16/10/2017

THE GOLDEN HOUSE


 Once upon a time, in a land far far away was born a little girl of nomadic parents, destined to not much... But who got given a huge pile of luck.

 Far, far from a very weird month of August, here we are in a gorgeous October in Paris and I cannot say enough how lucky I feel. The people and events responsible for so much joy know who they are!

My only problem in life is that there is too much good books and articles to read!! I hardly have time for theatre and concerts anymore. No, but I do :)

Here is a picture from the lovely Indian Summer we have here in Paris:




And here is amazing news from the publishing world! This sounds like a fascinating read, I cannot wait:



Extract: 

Chapter 1

On the day of the new president’s inauguration, when we worried that he might be murdered as he walked hand in hand with his exceptional wife among the cheering crowds, and when so many of us were close to economic ruin in the aftermath of the bursting of the mortgage bubble, and when Isis was still an Egyptian mother-­goddess, an uncrowned seventy-­something king from a faraway country arrived in New York City with his three motherless sons to take possession of the palace of his exile, behaving as if nothing was wrong with the country or the world or his own story. He began to rule over his neighborhood like a benevolent emperor, although in spite of his charming smile and his skill at playing his 1745 Guadagnini violin he exuded a heavy, cheap odor, the unmistakable smell of crass, despotic danger, the kind of scent that warned us, look out for this guy, because he could order your execution at any moment, if you’re wearing a displeasing shirt, for example, or if he wants to sleep with your wife. The next eight years, the years of the forty-­fourth president, were also the years of the increasingly erratic and alarming reign over us of the man who called himself Nero Golden, who wasn’t really a king, and at the end of whose time there was a large—­and, metaphorically speaking, apocalyptic—­fire.

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Everything is golden!

Thank you! 


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