I should start off this review by returning to two basic themes I have been trying to get across about this book:
- This book is incredibly slow-paced.
I’m sorry, there simply can be no disputing this fact.
First of all, it’s obvious just from the text that we are not well into the main plot yet, and the conflict is still developing very, very slowly. I mean, I didn’t actually know where the book was going to go after Part Two, and Part Three followed by immediately teasing us with details about the plot’s forward motion, and giving us more and more information to try to figure out the story developments.
But what’s more, I am going to admit this right now: I sneaked a peek at the back cover. I thought it was silly not to, considering I am one-hundred-and-fifty-three pages into the book now. The last sentence of the first paragraph in the plot summary reveals that Liesel will continue stealing books, which isn’t really a spoiler, but it also mentions she will steal from the mayor’s wife’s library, which is a shock and I wish had not been printed there!
The next paragraph gives away a big revelation about where this story is going, though: “When Liesel’s foster family hides a Jew in their basement, Liesel’s world is both opened up and closed down.” Not much of a shock, really, and we still don’t know how Hans started dealing with Max in the first place. I’m getting the impression Hans was inspired by Liesel’s book theft to help Max by mailing him the copy of Mein Kampf to disguise his supplies. But Death took sadistic glee in telling us Hans’ plans would be foiled in November (when Max arrives), so what was Hans actually planning to do with Max? What’s more, I can’t imagine his motives are entirely selfless.
2. This book is written in a decidedly “slice-of-life” format.
Both of these two points are extremely obvious in:
THE ARYAN SHOPKEEPER
The chapter opens with Liesel eating candy outside Frau Diller’s. We are clearly opening in the middle of this adventure, and Death teases us by simply providing to us the words Liesel and her best friend exchange:
*** ANOTHER CONVERSATION ***
BETWEEN RUDY AND LIESEL
“Hurry up, Saumensch, that’s ten already.”
“It’s not, it’s only eight – I’ve got two to go.”
“Well, hurry up, then. I told you we should have gotten a knife
and sawn it in half….Come on, that’s two.”
“All right. Here. And don’t swallow it.”
“Do I look like an idiot?”
[A short pause]
“This is great, isn’t it?”
“It sure is, Saumensch.”
Combined with the dramatically cryptic nature of this, my first idea was that Liesel and Rudy had expanded into candy thievery now, and this would inevitably lead back to book thievery. Zusak then immediately backtracks, however, to show us the full story that led up to this moment.
At the end of August and summer, they found one pfennig on the ground.
They’re so happy at this stroke of good luck that they run to buy mixed candy from Frau Diller’s shop. They don’t even stop to think that they might not have enough money, or to recall that Frau Diller is, well, a child-hating mega-bitch.
Frau Diller smiled. Her teeth elbowed each other for room in her mouth, and her unexpected kindness made Rudy and Liesel smile as well. Not for long.
She bent down, did some searching, and came back. “Here,” she said, tossing a single piece of candy onto the counter. “Mix it yourself.”
I wonder if Markus Zusak has read Roald Dahl’s autobiography, because Frau Diller reminds me a great deal of an elderly candy shop owner named Mrs. Pratchett who actually existed in Wales in the early 1920s and was disliked by Dahl and his friends for many reasons, namely that she regularly accused them of plotting thievery, was generally filthy and unkempt, and wouldn’t give a bag of candy unless they spent a lot of money at one time. They later slipped a rat into her candy jar as a prank, and thought she had died, but instead this incident culminated in Dahl and his friends being caned at school while Mrs. Pratchett sat by cheering the headmaster on like a lunatic.
It’s fitting in any case because I sense that he is drawing from real aspects of this time period, and given we are being shown a portrait of Germany in 1940, this just feels particularly authentic.
What’s really clever is how Rudy and Liesel refuse to hate this woman, though, at least not today, and will not allow her to spoil their good mood. They don’t seem to really care what her intentions were, they truly make the best of this deal.
“This,” Rudy announced at one point, with a candy-toothed grin, “is the good life,” and Liesel didn’t disagree. By the time they were finished, both their mouths were an exaggerated red, and as they walked home, they reminded each other to keep their eyes peeled, in case they found another coin.
So we have here a complete reversal of expectations: This chapter does not actually develop the plot at all, but rather acts as a further reminder of what Zusak has been trying to show us throughout our years, that the so-called simple “good old days” are nothing of the kind, and only appear that way when we are young. Many people might be angry at this chapter and call it a waste of time, but I think it serves to make the world appear much more real. It shows that Nazi Germany wasn’t just this evil historical setting and World War II wasn’t the be-all and end-all of this period. This was a time just like today where normal people existed and went about their everyday lives, just like they do now, and if somebody missed that and didn’t get the point of this chapter, the last sentence really hammers this theme into our heads:
The day had been a great one, and Nazi Germany was a wondrous place.
