November 11, 1944   On November 11, we drink champagne at the house. Even the baby takes a few sips while being held in the arms of our maid Thérèse. Later, the little boy will go to l’Arc de Triomphe with his father, and I, happy mother, start preparing a surprise for lunch. .…At eleven […]

[The words of Georges Huisman have been haunting me. I’m still bothered by how, in his introduction to my aunt’s memoir, he felt the need to explain that her book isn’t literature. “What is the importance of literary form or the ratification of a grand public?” he asks. It’s almost an apology for her testimony. […]