Beyond a genesis of trees, behind a mountain of ivy and buttercups, hidden in a house in the shape of an obolus on the acropolis of Montmartre, Valérie Perrin is discreet.
Small brown bangs, charcoal sweater and navy blue pants, she welcomes us as a friend of yesteryear would.
With her, we watch the sister-in-law's gray cats wander between our legs and go to the green terrace.
On this day, the sun is at its highest.
A smell of cut grass arises.
The azure stretches at a loss on a street almost deserted by its passers-by.
“There is no such thing as living here in real life.
It's a dream."
A dream that started a few years ago.
Read also:
Elísabet Benavent, the lady with three million readers
His name may not ring a bell.
But since 2015, and with only two novels, Valérie Perrin has risen to the rank of the authors who sell the most books in France - more than 1 million, translated in thirty countries.
A feat for a writer who has made himself through
"word of mouth
".
She insists: "
I
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