Paris, Albin Michel, 377 pages.
In this edgy novel, the illusions of love intertwine with the horrors of the century that left their mark on Françoise: the concentration camps, the Rosenbergs (she’ll give me Julius as a middle name in their memory), the political struggles in the Paris of those years.
It’s also the story of the emancipation of a woman who has left, never to return, her little personal and portable concentration camp called love, to devote herself to painting or writing, the choice being left to her.
Here again, there’s a lot of Françoise’s story. This book, like so many others, is a piece of her life’s work.