It's as if he threw himself on the beach with a dancing figure and a palette in his hands, from the foam of the sea, of Marmaras. There, in this homeland that she tasted, smelled, walked in its mud, loved and put it in every cell of her. Sixties. When they were deported, she left her heart searching the cantonments for her existence. But a violin on the banks of the Seine, inspired her, led her and created something of what remains, like a cultural heritage. The voice of her Turkish neighbor is always in her ears. – My child, don't forget Orhan. We have heard of him since World War II. It all started one rainy day. ...she returned to the City she loved, to her Homeland, with that same dancing figure, searching in the snow, what the rain brought. But what emerged from the search never crossed her mind...
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| ISBN | 9789607937360 |
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