What an astonishing thing a book is.
It’s a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts in which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles.
But one glance at it and you’re inside the mind of another person, maybe someone dead for thousands of years.
Across the millennia, an author speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you.
Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, buying together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs.
Books break the shackles of time.
A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic
