I find books about that time period. Russell gave a really good sense of place and I enjoyed reading about the way people at that time experienced death and also enjoyed the descent into the main character's madness.
Fictional book told like a biography. Kinda interesting if you're into 1840s New Orleans (Yellow Fever and racism abound!) Based on the life of an early photographer (one of the original daguerreotype makers.)
I liked how the author wove in the historical facts of the yellow fever and the early photographic medium around the characters lives. Very sad how the main character's mental state and his relationship to the other characters was affected by the heavy metal exposure developing the plates.
I thought that this tale of the Daguerreotype and yellow fever moving from Europe to New Orleans would be more interesting that it was. Parts were, but overall I didn't get into the voice or the characters. I finished it a week ago, was happy to be done, tossed it aside, and already forgot about.
Worst book of the year by far! I wouldn't have finished it if I didn't have to for class! Characters were stupid poorly written and confusing!!! How was this published I have no idea!
When I started reading Yellow Jack I knew almost nothing about daguerreotypes but as I went along I started becoming more and more interested. I think Josh Russell picked a very unique feature of the late-nineteenth century era and he combined it skilfully and subtly with all the usual New Orleans features: death, macabre, power relations, debauchery etc. The characters are figments of the author’s imagination but they seem very real, especially the protagonist, Claude Marchand.
The print version of this book probably has pictures throughout. However, the ebook did not have any pictures, only descriptions of pictures not seen so that was disappointing.
What I liked best about Yellow Jack is its exploration of how history comes down to us. In the novel he juxtaposes three voices--a first-person narrator who is obsessive and self-absorbed and slowly affected by mercurial poisoning, a woman's diary, and excerpts from an art history catalog of the protagonist's daguerrotypes (or soliotypes, as he calls them). Whose version is the truth? And what is the relationship between art and truth? Photographs present as truthful, but they obfuscate as much as any art.
Russell's prose is compelling, as is his version of New Orleans in the 1840s. But his portrayal of women grated on me. They are either seductresses or harpies, not characters. Neither of the two main female characters, Millicent or Vivian, seemed believable or whole to me. In fact, all of the women in the novel seem like pawns for the male characters to use. At the end, the novel even seems to address this: "What's to be gained by making a woman miserable?" Vivian asks, and we're told, "None of us had an answer."
I think the book-jacket comparisons with Madame Bovary and Edgar Allen Poe are a bit overblown, though perhaps not entirely misplaced. This is a creepy, disorienting psychological study. The history is well-researched and represented with lots of texture and detail. The main character manages to be thoroughly disreputable while remaining sympathetic enough that you worry for his future. I especially appreciate (1) how it painted the unique racial and cultural landscape of early 19th-century New Orleans (as it contrasted with the rest of the southeastern United States at that time) and (2) how it chronicles the early history of photography in a manner approaching sociological without hindering the narrative flow. I also love an untrustworthy narrator and a novel, à la Dracula, that tells you a story in pieces from multiple perspectives. Altogether Yellow Jack is an extremely engaging read and may even teach you some history.
I found the writing style very unique and interesting and the story was very good. Sometimes quite dark, the story shows us life in New Orleans during the time of Yellow Fever through the eyes of an early pioneer in photography. Josh Russell writers mostly from the point of view of Claude, the photographer, but he also writes short sections from the point of view of one of his mistresses and also from the point of view of a modern day historian attempting to deduce what life was like in this era from what he sees in the photographs taken at the time of the story. These different points of view are quite interesting and shows that we all see things differently and from quite different perspectives... and nothing really is as it may appear.
I picked this up in a bookstore in the French Quarter when I visited 4 months after Katrina hit. The mood was fitting...the novel is grim, dark, disturbing, and full of death and misery. Having said that however, this book grabbed me. I love New Orleans fiction especially ones set in the 1700s to 1800s. This novel revolves around the Yellow Fever epidemic which plagued New Orleans in the late 1700s and how a photographer made a living taking pictures of dead people. Great writer, great novel but you have to be in the mood for something like it.
Cool take on the frame narrative by relating part of the story through descriptions of dageurrotypes and journal entries made by the protagonist's mistress, while letting the dageurrotypist tell part of the story as he grows increasingly mad from mercury poisoning. I was left a little disappointed at the end as I was a little unsure what was true and what wasn't when reading the daguerrotypist's version. All in all, enjoyable especially the historical background regarding daguerrotypes and the Yellow Fever epidemic.
A disturbing but fascinating look at New Orleans in the early half of the 19th century. It shows a grim picture of the day and tries to be realistic without getting preachy. Obviously the moral structure of society has shifted since these days, but the author provides the reader a window and simply lets him or her decide what to make of it. Interesting use of narrative from 3 often conflicting sources, reinforcing the point that can we ever be sure what the truth is, especially when gazing back into the past.
The main character Claude Marchand seemed doomed from the start. The premise of bringing/stealing the origins of photography from France to the US was intriguing. I did like the author's change of perspective throughout the novel, because that's EXACTLY how things happen, two sides to every story. His description of New Orleans during this time period was vivid. I usually don't enjoy books that are so morbid throughout but this was definitely an exception.
"Yellow Jack" is an intense study of a man from a number of points of view. The setting is New Orleans but that is secondary to the narrative. As the central character develops his art, it slowly drives him mad. We see him through his eyes, the eyes of someone studying his work and his lover. It is compelling but not always pretty. A compelling novel that ultimately is a tragedy. Not a gentle book and not for every one.
Never less than impressively put together, but somehow bloodless and unmoving in the end. Russell writes with real beauty about New Orleans during the yellow fever, and about the early days of photography. The book has sadness deep-rooted in it, and that makes it a difficult book to finish. Would love to see what he's working on now.