The Book of Lost Names

by Kristin Harmel

He had taught her to love reading, one of the greatest gifts a parent could give a child, and in doing so, he had opened the world to her.

It seemed murdering people who differed from the masses was a tale as old as time.

My room is lined with books, most of them stacked in precarious piles on the bowing bookshelves Louis assembled years ago. They are filled with other people’s stories, and I’ve spent my life disappearing into them. Sometimes, when the nights are dark and silent and I’m alone, I wonder if I would have survived without the escape their pages offered me from reality. Then again, perhaps they just gave me an excuse to duck out of my own life.

You can’t judge a person by their language or their place of origin—though it seems that each new generation insists upon learning that lesson for itself.

Once you’ve fallen in love with books, their presence can make you feel at home anywhere, even in places where you shouldn’t belong.