conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Rendell</a, London, Rendell's with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Last Girl'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a plot for a book titled The Last Girl?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Last Girl: Steponas Daumantas, an elderly poet, walks the streets of Vilnius photographing young women with their babies.\nHe becomes obsessed with one particular woman, Jolanta, and strikes up a friendship with her.\nJolanta gives him a manuscript that her husband has written, and Daumantas promises to look at it and possibly show his publisher, but loses it when he gets drunk.\nAs his friendship with the young woman deepens he can no longer hold back the memories that have been bubbling up for years.\nSvetlana is an ethnic Russian living in poverty in the back streets of Vilnius's Old Town.\nShe does bits of washing for Daumantas and, when she encounters him drunk one night, saves a manuscript he leaves behind.\nSvetlana struggles to earn some money to send her son to England to work, while trying to survive with her brutal husband Ivan.\nShe befriends a young prostitute, Ruta, and has memories of her own she does not wish to recall.\nDaumantas grows up in a small village close to Wilno and has early ambitions of being a poet.\nHe falls in love with a local Jewish girl, Rachael.\nWhen Rachael rejects him he goes to university in Wilno.\nSome years later he sees Rachael again on the streets of Wilno with her Jewish husband.\nIn 1939 the Communists invade Poland and hand back Wilno to the Lithuanians.\nLithuanian thugs roam the streets; but that is nothing compared to what happens when the Germans invade.\nAs the life is slowly choked from the Jewish population in the Vilna ghetto Rachael makes a desperate demand of Daumantas: take her child and save it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a plot for a book titled The Last Girl?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Last Girl: Steponas Daumantas, an elderly poet, walks the streets of Vilnius photographing young women with their babies.\nHe becomes obsessed with one particular woman, Jolanta, and strikes up a friendship with her.\nJolanta gives him a manuscript that her husband has written, and Daumantas promises to look at it and possibly show his publisher, but loses it when he gets drunk.\nAs his friendship with the young woman deepens he can no longer hold back the memories that have been bubbling up for years.\nSvetlana is an ethnic Russian living in poverty in the back streets of Vilnius's Old Town.\nShe does bits of washing for Daumantas and, when she encounters him drunk one night, saves a manuscript he leaves behind.\nSvetlana struggles to earn some money to send her son to England to work, while trying to survive with her brutal husband Ivan.\nShe befriends a young prostitute, Ruta, and has memories of her own she does not wish to recall.\nDaumantas grows up in a small village close to Wilno and has early ambitions of being a poet.\nHe falls in love with a local Jewish girl, Rachael.\nWhen Rachael rejects him he goes to university in Wilno.\nSome years later he sees Rachael again on the streets of Wilno with her Jewish husband.\nIn 1939 the Communists invade Poland and hand back Wilno to the Lithuanians.\nLithuanian thugs roam the streets; but that is nothing compared to what happens when the Germans invade.\nAs the life is slowly choked from the Jewish population in the Vilna ghetto Rachael makes a desperate demand of Daumantas: take her child and save it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Last Girl
  NADIA MURAD IS NOT JUST MY CLIENT, SHE IS MY FRIEND. When we were introduced in London, she asked if I would act as her lawyer. She explained that she would not be able to provide funds, that the case would likely be long and unsuccessful. But before you decide, she had said, hear my story.
  In 2014, ISIS attacked Nadia's village in Iraq, and her life as a twenty-one-year-old student was shattered. She was forced to watch her mother and brothers be marched off to their deaths. And Nadia herself was traded from one ISIS fighter to another. She was forced to pray, forced to dress up and put makeup on in preparation for rape, and one night was brutally abused by a group of men until she was unconscious. She showed me her scars from cigarette burns and beatings. And she told me that throughout her ordeal ISIS militants would call her a "dirty unbeliever" and brag about conquering Yazidi women and wiping their religion from the earth.
  When Nadia told me her story in London, it had been almost two years since ISIS's genocide against the Yazidis had begun. Thousands of Yazidi women and children were still held captive by ISIS, but no member of ISIS had been prosecuted in a court anywhere in the world for these crimes. Evidence was being lost or destroyed. And prospects for justice looked bleak.
  Of course, I took the case. And Nadia and I spent more than a year campaigning together for justice. We met repeatedly with the Iraqi government, United Nations representatives, members of the UN Security Council, and ISIS victims. I prepared reports, provided drafts and legal analysis, and gave speeches imploring the UN to act. Most of our interlocutors told us it would be impossible: the Security Council had not taken action on international justice in years.
  But just as I write this foreword, the UN Security Council has adopted a landmark resolution creating an investigation team that will collect evidence of the crimes committed by ISIS in Iraq. This is a major victory for Nadia and all the victims of ISIS, because it means that evidence will be preserved and that individual ISIS members can be put on trial. I sat next to Nadia in the Security Council when the resolution was adopted unanimously. And as we watched fifteen hands go up, Nadia and I looked at each other and smiled.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: We drove in silence back to Hajji Salman's house. I wept quietly for Kathrine and Nisreen, praying to God that they would survive whatever happened to them. When we got there, Hajji Salman told me to go inside with one of the guards and wait for him. "I won't be long," he said, and I started to pray for myself.
  Before I went inside, Hajji Salman looked at me for a long time. "When I come back, I don't care if you have your period," he said after a moment. "I promise you, I will come to you."
  OVER THE PAST THREE YEARS, I HAVE HEARD A LOT OF STORIES about other Yazidi women who were captured and enslaved by ISIS. For the most part, we were all victims of the same violence. We would be bought at the market, or given as a gift to a new recruit or a high-ranking commander, and then taken back to his home, where we would be raped and humiliated, most of us beaten as well. Then we would be sold or given as a gift again, and again raped and beaten, then sold or given to another militant, and raped and beaten by him, and sold or given, and raped and beaten, and it went this way for as long as we were desirable enough and not yet dead. If we tried to escape, we would be punished severely. As Hajji Salman had warned me, ISIS hung our photos at checkpoints, and residents in Mosul were instructed to return slaves to the nearest Islamic State center. They were told there was a five-thousand-dollar reward if they did.
  The rape was the worst part. It stripped us of our humanity and made thinking about the future—returning to Yazidi society, marrying, having children, being happy—impossible. We wished they would kill us instead.
  ISIS knew how devastating it was for an unmarried Yazidi girl to convert to Islam and lose her virginity, and they used our worst fears—that our community and religious leaders wouldn't welcome us back—against us. "Try to escape, it doesn't matter," Hajji Salman would tell me. "Even if you make it home, your father or your uncle will kill you. You're no longer a virgin, and you are Muslim!"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last three paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: From left to right: my sister-in-law Sester, my sister Adkee, my brother Khairy, my niece Baso, my sister Dimal, my niece Maisa, and me in 2011.
  Clockwise from back row, left: my sister-in-law Jilan; my sister-in-law Mona; my mother; my niece Baso; my sister Adkee; my nieces Nazo, Kathrine, and Maisa; and me at our home in Kocho in 2014.
  My brothers and half brothers in 2014. Back row, from left to right: Hezni, a neighbor, my half brother Khaled, and my brother Saeed. Front row: my half brother Walid, my brother Saoud, and me.