In books I have travelled, not only to other worlds, but into my own. I learned who I was and who I wanted to be, and what I might dare to dream about my world and myself. More powerfully and persuasively than from the “shalt nots” of the Ten Commandments, I learned the difference between good and evil, right and wrong. A Wrinkle in Time described that evil, that wrong. There was waking, and there was sleeping. And then there were books, a kind of parallel universe.