What’s worse is I find myself smiling and nodding in unironic agreement. I mean, I feel strange suggesting a person listen to “Penny Lane” while reading a chapter of a Holocaust novel, but try it and tell me it doesn’t amplify the experience.
Also, I’ve wondered sometimes if this book’s structure really fits me dividing the posts up like this, but this really does feel like the prologue for the second half of this part.
THE STRUGGLER, CONTINUED
And naturally, the pace abruptly starts up as the plot begins moving quickly:
We move forward now, to a cold night struggle. We’ll let the book thief catch up later.
We have in fact skipped the events of 2 entire months altogether, as it is now November 3 and we are back with Max on a train leaving Stuttgart.
In front of him, he read from the copy of Mein Kampf. His savior.
It was pretty clear already that Hans sent the book to him, but here we are, there’s the confirmation.
I don’t quite understand this, though:
*** BOOK THIEF PRODUCTIONS ***
This really is a bizarre book, and it must seem even stranger when I just quote little excerpts like this to you. Roger Ebert complained in 1994 that “The workshops don’t seem able to teach you how to write like yourself, but they sure are able to teach you how to write like everyone else. At a time when Hollywood is bashful about originality, it’s a real career asset to be able to write clone screenplays.” Maybe that’s a reason why people like Zusak so much. He really seems to make up his own rules.
I mean, I haven’t been talking about these strange notes that Death keeps making to us and the literary purpose of them, but I don’t even get this one because Hans legally obtained Mein Kampf from the local Nazi party office.
It’s clear why Hans decided to go out of his way to get this specific book and send it to Max, though. Reading Hitler’s book is a good way to avoid being seen as an enemy of the Nazi Party, and Max can have his supplies stored in it, too. So naturally Max spends all his time on the train reading Mein Kampf and exhibiting paranoia about his fellow passengers:
Look proud, he advised himself. You cannot look afraid. Read the book. Smile at it. It’s a great book – the greatest book you’ve ever read. Ignore that woman on the other side. She’s asleep now anyway. Come on, Max, you’re only a few hours away.
Death then, as he did in the last chapter, abruptly backtracks to explain to us what led Max to the place he is now.
As it had turned out, the promised return visit in the room of darkness didn’t take days; it had taken a week and a half. Then another week till the next, and another, until he lost all sense of the passing of days and hours.
Zusak really does make it clear just what optimism means to a person in this position, doesn’t he? Max may have gotten his lucky break, but it’s hard for him to really be ecstatic about it, given the circumstances, especially when Death reveals who Max’s mysterious visitor and gift-giver was.
“I’m leaving soon,” his friend Walter Kugler told him. “You know how it is – the army.”
“I’m sorry, Walter.”
Walter Kugler, Max’s friend from childhood, placed his hand on the Jew’s shoulder. “It could be worse.” He looked his friend in his Jewish eyes. “I could be you.”
This really is heartbreaking, especially when you consider that both Max and Kugler know they may never see each other again. Kugler could easily die in
battle, and the slightest slip-up could result in Max getting killed by the Nazis.
But when Hans sends the book to them, Max has hope. And hope, as any loyal Hunger Games fan knows, is the only thing stronger than fear.
When the door shut, Max opened the book and examined the ticket. Stuttgart to Munich to Pasing. It left in two days, in the night, just in time to make the last connection. From there, he would walk. The map was already in his head, folded in quarters. The key was still taped to the inside cover.
Interestingly enough, the only things Max is given by Walter are tools related to shaving, obviously so that he can change his physical appearance. So perhaps Max has already been fingered by the Nazis, and it will be especially difficult for him to avoid detection.
When he left it, the storeroom was empty but for the floor.
“Goodbye,” he whispered.
The last thing Max saw was the small mound of hair, sitting casually against the wall.
I can’t communicate just what beautiful writing this is except to show it to you. I mean, Max’s memories of this place obviously wouldn’t be very happy, but still it makes one nervous to be on the cusp of such change in their life, and it’s clear Max is very uncertain about where his path will take him. That seems to be the primary emotion expressed here.
And once Max is actually on the train leaving Stuttgart, this immediately changes to dread:
In his stomach was the electric combination of nourishment and nausea.
He walked to the station.
