Another staggering read from Persephone. It annoys me that their books are mainly on social media for their tasteful grey covers (example of an offending photo above by me) when the contents are so good. Their house has moved subtly from good middlebrow novels to much deeper, angrier works.
Earlier this year I read Into the Whirlwind, the memoir of a party member swept up in Stalin’s purges. This time it was Maman, what are we called now?, a poetic, yearning, angry, heart-rending diary of a French Jewish mother in occupied Paris and accompanying journalism from 1945, which I found even more striking and powerful than the diary.