38 KRISTA A. THOMPSON

also bills his book as "a valuable record of the way things were" and "a
celebration of the work of this elite cadre of photographers who created the
images that made the Bahamas famous" (9-10). The producers of these
publications reintroduce these images as a visual history of the islands to
local audiences (as is suggested in their use of the collective "we" and "us")
and visitors.
 These books base much of their claims of historical accuracy or
transparency on the simple fact that they use photographic picture postcards,
subscribing to the belief that the camera never lies. They work under the
assumption that because they feature photographs, these images picture or
document "the way we were." The Bahamas in Black and White, in the very
title, invokes both its use of photographic images, but also elicits a more
colloquial understanding of "black and white," as something that is clear,
documentary, and conclusive. Many of the titles point to the inclusion of
photographic materials by way of description, but they also index, by
extension, the images' historical accuracy.
 Unsurprisingly, given these documentary claims, several authors interpret
the picturesque society featured on postcards as visual evidence of the
"better days" of colonial rule. Yates, for example, lauds the images in Bygone
Barbados as visual documents of the orderliness of Barbadian society in the
colonial era: "These photographs give us a wealth of information, they show
a well ordered, law abiding, church going and diligent island... with robust
commerce, many gracious buildings, schools and churches ..." (emphasis
mine). The "well-ordered" image of the island she detects in the photographs
is precisely the picturesque ideal makers of touristic representations had to
project of predominantly black societies to attract hesitant travelers to the
tropics.
 Some authors designate and celebrate the sites pictured in the cards,
particularly the places that epitomized the ordered tropical landscape, as
historically important. In Nostalgic Nassau, for example, Shelley Malone and
Richard Roberts lament the disappearance of the Royal Victoria Hotel's
gardens. They express sorrow that, "[t]he once splendid exotic gardens are
gone and sadly she awaits her demise. Ah ... but, thanks for the memories
dear lady" (46). In regard to a postcard of Victoria Avenue, another crowning
example of an ordered tropical landscape and ode in appellation to the British
Empire, they comment, todaydy unfortunately [Victoria Avenue's] charm is
gone, and it more closely resembles a parking lot" (27). They view their project
as a way to preserve the past: "Before the best of old Nassau is completely
forgotten, the authors hope to create an affection for the good (or bad,
depending on your point of view) old days" (1). Many of the sites and buildings
they cite as historically valuable are those that were designated as such in
early tourism campaigns. Generally, the books position both the societal
order and the physical sites (sights) long treasured in the visual economies
of tourism and reinscribe these myths and spaces of touristic importance as