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We know about Zelda, the wife of the great American writer Francis Scott Fitzgerald, only from the words of another great American writer, Ernest Hemingway. He wrote that she was a mentally ill and a promiscuous alcoholic who ruined her husband's health and writing career. Wives of geniuses are indeed different. What if everything was completely different in this story? After all, Zelda Sayre, the daughter of a judge from Alabama, was no less talented and ambitious than her famous husband. It's just that her dreams irritated him, her suffering inspired him, and his feigned concern for her was an excuse for his creative inactivity. Scott Fitzgerald transferred her from one insane asylum to another, barely allocating money for her maintenance. He wrote all his heroines from her: superficial, passionate, broken, and she remembered that French pilot with whom she lived in a fishing hut somewhere on the Cote d'Azur: his devotion, his love, his child, whom her legal husband had forced her to get rid of. Scott pulled her out, like a shameless girl, from that hut, from that summer, from that happiness. And only now, thanks to Gilles Leroy, Zelda found her voice, told her story and brought the author the Goncourt literary prize.