Even in 1979 I was already trying to reach out to my mother. Although, at that time, only ever on my own ground, of course. I gave her Montaillou which to my delight she loved. I remember vividly her saying she felt that some of the individuals had become her friends; how she wished she could talk with them; and how it had forever changed her prejudice about peasants as stupid and brutish.
I don't remember that we ever followed up on that moment. In return should have read things she loved: we should have traded.