This is the beginning. The tiny tenement house. The mat on which we all lay, side by side; the soot-orange sun at dawn.
My birth was both lucky and unlucky. Lucky because I was born in the center of this magic. First my father's words defined me, and then his pictures did. And unlucky to be under the thumb of another, weightier, power. And a daughter. In that terrible time. Lucky and unlucky.
Research shows that 90% of Americans value public libraries(Dec 11 2013) According to a survey by the Pew Research Center, about 90% of Americans aged 16 and older said that the closing of their local public library would have an...