91 Books Like The French Quarter

When I first read Interview with the Vampire (I was 12), I was struck by how Anne Rice made darkness beautiful. The mood, the grief, the sensuality—it all felt so rich and strange and alive.

I didn’t just want to read about Louis and Lestat; I wanted to live inside that shadowed world, however painful. The power of her vampires was alluring, even as their sadness confused me. How could being immortal be such a torment?

This book taught me that supernatural fiction could be poetic, philosophical, even transcendent. There’s a reason this novel endures.

It made me want to write stories where beauty and horror dance together in candlelight.

I came across this book as a young teen and was riveted by the colorful, behind-the-scenes depiction of Mardi Gras in New Orleans, as well as the intimate stories of three generations of star-crossed lovers.

The characters were so well drawn that they seemed real, as if they must have loved and grieved, lived and died, as given. I felt as if I had walked the streets of the city and could recognize the places described.

I was also impressed by the Author’s Note detailing Keyes’s exhaustive research; reading it allowed me to accept the story as being as true to its place and time as possible. Years later, I followed her fine example, adding an Author’s Note with research details to my own books.

Though a seventh-generation Louisianian, I was born and raised in the northern portion of the state. When I decided to write about early New Orleans, I realized deep research would be required. The first book my local librarian recommended was Saxon’s Fabulous New Orleans.

I was enthralled, not least because I discovered he was also not a native of the city, though he lived in the French Quarter for many years and was instrumental in preserving many of its historic buildings from demolition.

With a style that immediately draws you in, this book is filled with pageantry and grandeur, personality, and rich detail, which makes researching the Vieux Carré a pleasure rather than a chore. 

I love old photographs. Nothing else is as exact or reliable when it comes to studying a time and place for research purposes. Whether it’s the long-ago appearance of a particular street or building, the design of a wrought iron balcony, the style of an antique ballgown, or the setting of a mausoleum, the details are all there.

Huber’s book contains over a thousand entries. Not only are photographs shown, but also photographed copies of drawings, paintings, and portraits that predate the invention of the camera. They depict famous landmarks but a vast selection of people as well, from servants and street vendors to the highest society. Each picture is carefully described and, where possible, dated.

I’ve spent many happy hours paging through them, often forgetting what I intended to find.

This book provides an intimate look at Storyville, the legal New Orleans red-light district that operated in a grid of streets nestled between St. Louis Cemeteries no. 1 and 2 near the French Quarter from 1897 to 1917.

Although the book is a bit dated (it was published in 1974) and includes a few wild and unsubstantiated stories about certain historic New Orleans personalities, such as Marie Laveau, this mostly factual volume is a fascinating and detailed portrait of the "District," as Storyville was often called, and the colorful, sometimes tragic stories of the people who lived and worked there.

Poker is an American game—maybe the most American game—but an Englishman elevated it into something literary: in 1981, Al Alvarez, a poet, editor, and critic best known for introducing the world to Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes, traveled to Las Vegas to chronicle the World Series of Poker. His deceptively breezy account of the larger-than-life characters who played a card game for nosebleed stakes inspired a new generation of players to discover the world’s hardest way to make an easy living.

No list of Las Vegas entrepreneurs is complete without Bob Stupak, the marketing mastermind who successfully sold many tourists on a visit to Vegas World, a small casino at the far northern end of the Las Vegas Strip. 

The self-described maverick challenged the more established Las Vegas casinos throughout his career, culminating in the building of the Stratosphere Tower which now anchors the Las Vegas skyline. His story mingling success and failure is skillfully told here by a titan of Nevada journalism.

I bet it’s because I lived on a houseboat for ten years that this hilarious book grabbed me by the sea legs and never let me go. Nothing tickles my funny bone more than a group of people who have nothing in common and are thrown together on a boat out to sea but going in circles.

The antics of this ship of fools on a gambling boat who are seemingly clueless as to the ship’s nefarious real business make for a madcap tale of side-splitting laughter. 

I loved this book because Penelope is supposed to be a means to an end, but she ends up being Bourne's everything.

Bourne wants revenge. He believes that his happiness lies in recovering the land that he foolishly lost in a card game. Penelope proves to him that regaining his legacy is not enough. She helps him rediscover the man he would have become if he hadn’t lost everything that mattered to him.

When he lets himself love her, he chooses to abandon his quest for revenge so he can be worthy. Bourne is an absolute sweetheart by the end and is completely devoted to his wife.

This is Auster exploring all the themes he’s well known for now, and crafting them into a beautifully absurd almost surreal tale. Not strictly a noir book this has a protagonist struggling with his place in the world and his identity, whilst getting drawn into situations out of their control—all tropes which are seminal to the genre. 

Auster’s first book released under the pseudonym Paul Benjamin, called Squeeze Play, is a more typical crime, or pulp noir. And it's easy to see his blend into literary fiction whilst holding the noir handles close for The Music of Chance.

Often writers start out literary then a genre attaches itself. Here, Auster appears to have hit big by penning a commercially aimed work, then shifting back to where his core themes ring out.

I’m a huge fan of these themes he’s so good at; stories within stories, back-tales of characters,… show more.