I have a memory of being six years old and reading all the books for the school year in one day. I was stoked. I’d inhaled them, engrossed in fantastical lands and magical beings and moralistic endings. When I was done I ran to my teacher. I was full of words, eager for him to recognise how clever I’d been, how good at reading, how conscientious. As I chatted about the characters I’d met and the places I’d been, he slammed his hand on the table.
“Just sit down!” he bellowed.