Fourteen years would pass before Sigurdur Palsson finally returned to Iceland from Paris, where he arrived after graduating from secondary school in 1967. This is a memoir from those years, but as the author points out in the first chapter, memories come into existence even if they are in a state of perpetual motion. They are filtered through time and through the senses, which actually created them in the first place and with time sensation becomes the real essence of memory. Sigurdur Palsson’s memories are distilled, sensual snapshots of France, and Paris especially, during the years when he made the country his home.

• The Icelandic Literary Award 2007