poems and sketches of the archipelago published in a national journal. Hilde was so
proud every time she saw his name in print. ALBERT KNAG. It meant something in
Lillesan^, anyway. Her great-grandfather’s name had also been Albert.
The mirror. Many years ago her father had joked about not being able to wink at
your own reflection with both eyes at the same time, except in this brass mirror. It was
an exception because it was an old magic mirror Great-grandmother had bought from
a Gypsy woman just after her wedding.
Hilde had tried for ages, but it was just as hard to wink at yourself with both
eyes as to run away from your own shadow. In the end she had been given the old
family heirloom to keep. Through the years she had tried from time to time to master
the impossible art.
Not surprisingly, she was pensive today. And not unnaturally, she was
preoccupied with herself. Fifteen years old ...
She happened to glance at her bedside table. There was a large package there. It
had pretty blue wrapping and was tied with a red silk ribbon. It must be a birthday
present!
Could this be the present? The great big present from Dad that had been so very
secret? He had dropped so many cryptic hints in his cards from Lebanon. But he had
“imposed a severe censorship on himself.”
The present was something that “grew bigger and bigger,” he had written. Then
he had said something about a girl she was soon to meet—and that he had sent copies
of all his cards to her. Hilde had tried to pump her mother for clues, but she had no
idea what he meant, either.
The oddest hint had been that the present could perhaps be “shared with other
people.” He wasn’t working for the UN for nothing! If her father had one bee in his
bonnet—and he had plenty—it was that the. UN ought to be a kind of world
government. May the UN one day really be able to unite the whole of humanity, he
had written on one of his cards.
Was she allowed to open the package before her mother came up to her room
singing “Happy Birthday to You,” with pastry and a Norwegian flag? Surely that was
why it had been put there?
She walked quietly across the room and picked up the package. It was heavy!
She found the tag: To Hilde on her 15th birthday from Dad.
She sat on the bed and carefully untied the red silk ribbon. Then she undid the
blue paper.
It was a large ring binder.
Was this her present? Was this the fifteenth-birthday present that there had been
so much fuss about? The present that grew bigger and bigger and could be shared
with other people?
A quick glance showed that the ring binder was rilled with typewritten pages.
Hilde recognized them as being from her father’s typewriter, the one he had taken
with him to Lebanon.
Had he written a whole book for her?
On the first page, in large handwritten letters, was the title, SOPHIE’S
WORLD.
Farther down the page there were two typewritten lines of poetry:
TRUE ENLIGHTENMENT IS TO MAN LIKE SUNLIGHT TO THE SOIL
—N.F.S. Grundtvig
Hilde turned to the next page, to the beginning of the first chapter. It was