I own a well-read copy of Virginia Hamilton’s The People Could Fly: American Black Folktales. It’s a classic in many households, as it should be. It’s not just the stories that I return to over and over again; it’s the magical illustrations by the dynamic Leo and Diane Dillon. I included this book in the research for my most recent and next projects. The title serves as a repeatedly mentioned saying for my creative life. When I’m writing about Black people and Black children in particular, I have to always remember that in our stories, we could fly. This is the magic of storytelling, and this is the possibility that books for children can capture—that in spite of everything and because of everything, we can transcend (超越) it all and fly.

Hamilton observed the oral tradition in her many novels, and I try to do the same not only when writing but also while reading. I am attracted by books about people of color whose words and stories include a certain mix of musicality and ancestral memories. When our stories become classics, they are not just timely and timeless. They include time itself. Our stories document our presence. They say that we are here, we were here, and we will always be here. This presence is where historical narratives, social justice books, fantasy and science fiction, and even Afro futuristic stories gather.

Our books document humanity. Diverse books for children area collective witness to the human experience. My hope for the future of books about Black people, and especially children, is that we continue to champion both nonfiction stories that tell truths and fiction stories that highlight our mythology (神话) and cultural heritage (遗产), where we are both grounded in the reality of our lives and can shape shift, use magic, and take flight in order to rise above it all. With every story and with every book, our children are reminded time and time again that, indeed, we people could fly.

Anthony Doerr’s new bestseller, All the Light We Cannot See, holds special appeal for me. That’s how I would describe it. From the poetic language, to the realization of what the tile actually means: that underneath the surface of history, there is light that has not been seen, and stories that have gone untold.

I’m going to be honest-love for this book didn’t hit me straight away. In fact, my first attempt to read it last month ended with me putting it aside and going to find something easier, lighter and less descriptive to read. But this book is built on beautiful imagery. Both in the literal sense-the physical world of 1940s Paris and Germany, and the metaphorical (隐喻性的)sense-scientific and philosophical references to light, to seeing and not seeing, and the differences between the two. It’s a beautiful work of genius, but it does get a little complicated at times.

However, when we get into the meat of this World War II novel, it’s also an upsetting story of a childhood torn apart by war. It’s about Parisian Marie Laure who has been blind since she was six, and a German orphan called Werner who finds himself at the center of the Hitler Youth. Both of their stories are told with sensitivity and sympathy, each one forced down a path by their personal circumstances and by that destructive monster-war.

I think this is the kind of book you will never appreciate if you stop too soon-I learned that lesson. From the first to last page, there is a theme of invisible lines running parallel (平行的)to one another and sometimes, just sometimes, crossing in the strangest way. These two lives we are introduced to seem to be worlds apart, and yet they come together and influence one another. It was this, more than the predictably awful tale of war, that made me feel quite emotional.

Where did science fiction begin? What was the first science fiction novel? Asking about the first science fiction novel is a little like asking, “When was the automobile (汽车) invented?” What do you consider an “automobile”? Depending on how you answer these questions, the date of the invention of the automobile can change by as much as 110 years!

Before we could have science fiction, several events had to take place. Modern science and knowledge could be developed faster than ever and massive social changes were possible. There are many early novels and stories with elements of science fiction, but they aren’t officially a part of it.

Johannes Kepler wrote a book called Somnium (《梦游记》) in 1608. The story is about spirits that can carry humans to the moon. Somnium contains scientific discussion on astronomy (天文学), the moon, and outer space. Authorities had been calling it the first science fiction novel. That would mean science fiction began over two hundred years already before Frankenstein, the most accepted answer for the first science fiction novel, was written in 1818 by Mary Shelley.

Let’s look at how the style of literature got its name. The first recorded use of the term “science fiction” was in 1851 by William Wilson. Unfortunately for Mr. Wilson, his term didn’t catch on.

The popular technical magazine Science and Invention ran from 1920 to 1931. In 1925, publisher Hugo Gernsback announced he was beginning a new magazine. He would fill this new publication with tales of extremely excellent devices, space travel, and the future. Mr. Gernsback gave the new magazine the name Sciencefiction. The magazine was later re-titled Amazing Stories, but it was still termed “the magazine of science fiction”. This time, the term would spread to popular culture.

Science fiction author and fan Forrest J. Ackerman invented the term “sci-fi” in 1954. The term “sci-fi” caught on soon after Mr. Ackerman coined the phrase, but many fans and authors intensely disliked it. However, after the introduction of the Sci-Fi Channel television network,   the term “sci-fi” found its wide acceptance.

There are many options for the “real” first science fiction novel. Instead of debating the past, let’s stay true to the spirit of science fiction and focus on the future.