A House of Girls
by Thomas Rain Crowe

A House of Girls     Thomas Rain Crowe

-- Rain Taxi

A House of Girls
is available from your favorite local bookstore, from online vendors such as Amazon, or directly from Wind.
Wind Publications
600 Overbrook Dr
Nicholasville, KY 40356


In A House of Girls, Thomas Rain Crowe writes in the long-standing German literary genre of the Bildungsroman (education through experience).  In this linked-stories, coming-of-age book of autobiographical fiction, we see and hear echoes of the great great writers in this tradition, such a Goethe, Joyce, Novalis, Dickens and Thomas Mann.  Crowe's "house" and his "girls" are what has formed him, and we follow him from room to room in these sensitive and engaging love stories, all of which have an unusual and unique twist.

Crowe is an internationally recognized poet and translator whose work has been published in several languages. He is the author of twenty books of original works, translations, anthologies and recordings including The Laugharne Poems, written at the Dylan Thomas home in Laugharne, Wales and published by Welsh publisher Carreg Gwalch; Thomas Rain Crowe & The Boatrockers LIVE, which received praise by such poet-musicians as Joy Harjo and by Pete Townshend of The Who; and the multi-award winning book of nonfiction Zoro's Field: My Life in the Appalachian Woods, published in 2005 by the Univ. of Georgia Press. As an editor, he has been an instrumental force behind such magazines as Beatitude, Katuah Journal, and the Asheville Poetry Review. As a translator, he has translated collections by poets such as Hafiz and Yvan Goll. His archives have been purchased and are collected by the Duke University Special Collections Library. He lives in the Smoky Mountains of rural western North Carolina.

From A House of Girls --

Whether or not the surge of energy between our two bodies caused the blackout that night is still anyone's guess. But the fact that it was at the moment of simultaneous orgasm that the lights chose to go out in all of Manhattan, I still believe is more than coincidence. We just lay there on the rooftop in the rain and laughed, as, one by one, burglar-alarms began going off all over town, followed by the choral dissonance created by the addition of squad car sirens from the borough police.

We finished laughing, and in an attempt to reverse the electric spell we had cast upon the city, we made love again. But the spell was irreversible and the damage done, so we resolved ourselves to the dark by deciding to venture out into the streets.

In the wake of the blackout, the neighborhoods had become alive with activity. People had come out of their apartments into the streets, and suddenly the huge concrete island of Manhattan had become a tribal village. It was like a science-fiction story where a whole city of high-rise graves had been abandoned by a million corpses tired of their boring vertical fate, and had, on cue, come out into the streets, into the light. In the height of city summer heat, water mains were liberated, battery-powered boom boxes set up on stoops, and all of New York was dancing in the street. Those not dancing were sitting around card tables playing cards with neighbors whom they hadn't seen in years, or in some cases whom they'd never met.