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Byline: Janine Di Giovanni
In 1985, when I first saw this photograph of Oriana Fallaci-or La Fallaci, as she referred to herself-I was a student at the Iowa Writers' Workshop: a displaced East Coast girl, unhappy in the cornfields among my cutthroat fellow students. I remember staring at Fallaci's surly expression, her dark nail varnish and burning cigarette, and thinking she was beautiful. Her deep-set eyes had a lived-in look: She saw the world for what it was and did not give a damn how it regarded her back.
Seeing this sophisticated Italian, I realized how out of place I was in Iowa. At 23, I had not lived enough to have strong material for fiction. ...