Suite Francaise
My family and I had dinner at our favorite Japanese restaurant last night. For each glass of bottomless iced tea you order, you get a free doll. Isn't that disgustingly fun? Since there were seven of us (my brother's girlfriend was invited to join), and four wanted iced tea, we received four dolls in different colors. I didn't order iced tea though, but my mother made sure I got the pink doll!
I also dropped by Papemelrotti to get a present for my parents, and then off to a toy store to get a teddy bear for my sister. I don't know why I did that, I suppose I just felt like being sweet.
I headed to the bookstore to get a copy of Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky. She died at a concentration camp in 1942, but before her death she was able to write drafts on several stories she wanted to publish one day in their complete form. These two un-polished works were discovered by her two daughters over sixty-five years later, and were published. It is being hailed as a masterpiece.
I've yet to finish reading it, of course, but already I feel very gloomy. I made the mistake of reading the letters exchanged by her husband and friends, who were all desperately trying to bring her back from camp. Her husband even offered to take her place, or to be brought to her so they could be together, and in response the government had him arrested a few weeks later (she had already died) and had him immediately sent to a gas chamber. The story of the author's life alone is a depressing read (she and her wealthy family also had to escape the Bolshevik revolution)... so the journey from reality to fiction is indeed a painful one.
Anyway, I have to go. For some strange reason I am missing Mama. I like seeing her relaxed, not old and tired as she already is... =(
That is my cousin lurking in the background, by the way. He should visit my sister and I more often!
I also dropped by Papemelrotti to get a present for my parents, and then off to a toy store to get a teddy bear for my sister. I don't know why I did that, I suppose I just felt like being sweet.
I headed to the bookstore to get a copy of Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky. She died at a concentration camp in 1942, but before her death she was able to write drafts on several stories she wanted to publish one day in their complete form. These two un-polished works were discovered by her two daughters over sixty-five years later, and were published. It is being hailed as a masterpiece.
I've yet to finish reading it, of course, but already I feel very gloomy. I made the mistake of reading the letters exchanged by her husband and friends, who were all desperately trying to bring her back from camp. Her husband even offered to take her place, or to be brought to her so they could be together, and in response the government had him arrested a few weeks later (she had already died) and had him immediately sent to a gas chamber. The story of the author's life alone is a depressing read (she and her wealthy family also had to escape the Bolshevik revolution)... so the journey from reality to fiction is indeed a painful one.
Anyway, I have to go. For some strange reason I am missing Mama. I like seeing her relaxed, not old and tired as she already is... =(
That is my cousin lurking in the background, by the way. He should visit my sister and I more often!