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[Alarcón continues]... is constantly being fed by new migration from all the corners of the country. It is densely populated, poor but striving, and, of course, the city is straining to provide services to all the newly settled neighborhoods. In terms of infrastructure, basic economics, ecology, it's incredibly problematic. There are success stories, but generally speaking, the panorama is not a pretty one.

Culturally, though, all this is significant because in a country like Peru, which is an arbitrary creation—just lines drawn on a map—the only place where you can talk realistically about the project of the nation-state is in a place like San Juan: in these marginal neighborhoods at the edges of the city you have, suddenly and for the first time, folks from the jungle, charapas, living side-by-side with andinos (people from the mountains), criollos (people from the coast) from the poorer districts of Lima, folks from the North, the South, all over. It makes for an interesting and dynamic mix. Add a dose of globalization, and you have an altogether fascinating and unique blend of the modern, the archaic, the unintentionally kitschy and the absolutely mystifying.

In this current historical moment it is increasingly difficult to tell where Latin America begins and where North America ends: José is one of the most common names for newborns in California. But back in Lima, in San Juan de Lurigancho, traditional Hispanic names are no longer in fashion: my friends had names like Henry, Norbert, and Hamilton. The kids listen to trance and reggeaton, not Andean music or criollo music. The future is all about impurities, mestizaje, and so if I write about the neighborhoods of Lima, created through internal migration—because these are global processes at work—I am by implication also writing about New York, San Jose, Atlanta, Cleveland, Madrid, London and on and on.

LRS: Although you were born in Lima and have lived there as an adult, you spent your formative years in affluent American settings, attending private schools, etc. Do you ever feel like it's bogus for a highly educated, American-raised kid whose parents are both physicians to write stories about poor and working class Peruvians? Are you a poser? Are there rules about who gets to write what?

Alarcón: Of course I'm a poser. That's why I write fiction and not memoir. I don't believe there are rules about what you can write about. Every time you write you are projecting yourself into other folks' lives, and so I think it's just as difficult to create believable voices of a different gender or age as it is to inhabit voices of another class or culture. All writing is difficult, which is also why it's fun.

LRS: Do you sometimes get the feeling that people are disappointed when they find out that your parents are both doctors, and did not sneak across the border in the trunk of '74 Nova? What do you make of this disappointment?

Alarcón: I asked some of my white friends who are writers if they're ever asked—in interviews or out on book tour—what their parents do, because I get asked about my parents all the time. It was a totally unscientific poll, but still, none of my white writer friends seem to have had this experience. I think sometimes Latino writers are not thought of as artists primarily. This goes back to the previous question: where a white writer might get praised for writing about characters who are not him- or herself—so imaginative, such brave narrative choices—a Latino writer is more likely to be praised for being "real" or "authentic." If this authenticity is lacking (as in my case) then we can get questioned. Whatever. I don't really care. The work is either good or isn't. It either succeeds or it fails, and I think this has more to do with one being (or not being) a good listener, an astute observer of people, and having the imagination and the empathy to put oneself in someone else's shoes—success or failure in this case is more about my talent (or lack thereof) than my parents' combined income vis-à-vis that of an average Latin household in the U.S., or however people want to judge my stats. If folks like it, they like it, if they don't, well shit, I really tried hard, I wrote it out of love, and that's the best I could do.

I'll admit I was a bit wary of being marketed as a Latino writer, primarily because the standard narrative about Latinos in the country is Stand and Deliver, up from the barrio, etc. I wanted to be very clear that that wasn't my story, precisely because I didn't want to be accused of misrepresentation. I mean, I am Latino, just not the kind of Latino most (white) people commonly think of when they hear that word. The commodification of literature and art is a process that I'm only just learning about, and to a certain extent, in this country anyway (I don't know how it works elsewhere), it is often based on signifiers of ethnic identity. I'm certainly not going to be offended if someone calls me Latino, but if that's all I am, then that becomes limiting. I think most writers aspire to transcend whatever label their publisher's marketing department might stamp on them. It's no longer okay, if it ever was, to call Lorrie Moore, for example, "a fine woman writer" or "a brave voice in female fiction." That would be bullshit, and no one would stand for it. She's a dope writer, period. It's no secret that I'd like to shed the label, be known as a good writer, or a great one, and not as "the Peruvian guy."

LRS: One thing I like about War by Candlelight is that it seems topical without straining to be. You don't force the issue, but this is quite clearly a book about where we are now. As the dust jacket says, "Something is happening around the globe: mass movements of peoples, dislocations of language and culture in the wake of war and economic crises—simply put, our world is changing." Did you set out to write a topical collection of stories? Did you say to yourself, "Man, here in the post-9/11 world I just can't write stories about drunk suburbanites screwing each other's spouses?"

Alarcón: I love John Cheever's stories about drunk suburbanites having affairs so much, so completely, precisely because politically and spiritually I don't care that much about those people. I mean, I don't get

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