Right away, it is obvious: even more than in the USA, we are in the South. The deep South. This is partly due to the dampness of the air, partly also to the smells, indefinable but heady.
Marina Cox has been spellbound by this region of the world for more than a quarter of a century, no doubt since she got married, on the porch of a patrician house in Franklin, Louisiana. A few meters from the bayou Teche.
In the Deep South, the daily and the myth are incessant back and forth, and Marina Cox has understood the very essence of the multiple aspects of this world crossed by contradictions, folding under the yoke of injustices or the fury of the elements but not never submitting to fatality and reborn every time we pretend to be moribund.
