The seventies in Turkey was an interesting time. It was a time of political violence, assassinations and separatism. There was a small city in northeast Turkey inhabited by Turks and Armenians and there was a little girl with just two dolls discovering the world all on her own. The daughter of civil engineers had a habit of cutting her clothes. Why would she do that? Was that a metaphor for redesigning reality? She wouldn’t approve of this kind of cheesy description but it probably was. At that time you couldn’t experiment with your school outfits, as we do now. Black and white uniforms could not be questioned, the only difference one could notice was the shine on the uniforms of some students. And it was not a wiggle room that students have, it was a precise indicator of material status. Our hero’s uniform was fortunately lacking shine. And neither did her childhood despite classical text-book traumas that she later turned into a tool to excel in what she liked the most, literature.