Catherine Hanrahan’s debut novel Lost Girls and Love Hotels is the story of a stranger in a strange land. The stranger is Margaret, a young woman who teaches English (or English pronounciation) in a stewardess school and the strange land is Japan.

On surface this could be the story of any 20-something searching for identity, salving old wounds with sex and drugs. Dig a little deeper, however, and you see that there is much more than meets the eye. Like most young women who have absent fathers, distracted mothers, and emotionally disturbed siblings, Margaret thinks she is running away, but what she really is doing is finding a way to save herself, looking for love (albeit in all the wrong places), and soothing herself with drugs and sex. She is, after all, still trapped in childhood; an adult who still sucks her thumb in order to fall asleep.

When Margaret’s lover, Kazu, asks her why she came to Japan, Margaret responds, “To be alone.” Of course, he finds this response odd, and so she follows up with, “It’s an easy place to be alone.”

Is this book specifically about life in Japan? Could it not have been set anywhere? I would argue the latter, as it seems to me the message is universal. Anyone who has ever felt as though she were running away, will see herself in this book. Anyone who has lived on an edge waiting for death, will also. And those who have been lost and found–those who have lived despite all of the odds against them (instead of being the unfortunates whose remains are later found), will find the ending triumphant.

In a way, life in Japan destroys Margaret (and almost kills her) and as such, it allows her to be reborn:

I stand like a planet, the constellation of seeds radiating from me, spilling from my pockets. I see, as if for the first time, the quality of the air. Bluish light filtered through it. The sun, like a yolk hanging languorously behind the trees. The air with its giddy bite of anticipation. I breathe it in like anesthesia, but it doesn’t put me to sleep. It wakes me up.

Claudia Smith reads her exquisite story “Possum” on Tothworld. Next week, I will be recording one of my stories for podcast there as well.

Susan DiPlacido interviews the rebellious Robin Slick over on her blog.

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FRiGG issue #14 is luscious and live. Strap yourself to your desk chair and get ready to read some of the best fiction and poetry online.

In case you haven’t been following Kevsville‘s unfinished stories project–the idea is to present something that you started but never finished (for whatever reason).

Anyway, today my unfinished story is up: #32 Untitled and Undressed

I’m delighted to learn that two of my favorite writers–Katrina Denza and Theresa Boyar–are among the finalists for the Storyglossia Fiction Prize. Congratulations to all.

If you do use Duotrope, then I hope you will consider making a donation soonish as they are in the red zone for this month–donate HERE.

If you are a writer who submits work and you’ve never heard of or used Duotrope, then you might consider it, as it is certainly one of the best resources I’ve found for market information.

AGNI is hosting a reading by Australian writer Girija Tropp next week. I’m planning on attending. If you’re interested, here are the details:

Tuesday, October 24, 2006
6:00-8:00 PM
AGNI’s offices at Boston University
236 Bay State Road, in the basement
(Green Line “B,” BU East stop)

Girija is an interesting writer and human being. Her story, Song of Giants, was in the issue of SmokeLong Quarterly, which I guest edited.

Xujun Eberlin is one of the most passionate writers I’ve ever met. She works hard and she writes beautifully. You read her work and it’s difficult to believe that English is not her first language, as she puts so many of us whose first language it is to shame with the elegance of her prose.

And now, I’m so proud to announce that she has a new home online. Please take a minute or two to visit her beautiful new web site: www.xujuneberlein.com

It’s s gorgeous Saturday morning in my spot of New England. It seems we had a frost last night and this pleases me because now I can plant my spring bulbs.

Here’s some good reading for you while you sip your coffee:

Issue five of NOÖ journal is live, featuring such fabulous prose as:

Eyes, by Kathy Fish

Ticket, by Claudia Smith

Crystal and Gold, by Avital Gad-Cykman

Garbage, by Antonios Maltezos

Elsewhere:

Dave Clapper gives a thoughtful interview

Katrina Denza has an interesting conversation with author Robert Vivian

Last but not least, if you’re in the Philly area on October 22nd, I urge you to attend the Steel City Reading series and check out my friend Randall Brown who will be reading.

Started reading the Summer 2006 issue of The Missouri Review last night (by the way, they’ve redesigned their web site–looks great, much friendlier UI). I skipped ahead to the interview with Sven Birkerts and, as usual when I read what he writes/thinks, I was not disappointed.

When discussing his experience with depression, Birkerts said something that felt at home for me:

But what I found, very early on, was that I did not feel quite so bad, so strange, if I was reading a book, or if I was writing something on paper. Something about the act, the apparent dissociation, was in fact a mode of connection, short-circuiting the loneliness.

And on the current state of literature and whether it’s worth it for writers to keep writing:

Of course it is, but only for all the right old reasons, because writing makes sense of the world, it intensifies the inner life, it matters (though to fewer and fewer) and it stands a chance, still, of influencing the world, however minimally.

It’s a lovely, thoughtful interview. I urge you to get a copy of the journal and read it for yourselves.

When we went to bed last night there was no power. An electrical storm came through and around ten it sounded as though a transformer had gotten zapped. The dog was on the bed; he’s scared of loud noises.

At some point in the night, he got off the bed. Then when the storm started up again, I woke to find his snout stuffed in my face. He was on the floor next to the bed. I told him it was okay, go back to sleep, etc.

I fell asleep thinking of a story I wanted to write but when I woke up this morning, it was gone. Thoughts like storms passing through, zapping, moving on, leaving you washed clean in the morning.

The driveway is a sheen of wet leaves.

I subscribe to one of those word of the day things–today the word is concinnity. It’s not a word I’d heard before but I like it. According to the dictionary entry, it’s used mostly in regards to literary style–elegant in design, arrangement.

How does one achieve concinnity? Lots of work, revision. Thinking, thinking. This post lacks concinnity.