Diré que m'ho he inventat

What daughter dares to speak plainly about her mother? It is necessary to turn to literature to do this, to question reality and if necessary to invent. What could have been one of the happiest days of Marina's life, the birth of her only daughter, was the beginning of a less than exemplary relationship. United by an atavistic bond of belonging and at the same time terribly distant, mother and daughter never understood each other. After returning to the city and to the flat where she lived with her mother, who died years ago, the daughter tries to reconstruct fragments of Marina's life. A few photographs, some objects and, above all, her experience as a daughter are the materials from which emerges the figure of a lonely and luminous woman, daughter of French immigrants, of working-class extraction, with bourgeois tastes, transplanted in the gray Barcelona of the fifties, who saw her dream of being an actress cut short; a mentally unstable mother, vital and depressive, sometimes seductive and sometimes cruel. In the course of this research, and with the desire, also, that the writing acts to elixir from oblivion, Marta Marín-Dòmine, the bad daughter, challenges the codes imposed on a love that has been pretended since always unquestionable. The result: an intimate and at the same time universal story, with gothic tones, a lucid reflection on who we are and what we transmit and on the limits and "truth" of writing, and a magnificent story, ambitious, sensitive and striking.