Publisher's presentation : 

The pain of Lucile, my mother, was part of our childhood and later of our adult life, Lucile's pain undoubtedly constitutes us, my sister and me, but any attempt to explain it is doomed to failure. Writing can do nothing, at most it allows me to ask questions and to question the memory. 
Lucile's family, and therefore ours, has given rise to many assumptions and comments throughout its history. The people I met during my research speak of fascination; I often heard this in my childhood. My family embodies the noisiest, most spectacular part of joy, the tireless echo of the dead, and the reverberation of disaster. Today I also know that it illustrates, like so many other families, the destructive power of the Word, and that of silence. 
The book, perhaps, would be nothing more than that, the story of this quest, would contain within itself its own genesis, its narrative wanderings, its unfinished attempts. But it would be that impulse, from me to her, hesitant and unfulfilled.  

In this dazzling investigation into the heart of family memory, where the most luminous memories rub shoulders with the most buried secrets, Delphine de Vigan forcefully unravels all our lives, our flaws and our own wounds.