In essence, Iglehart continues that tradition of influence with a collection of stories of which its core, is about contact between Indians and Americans, surprisingly, he tells me even in the stories in which there are no Americans. The contact is still present, as Iglehart conceives on the page his own intersection with what can only be called the essence of “Indianess.”

David Iglehart, who has a Ph.D in Comparative Literature spent a year in India studying Indian theories of art. Conversing with Iglehart for any length of time, reveals a passion for the people and place of India, a place where he continues to visit on a regular basis. He will also reveal and honest puzzlement over the very few vehement attacks his fiction has received in the face of reactions overwhelmingly positive. In fact, strong responses either way surprised and pleased him.

Criticism of a non-Indian writer writing of India and the Indian psyche seem misplaced and unfair to Iglehart who feels that it strikes against the core of literature, by undermining the power and vision of imagination and the ability to be able to see and feel through someone else’s eyes: “The vehemence of the anti-colonial, reaction shocks me. It seems like such a limitation in our relationships and cultures impacting on one another, with the ability to raise barriers.”

When I ask him if any of the criticism stunts his growth as a writer in any way, or forges a debilitating self-consciousness, he calmly assures me that it doesn’t: “I would not like to be self-conscious about writing; if anything the various reactions represents the honesty of my readership and therefore makes me stronger and more self-assured.” Interestingly he has taken up sketching, the techniques of which helped him to stop any preconceived conceptions of what he sees and instead just draw what is in front of him, as he sees it. In turn, he explains, this unlikely exercise has been an unexpected help with this writing, so that the power of feeling and perception takes over. The technique works. Igehart’s stores are lucid and spare, peopled with shy Indians, bold Texans, savvy Indians, naïve American travellers and just about everything in between. His stores are taken from a variesty of inspirations. Some are based on stories told to him, taking root in this mind and allowing him to write on from that starting points, careful not to reconstruct and actual happening, but instead to allow imagination and instinct for “voice” to take over.

Writing as an exercise in discipline is evident in these tightly crafted stories. Iglehart tells of his persistence with his craft and this story collection, rising early each morning and devoting an hours time to the story collection before he began his work day. But far from writing in the vacuum of his own world, he brought some of the stories in to work to share with some colleagues: “There was a real breakthrough with the writing when I showed the stories to Indian coworkers who responded with a lot of encouragement, validating, though not in a conscious way, the authenticity of the stories.”

Authenticity, as it concerns Iglehart, has never been much of a problem. He reveals that in India, so taken with the country and its people, he never felt like much of a tourist, though he may have been seen as one. The stories that he tells intersect with ancient and modern culture making contact with what appeals. Like himself, he truly believes, all in all, that Westerners are open to the good of the world. This type of philosophy or world view is evident in stories like “A Trip to Rampur” where “Buddy Jones”, a Texas guitar player is attempting to entertain a large crowd of Indians.

Told in a retrospective point of view, the now adult Nikhil looks back to when he first met Buddy when he was a lonely and sad 10 year old boy with his caretaker, listening to Buddy’s exotic American songs and observing Buddy’s energetic enticement of the puzzled Indians. Nikhil wants to take the American home, as a sort of playmate, back to his “lake palace, Rampur, a lonely place on an island.” Buddy, complicit in his own objectification by a well meaning but lonely Indian boy, returns with Nikhil and entertains him with stories of adventure for nearly the entire night. Though he leaves before Nikhil wakes, he leaves him a prized posession, a pocket knife, coveted by Nikhil, that was given to Buddy long ago by his father. Nikhil reminisces with wonder: “Oddly, people always want to give things to maharaja’s, to ‘partake of our splendor,’ as my cynical father used to say. Maybe so but Buddy Jones left without partaking of much besides a meal, a bed and the exhausting needs of a ten year old boy. The knife must have been the only thing he had on him to give and I carry it still.”

The story “Magic Carpet” is brilliantly executed with a curious and thought provoking ending. It tells the tale of Greg Benson and his young wife who travel to Kashmir when the violence was only “sporadic”. By turns both frightening and funny, Greg is delivered back to his hotel rolled up in a valuable carpet, not quite sure whether he was the beneficiary of an extreme act of compassion and bravery or an elaborate opportunistic scam on a naïve American. Readers will be delightfully left to form their own conclusions and at the same time see though and beyond the stereotypes each culture is influenced by.

In “A Dance Among the Ruins” Margaret Shields is a young Anlo girl taking classical dance classes form a dance master Meenakshi Sundaran, who feels that Margaret’s orientation towards product rather that process will ruin her chances of achieving progress in classical dance. Not until Margaret breaks down her own perceptions of what is real progress does she achieve the respect of her teacher who sagely tells her: “Love, love the god to whom dance is dedicated, what he means for the character you portray, is everything . . .when you perform, you must be so closely identified with your role that you lost yourself in it completely. You don’t emphasize your skill, your talent—yourself, which is of no real interest. To dance is to be on a spiritual journey, disciplined, but profoundly rewarding. Be an instrument. Let the character you portray come trough you, a character who lives and deserves to.”

This story collection exemplifies both simplicity and depth, enchanting readers with stories from so many different points of view, imparting wisdom, humor and that great equalizer no matter what side of the divide that you are on , our basic humanity as a continuous source of connection. According to both friend and mentor the acclaimed Indian novelist Raja Rao, Iglehart’s stories are “perfect stores written with great purity and a wonderful economy of language,” which could only please Iglehart, coming from a writer so accomplished himself, though , wisely, he feels that despite such thoughtful praise, the craft of writing is always being perfected, indeed, will always be ongoing. An while Rao, who he has known for quite some time form his University of Texas days, was a great influence on his own creative voice, Iglehart’s “voice” is unique, very much his own.

Stretching his wings a bit, Iglehart is now working on a novel, with the Indian influence still very prominent in the telling of this new tale. All in all, Iglehart is a fresh voice in fiction with his heart definitely in the right place, stating simply: “ I don’t ever feel that I have anything to express in my writing, but rather always something to discover.”