A 1948 Murder Mystery Transformed My New Orleans Trip

One of the most important items on my packing list is a good book—a specific kind of good book. Every time I go on a trip, I make sure to find a work of fiction set in my destination. Occasionally I’ll pick one up before I depart, but at other times I’ll ask for a recommendation at a local bookstore after I arrive. The end result is always the same: I feel as though I’ve stepped inside the story.

Reading fiction set in the place you’re traveling to is a surefire way for two incredible things to happen. You get an especially immersive reading experience, and your trip is enriched by what you’ve learned while reading. Maybe you’ll recognize a local landmark that just appeared in your book—or you might impress your fellow travelers by knowing about the history of a particular neighborhood. It’s all part of the fun.

On a recent vacation to Lisbon, Portugal, I brought a copy of Chris Pavone’s Two Nights in Lisbon with me. It’s a thriller about a woman’s husband being kidnapped in the heart of the city. (Admittedly, this was not the most relaxing choice for a solo trip.) The main character stays in a hotel close to Praça do Comércio, much like I did. For another trip, I looked forward to visiting Judy Blume’s Books & Books store on Key West. When I asked for a recommendation for historical fiction there, a bookseller pointed me in the direction of Chanel Cleeton’s The Last Train to Key West, which transported me to 1935, when Henry Flagler’s Overseas Railroad was pummeled by a devastating hurricane. Flagler also built Key West’s Casa Marina, the historic hotel where I’d been staying.

My autumn trip to New Orleans, however, topped all of my literary travel experiences, thanks to Frances Parkinson Keyes’ Dinner at Antoine’s, a 1948 mystery novel partially set inside the city’s landmark French-Creole restaurant. Now out-of-print, the book, a bestseller in its day, follows a group of dinner guests searching for answers after one of them—an unhappily married beauty!—dies. I read half of the book before my trip and planned to read the second half there; I needed to see how the Antoine’s in my head compared to the real thing. Plus, I wanted to walk out with a vivid setting for the rest of my reading experience.

On a weeknight in October, I saddled up to the bar at Antoine’s in the French Quarter, ready to experience 1940s New Orleans. I ordered a Sazerac and Oysters Rockefeller, a dish invented there, and chatted with the bartender about the book I was enjoying so much. He invited me to explore the restaurant’s private rooms and mentioned that one of them had an original copy of Dinner at Antoine’s on display. Moments after I paid my tab, I joined an unofficial tour a waiter was giving to a small group of visitors. The maze-like series of more than a dozen private dining rooms was dripping in regal glamor; I ogled glimmering chandeliers, gilded molding, and rows upon rows of antique portraits, not to mention a long, narrow wine cellar and the famous book encased in glass.

I took a detour to marvel at—and linger in—the crimson-red 1840 Room, where the titular dinner takes place. I could easily picture the characters seated at the table, donning their evening gowns and tuxedos. At the time, I hadn’t guessed the culprit yet, but entering the story in this way almost made me feel like a detective. My case, it turns out, was not the murder mystery I’d been reading, but the Creole customs, food, and traditions of New Orleans’ culture. My immersion into a ‘40s version of the French Quarter underscored a much richer appreciation for the place I was visiting. In the end, I did eventually guess the murderer correctly—and I’d like to think my own dinner at Antoine’s was to thank for it.