This was before 1962: "They loved lAlgérie. The homeland. They left the land of the ancestors. A kind dexode. They left childhood. A happy childhood. Completion day. "These are the first lines of the preface Leila Sebbar in this collective work which she has collected 28 stories. Half a century later, invited by the plural lécrivaine roots (born in Oran of an Algerian father and a French mother), they awakened a memory, a story, an intimate piece of their childhood. Everything from where their pens own linguistic particularism to talk Pied-Black has been redacted, some gum their specific identity. In fact, these texts could well have come from any "French of France" if nest emergence in some evocations of cultural miscegenation so natural then, and cosmopolitanism, a dual nature for all, but also colors, smells, and the pages: "I drank heat" or "léclat of light, the profusion of scents and smells, the nostalgia of summer rites", "smell donuts and pungent coat donkeys "the" hot rocks underfoot "Among these authors, linguist and novelist Michèle Perret, one of the few settler girls of the group," a bit special "because saying" Algeria "loving" his red earth "more than the metropolis of the green pastures and feeling "a little foreign in town." Like all children of corn, rich and poor, she believed "ghosts, demons and fairies" but navait "not afraid of snakes. " Finally, it is clear from the weaving texts, these children were all indigenous, whatever was the source of their ancestors, Jewish, Berber, Arab, Mediterranean, Alsatian, or others. And besides, a childhood not nestelle Dexil land for any adult?
