Daniel Alarcón’s fiction and nonfiction have been published in The New Yorker, Harper's, Virginia Quarterly Review, Salon, Eyeshot and elsewhere. He is Associate Editor of Etiqueta Negra, an award-winning monthly magazine based in his native Lima, Peru. His story collection, War by Candlelight, was a finalist for the 2006 PEN/Hemingway Foundation Award, and the British journal Granta recently named him one of the Best Young American Novelists. He is the recipient of numerous awards, including a Fulbright Scholarship (2001), a Whiting Award (2004), and a Guggenheim Fellowship (2007). He lives in Oakland, California, and his first novel Lost City Radio was published in February 2007.
“What does the end of a war mean if not that one side ran out of men willing to die?”
“Nothing builds community like complaining.”
“Memory is a great deceiver, grief and longing cloud the past, and recollections, even vivid ones, fade.”
“What does a car bomb say about poverty, or the execution of a rural mayor explain about disenfranchisement?...The war had become, it it wasn't from the beginning, an indecipherable text.”
“They spoke of the crowds that had filled the plaza: the people, always myopic, always easy to fool.”
“Luz's manner of speaking made it clear that she had no idea what she might say next. It wasn't that she made things up, strictly speaking--only that facts were merely a point of departure for her.”
“Are you a politician?I hate politicians, he said. And, in any case, there's no such thing anymore: only sycophants and dissidents.”
“You don’t sound like a scientist, you sound like a poet.”Rey smiled, “Can I be both?”But you’d rather be a poet.”Who wouldn’t?” he said.”