He showed his ticket and identity card, and now he sat in a small box compartment of the train, directly in danger’s spotlight.
Things basically go off without a hitch, though. He worries about being forced to provide papers, which is a big issue Walter and Hans should probably have tried to do something about. But in the end, he is openly asked for his ticket and the journey proceeds with little incident, and Death expresses open amusement at how Hitler’s book is being used for the exact opposite of Hitler’s intentions.
Some people might find this uninteresting, but it’s clear the conflict and fear in Max’s mind is worse than any real danger could ever present. At least for now, because it’s obvious his fears will eventually be validated at some point in the following three-hundred-and-seventy-seven pages. I’m sure Death would love to give us his “We’ll give him seven months” taunt against Max here. But then he’s still enjoying Hans’ plans close to being thwarted at the moment, which brings me to a big question we still have left.
How are Hans’ plans being thwarted? When he sent Max that book, where was he expecting Max to go with it? Was there really no consultation with him and Walter about this, and were his motives really that selfless when he felt such glee upon his inspiration to send Max the book?
<sigh> I need to be honest: It’s getting difficult to review this book. You see, most books just sit there calmly and just let themselves play out, and you can just dispassionately critique them. But this book wants to open its chapters with sentences like this:
You could argue that Liesel Meminger had it easy. She did have it easy compared to Max Vandenburg.
Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying. It’s my job to analyze this book, Death, not you, so butt out.
Certainly, her brother practically died in her arms.
….. Well, all right, but she seems to have moved past that, mostly. And her foster life is a lot better than I thought it would be, Hans Hubermann is still the glory of human beings, and….
Her mother abandoned her.
But anything was better than being a Jew.
It’s not even a joke anymore. I’m not reviewing this book at all. Because Death is literally sitting right behind me, looking over my shoulder, then leaning back and dispassionately critiquing my work. I mean, I’ve always felt books review their readers in a way, but this is just completely literal. I don’t know what to do.
He follows this up by again reminding me how wrong I was to say the chapter where Rosa and Liesel went on their washing errands was pointless, which is especially petty considering I already apologized:
In the time leading up to Max’s arrival, another washing customer was lost, this time the Weingartners.
I still have a slight objection to this line, though:
The obligatory Schimpferei occurred in the kitchen, and Liesel composed herself with the fact that there were still two left, and even better, one of them was the mayor, the wife, the books.
I’ll grant the mayor is probably paying for his wife, but Liesel is doing laundry for three people at this point: Helena Schmidt, Heinz Hermann, and Ilsa Hermann.
And unfortunately she’s also feeding her belly through other, less legal, measures with Rudy and the young “rob-the-rich-to-feed-ourselves” gang.
Every Friday afternoon, he rode his bike to church, carrying goods to the priests.
For a month, they watched him, as good weather turned to bad, and Rudy in particular was determined that one Friday, in an abnormally frosty week in October, Otto wouldn’t quite make it.
It really is disturbing how easily Rudy is adapting to the criminal lifestyle, and it makes it very difficult to like him as he plots to orchestrate a bicycle accident to steal food from a church. What’s especially disgusting is how pathetically he and Liesel rationalize it:
“All those priests,” Rudy explained as they walked through town. “They’re all too fat anyway. They could do without a feed for a week or so.” Liesel could only agree. First of all, she wasn’t Catholic. Second, she was pretty hungry herself.
Such wonderful reasons. You two are proving to be such great protagonists to love and identify with. Really, I’m so proud.
Otto came around the corner, dopey as a lamb.
He wasted no time in losing control of the bike, sliding across the ice, and lying facedown on the road.
This is HORRIFYING. We are literally rooting for the villains here. I have always wondered how people who do terrible things like this can consider themselves good people, and it is such an incredible thing to realize that we are basically being forced to identify with bullying criminals. It pains and shocks me even to read this.
When he didn’t move, Rudy looked at Liesel with alarm. “Crucified Christ,” he said, “I think we might have killed him!”
I am glad he seems upset, but come on. Did he honestly not realize that this could result in serious injury for Otto?
And what’s even more disgusting is the sentence that immediately follows:
He crept slowly out, removed the basket, and they made their getaway.
I don’t actually understand how they were planning to get the basket unless they were anticipating Otto falling unconscious, because it’s just their lucky accident he fell face-down and somehow doesn’t hear their footsteps.
And as soon as Otto manages to stand up and leave, Rudy proceeds to taunt him:
“Stupid Scheisskopf.” Rudy grinned, and they looked through the spoils. Bread, broken eggs, and the big one, Speck. Rudy held the fatty ham to his nose and breathed it gloriously in. “Beautiful.”
