I’ve lived most of my life fighting against depression， and I still do. Yet， even in my darkest moments， your words have kept ringing in my ears and it is high time I said thank you. When I was eight， my mother was 1）diagnosed with 2）multiple sclerosis. She had been raising me alone on very little money for the most part of six years， but for the first time in her life she found herself quite unable to take care of me. I soon became a burden for the rest of the family.
　　My grandparents， aunts and uncles had heard somewhere that anxiety might have been the cause of the disease and because raising a child by oneself while struggling with poverty 3）elicits anxiety， they found it easier to blame my mother’s illness on the child—i.e. me. Without even considering the disastrous effects their behaviour could have on the mind of an eight-year-old， they refused to take full responsibility for （I quote） “the monster who had destroyed his own mother”.
　　For almost two years， I was moved from home to home， like a 4）pawn on a chessboard， from one family member to the next. Not only had I lost my home and the careful and 5）benevolent attention given to me by my mother， but also I was now feeling guilty， unworthy and had lost confidence in people and in myself. For good or bad， this was a 6）decisive moment in my life.

　　At that time， I was carrying my whole life in a backpack： clothes， school books， a few pens， two pictures， my dead grandfather’s pocketwatch—and Harry Potter. Your books， your words and my imagination were then the only things to provide me with some enduring sense of home. I could return to them， knowing for sure that the fantasy world you had created was somehow waiting for me， wherever I was. I could carry a whole universe within me， and escape， for a time， from this small and unsatisfying world of mine， which I couldn’t prevent from falling apart. Even if I now understand that escapism， in that sense， is not a solution， as an eightyear-old boy it was all I could hope for.
　　I am French， and French translations of Harry Potter were always published with a delay. All I asked for Christmas that year was your latest book， in English， and a bilingual dictionary. I spent weeks 7）deciphering the book and producing what would by any standard be considered as an awful translation. Yet I had a project in mind， a goal， something to keep me busy， and it helped me more than I could say. 　　Writing this letter today and looking back to the child I was then， I just feel incredibly lucky that you pursued your own dream and wrote those books.
　　I’ve grown up. I’m now a post-graduate student in English and American literature at the 8）Sorbonne， writing my dissertation on a rather obscure American poet. I’ve completed a master’s thesis， which was nationally awarded and published， and I’ve spent two amazing years teaching French in the UK. Yet， until very recently， even my （small） successes were but failures to me.
　　When I came across an amazing speech you gave at Harvard in 2008 this morning， I felt the urgent need to write， even though I know it is most unlikely that you’ll ever read this letter. For the first time in months， your simple and honest speech helped me change my point of view. It’s just the beginning of a new understanding for me but your words are helping me once more， not in the same way， but quite like those of Harry Potter that helped me survive years ago.
　　All I want is to let you know how grateful I am： your ability as a writer contributed to make my world a little bit brighter when I needed it the most. Thank you.

　　我人生过去的大部分时间都在和抑郁作斗争，现在依旧这样。然而，即便是在我人生中最黑暗的时刻，你的话也一直在我耳边回响，是时候向你道谢了。我八岁时，我妈妈被确诊患有多发性硬化症。在那之前的六年里，基本上是妈妈靠着微薄的收入独自抚养我，但确诊后，她第一次发现自己没有足够的能力继续照顾我了。很快，我成了亲戚们的包袱。
　　我的外祖父母、阿姨和舅舅从某处听说焦虑可能会导致这种病，而由于在贫困线上挣扎的同时还要独自抚养一个小孩确实会引发焦虑，所以他们就想当然地把妈妈的病怪罪在孩子的身上——也就是我的身上。他们拒绝为这个（引用他们的原话）“毁了自己母亲的怪兽”负起全责，甚至没有顾及自己的行为会给一个八岁孩子的心灵带来灾难性的影响。
　　几乎有两年之久，我就像棋盘上的卒子，一次又一次地被转移，从一位亲戚家到另一位亲戚家。我不仅失去了自己的家，失去了妈妈关切、慈爱的照料，而且当时我还有一种罪恶感，觉得自己没有价值，不信任别人，也失去了自信。无论是好是坏，那都是我人生中的关键阶段。
　　那时，我把自己全部的家当都塞进背包里：衣服，课本，几支笔，两张照片，已故爷爷的怀表——和《哈利·波特》。那时，唯有你创作的书、你笔下的文字和我的想象能持久地给我家的感觉。不知怎么地，我确信你创造的奇幻世界在等着我，无论我身在哪里，我都可以回到《哈利·波特》的世界里。一度我能把整个宇宙都带在身上，逃离那个让我不满的狭小世界，那个分崩离析而我又无力挽回的世界。尽管我现在明白那种意义上的逃离并不能解决问题，但那是一个八岁的男孩能够企及的一切。
　　我是法国人，而《哈利·波特》法语译本的出版时间总是晚于原版。那年圣诞节，我唯一想要的礼物就是你的英文原版新书，和一本双语词典。我花了几周时间解读和翻译这本书，尽管我的译文无论用哪个标准评判都很差劲。然而我脑中有了计划，有了目标，能让自己保持忙碌，这个计划给我带来的益处不可胜言。
　　今天写这封信，回顾我小时候的情景，我感到自己幸运得难以置信，因为你坚持了自己的梦想，我才有机会读到你创作的故事。
　　我已经长大了。我现在是巴黎大学英美文学专业的研究生，在写一篇关于一位籍籍无名的美国诗人的论文。我的硕士学位论文已经完成，在全国范围内获了奖并发表了，我还在英国度过了两年教授法语的美好时光。然而，曾几何时，即便我取得了（小小的）成功，我也觉得自己很失败，直到最近，我才学会了感受成功的喜悦。
　　今天早上，我偶然发现2008年你在哈佛大学发表的演讲，我迫切地想要写信给你，虽然我知道你几乎不可能会读到这封信。几个月以来，我的观念第一次被你简练、坦率的演讲所改变。这只是我新认知的开始，但你的文字又一次帮助了我，虽然方式不尽相同，但和多年前《哈利·波特》帮助我活下去是一样的。
　　我只想让你知道我心存多少感激：你作为作家，用自己的能力，在我最需要的时候，让我的世界变得更光明。谢谢你。