My mother's lambs:
I also loved those stories that my mother used to tell me. I loved to tell them to you and pass them on so that you can tell them to your children.
These stories of my mother are in the local dialect and I conveyed them to you on her tongue as I heard them, so that they are closer to your hearts and to increase your loyalty and love for the Emirati dialect and to instill in your souls the stories of our ancestors, as they are a different type of heritage stories known as (the sheep).
Alone on Baraway Island, Ingrid lives after everyone has left, roaming the ruins, repairing what can be repaired, and catching fish and bodies that wash up on the island's shores. The young woman struggles to hide a big secret that could put her in danger, as the country witnesses the final months of World War II.
In this novel, Roy Jacobsen completes the story of Barawe Island, which began with "The Invisibles", with his delicate narration, natural images, and brief sentences that hide the truest and hottest feelings behind them.
“White Sea” is a novel about new beginnings that make their way from the ashes of a devastating war, about friendships and love, the faces of those passing by and the dead, and about people who remain where they are in the face of war, bidding farewell to the departed and receiving those returning, and monitoring the passing of days and the succession of seasons.
In the beginning, there was a confession of an unintentional murder of a victim who suddenly disappeared from sight, from a girl who was known in the neighborhood for her kind heart and love of volunteer and charitable work. After that, the victim appeared and there were 3 criminals who committed the same crime.
The police thought it was a murder with intent to steal, and after that they discovered the victim's diabolical intentions towards his stepdaughter who had run away 5 years ago, and then that call that solved the mystery of the case.
What connects criminals? Is it a relationship of feelings? Or an exchange of interests? Of course the brilliant investigator and the officer's brilliant deductions brought together the threads of evidence.
It is no longer necessary to stop at the picture written by Cervantes. There is a big difference between Don Quixote, which was written to make fun of him, or for any other purpose, and Don Quixote, which became our property, and we carried it in our imagination, subjected it to our perceptions, and we became free to remake and formulate it as we wish.
We can say that each of us has his own Don Quixote, whether he has read the novel or not, and whether he relies on the picture in the book or not. Whether he relied on his own interpretation of what was in the book, or projected into the book what he wanted.
The many faces of a character like Don Quixote give us the freedom and courage to express our own vision of him. Therefore, each of us is able to talk about the Don Quixote that he saw in the book, or the Don Quixote that he himself is raising in his symbolic and creative imagination.
Don Quixote is everywhere, and he is present in all of us. The Donquixote vision is one that does not give its owner the opportunity to retreat. There must be a pause that seems suicidal or crazy. Retreating in search of a new opportunity means overlooking the collapse that has occurred to humans and values. It means as if one overlooks deterioration. It is a kind of self-punishment to revive the consciences of others.
We can say in general that there must always be a Don Quixote pause so that honor does not die in life itself.
For this reason, it occurred to me one day to defend insanity.
Your eyes are a sea whose magic has no banks:
And now, with the storm of change reaching its climax, the ship of my life has tilted and deviated from its course. I have lost control of its rudder and sails amidst the vortex of daily routine, which our opposing circumstances wanted to come between me and my husband, Harib, most of the time. Each of us has the features of his day that are different from the other, and after my dreams were painting in my imagination a picture of complete compatibility. We have day and night, but the winds rarely bring what the ships desire.
