THIS PAST FALL, A CHILD AT AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL IN Huntington, N.Y., left me speechless.
After speaking to an auditorium full of students about books and the power of story, I fielded questions. The first five or six were the usual. How long does it take to write a book? Am I rich? (Ha-ha!) But then one girl stood and asked something different. “If you had the chance to meet an author you admire,” she said, “what would you ask?”
For whatever reason, this girl’s question, on this morning, cut through any pretense that might ordinarily sneak into an author presentation. The day before, a man in Las Vegas had opened fire on concertgoers. Tensions between the U.S. and North Korea were at a boiling point. Puerto Ricans were still suffering. I studied all the fresh-faced young people staring up at me, trying to square the light of childhood with the darkness in our current world. But all of this had little to do with the question—so I just stood there in awkward silence, the seconds ticking by.
Esta historia es de la edición February 12, 2018 de TIME Magazine.
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Esta historia es de la edición February 12, 2018 de TIME Magazine.
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