Little Booker’s life began without a last name, without a father, and without freedom. His first years were spent in slavery, laboring from the age of four. When freedom did come, it was more work in salt mines, in coal mines, cutting grass, sweeping floors—all for little pay. But there were stolen moments, too. A delicious snack of boiled corn from the animals’ feed, leisurely Sunday afternoons spent with his brother, a book studied by candlelight in a coal mine. Booker was determined to turn nothing good into something fine. More than anything, he was determined to learn to read. Once he did that, he would be unstoppable.