"But for me, it’s not necessary to put my hand in the fire to express its pain. What hurts my people hurts me."
My darling mother, I write to you from the airport before they can take me, before I go through the security barrier.
"Orshina is a tiny unemployed woman in her thirties, who lost her right eye in an explosion and studied psychology. She lives with her mother and is delighted to discover that her favorite writer is going to be her neighbor."
The photos were a part of the text, and I did not describe them. They give artistic touches so that the reader can feel their ache and circumstances. It is enough to tell you that this novel could not have been published if I had not found a good picture of Hassan Fouad’s “We Defend the Constitution” poster. The discovery of this old, forgotten poster deserves a whole novel.
"I learned to read and write late. I grew up in Saudi Arabia—which is where we migrated because of the war in Eritrea—without official papers, so I couldn’t find a school to accept me, despite all the efforts of my mother, who went around to the schools in Jeddah to no avail."
"My decision to write about that relationship was based in my conviction that Algerian Jews were an integral part of social, historical, and cultural elements; they spoke the same languages (Algerian, in Arabic or Amazigh dialects). They wore the same traditional clothing. They prepared the same foods. And they shared what was made. They played the same music. They sang the same songs. Only the two religions were different."