Introduction

My parents’ house had a big attic, full of trunks and boxes containing fragments of past lives, things left behind, somewhere in between treasures and trash. To me, as a child, they were mostly treasures. I loved to nose about and rummage in the attic exploring and imagining the stories behind the items. “Now, what are you doing up there?” my mother would call out. “I hope you are not making a mess!”