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In Rio de Janeiro, tourists are drawn to Copacabana for its wide beach and foliage-covered cliffs. But a month ago, not far from the tourist hub, an American woman and her French male companion were abducted. She was brutally gang-raped; he was beaten.

Perhaps what was most shocking to Brazilians, though, was the age of one of the alleged accomplices: He was barely in his teens.

"Why? That's what you ask yourself," says Sylvia Rumpoldt, who is walking with a friend at dusk by the sea in Rio. "It's horrible. It's criminal energy."

Her friend, Maria de Paula, agrees. What's happening with children in Brazil is barbaric, she says.

Crime in the South American nation has been in the headlines recently, especially as it prepares to host two major sporting events — the World Cup in 2014 and the Summer Olympics in 2016.

But a recent spate of attacks by minors has kicked off a heated debate here. Children increasingly aren't only the victims of violence in Brazil, they are often the perpetrators — and the country is struggling with what to do about it.

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We physicists are all romantics. Don't laugh; it's true. In our youth we all fall deeply in love. We fall in love with a beautiful idea: beyond this world of constant change lies another world that is perfect and timeless.

This eternal domain is made not of matter or energy. It's made from perfect, timeless mathematical laws. Finding those exquisite eternal laws — or better yet, a single timeless formula for everything — is the Holy Grail we dedicate our lives to.

Unless we lose faith in that Grail. That's what's happened to physicist Lee Smolin, author of the new book Time Reborn. As he puts it:

I used to think my job as a theoretical physicist was to find that formula. Now I see my faith in its existence as a kind of mysticism.

Look at photographs from the Bangladesh garment factory collapse, and you can see clothing in the rubble destined for a store called Joe Fresh, one of the many retailers using super-cheap fashions made overseas to keep shoppers buying often.

But in the aftermath of the tragedy, would customers pay more if they knew the clothes were made by workers treated fairly and safely?

At the Joe Fresh store on Manhattan's Fifth Avenue, you're bombarded with pastel polo shirts, button-down shirts and chino pants. On one shelf, you might find clothes made in Peru, Vietnam and China. Toward the back, piles and piles of shorts, just $19 each, and each made in Bangladesh.

Outside the store, Reene Schiaffo emerged with a bag full of Joe Fresh merchandise. She says she knew about the Bangladesh factory collapse, but gives the company the benefit of the doubt.

"It didn't affect my sale, because I know a lot of times these retailers don't exactly know where the stuff is being made," she says, "but they have to pay attention more because that's not acceptable."

Of course, Joe Fresh has many competitors. Nearby Herald Square has become a kind of Mecca for what the industry calls fast fashion — clothes so cheap they are almost disposable. On a block with Zara, H&M, Gap and Uniqlo, I asked shoppers if they'd pay more if they knew the clothes came from safe factories that treated workers well.

Most, like Ingrid Lelorieux of France, said yes.

"If it's between 5 and 10 percent, I will," she says.

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Get recipes for Strangozzi Al Tartufo (Strangozzi Pasta With Black Truffle Sauce), Minestra Di Zucca, Farro E Verdure (Squash And Farro Soup With Greens), Penne Alla Norcina (Penne In The Style Of Norcia) and Insalata Di Farro (Cold Farro Salad).