From Dar "Al-Arabi" in Cairo, the novel "Return to the North" by Canadian writer Michel Jean has been released. It explores the rich and forgotten world of the Indigenous peoples of Canada, particularly the Innu tribe. The plot of the work, translated by Yara Ayman, centers on a love story characterized by softness and sweetness, serving as an entry point to understand and explore a different culture that suffers from misunderstandings and preconceived judgments.

The story tells how Amanda Simion falls in love with a young man from the Innu tribe. When she once saw him sailing in his boat on the lake, she felt a desire to board that boat and journey into his world, which indeed happens when the two marry, and she joins him and his family in their long journey to confront nature while coexisting with it at the same time. Over time, Amanda becomes accustomed to the rhythm of this life and considers herself part of the Indigenous peoples. In her tale, the reader can almost feel her voice emerging between the lines as she describes a people who are in harmony with nature, and their language that comes out in sounds that are the voices of nature. One can almost sense the movement of the winds among the tall trees and the snow that covers everything, and will also feel her sadness for the forests that have been cut down, yet her belief that her people and their customs will not disappear completely reassures her and gives hope to the reader that everything is possible, as if one is there with her seeing what she sees and feeling what she feels among the forests in the unique world of the Innu, distant from the world.

The author, Michel Jean, is a Canadian writer and journalist, and works as a news broadcaster in the "Kik" region. He has published many novels, including "The Special Envoy," "A World Dead as the Moon," "A Life for Love," "The Wind Speaks Again," "The Beautiful Sadness," and "Tsunami."

From the atmosphere of the novel, we read:

“I grew up in a world where the four seasons dictate the arrangement and organization of things, a slow-paced world where salvation comes from a piece of land that must be plowed over and over again. My earliest memory of the cabin we lived in was that it was nothing more than a simple wooden home among the settlers, a square structure with a slanted roof on both sides, and it had one front window. Outside was a sandy road, and behind the house was a field that was part of the forest, but it had been separated from it thanks to immense human effort. The soil was rocky, treated by the men as a treasure, they worked it, enriched it with fertilizer, cleared it of stones, yet it provided them with nothing but tasteless vegetables, along with some wheat and fodder that the cows fed on to give them milk. The harvest was either good or not, everything depended on the weather, and God decides, according to what the priest says.

I do not remember anything about my parents, often I tried to imagine their faces; my father was tall and strong-built and stern, with strong hands. My mother was blonde, and her eyes were blue like mine. Soft, warm, and tender features. They exist only in my childhood imagination, but who knows what they actually looked like? It does not matter, but I prefer to imagine them enjoying strength and kindness. I grew up with a lady and a man whom I called my aunt and uncle; I do not know if they loved me or not, but they took care of me. They passed away a long time ago, and the house at the end of the (Ala Shas) river burned down, but the land still exists, and there are fields everywhere, and now the farmers have tightened their grip on their lands surrounding (Pikoukami) Lake. The winds grew stronger and hit my tired face; the lake's water rises and falls, and I am just an old woman who has seen a lot. At least they can’t harm you, my lake, you do not change.”