And you know what? The only thing I hate more than this is that I do understand it, to an extent. Because when I was a child, my sisters came up with a plan once of walking from house-to-house asking for money to donate to the “church”. Thankfully, when they finally got to the only house where somebody was willing to give them money, my oldest sister had a bout of conscience and returned it, claiming they didn’t need it. Granted, that didn’t stop her from pranking a neighbor by pouring leaves onto his porch and then allowing me to be punished for it. Her favorite pastime as a child seemed to be convincing me to do horrible things and then immediately telling Mom about it. I have one happy memory of running to tell our mother when she was trying to orchestrate a plot to steal newspapers.
But the reason people do things like this is because they see an easy way to get something and don’t care about the morality. And childhood is the most frequent time for this, due to the low level of maturity. But what I especially hate are people like Arthur, who are old enough to know better and make weak attempts to justify themselves in their mind:
“We’ll get the others,” Arthur Berg stated as they made it outside. “We might be criminals, but we’re not totally immoral.” Much like the book thief, he at least drew the line somewhere.
He also tells Rudy to leave the empty basket at Otto’s house, “showing his incongruous moral aptitude“. And I am going to quote the Ninth Doctor: “You let one of them go, but that’s nothing new. Every now and then, a little victim’s spared because she smiled, because he’s got freckles, because they begged. And that’s how you live with yourself. That’s how you slaughter millions. Because once in a while, on a whim, if the wind’s in the right direction, you happen to be kind.” You, sir, are brilliant. You, Arthur Berg, are an immoral criminal.
I also hate “protagonist-centered morality” in books. So the only reason I don’t hate Markus Zusak and am not disowning this book as garbage is because he does thankfully realize just what his protagonists are doing, and shows Liesel is obviously more affected than Rudy, as they walk home.
“Do you feel bad?” Liesel finally asked. They were already on the way home.
It surprises me that Rudy eventually admits he does, and after some more pathetic attempts to justify himself, Death thankfully seems to acknowledge this isn’t nearly enough to redeem him by spoiling some more of the story for us:
In years to come, he would be a giver of bread, not a stealer – proof again of the contradictory human being. So much good, so much evil. Just add water.
It does make me happy to know Rudy will eventually redeem himself, considering how flat-out loathsome he comes across in this chapter. What’s more, that quote is enough to make me love this book because it is so true. The media lumps people into “good guys” and “bad guys”, but in reality we are just human beings, and all of us make immoral decisions on occasion.
In fact, Zusak could easily have ended the chapter on that note, but instead it goes on as Arthur invites them to rob a potato farm almost a week later. What I said about Zusak wasting very little words proves to be extremely true as the book starts to move very quickly:
Twenty-four hours later, Liesel and Rudy braved the wire fence again and filled their sack.
The problem showed up as they made their getaway.
“Christ!” shouted Arthur. “The farmer!”
Doesn’t leave much room for us to be bored, does he? I mean, everyone is fine and coming home from school one minute, then in 7 paragraphs, a farmer is chasing them all with an axe and Rudy is tangled in the wire fence.
The sound of the stranded.
Thankfully, Liesel does run back to help. It really is dramatic reading, too, as I found myself wondering how they could possibly escape before the farmer caught up with them. The answer confuses me:
“Quick,” he said,” he’s coming.”
Far off, they could still hear the sound of deserting feet when an extra hand grabbed the wire and reefed it away from Rudy Steiner’s pants. A piece was left on the metallic knot, but the boy was able to escape.
“Now move it,” Arthur advised them, not long before the farmer arrived, swearing and struggling for breath. The ax held on now, with force, to his leg.
Arthur had already run far away. And I am assuming he stays on this side of the fence and saves Rudy from there. But the last sentence I’ve quoted is strange because it seemed to be implying Arthur had somehow managed to run back in, get the axe from the farmer, and catch him around the leg with it.
In any case they escape, but Arthur screams out “The name is Owens! Jesse Owens!“, so we likely have to worry about it being traced back to Rudy, as the farmer is determined to catch the criminals who robbed him. Rudy seems to be angry at Arthur because of this afterwards, but we get another confusing passage:
“It’s happened to all of us,” Arthur said, sensing the disappointment. Was he lying? They couldn’t be sure and they would never find out.
What exactly is he lying or not lying about? The fact that they failed at their mission and almost got Rudy caught? Because if he’s trying to say he’s in the same boat with Rudy in regards to the farmer coming after him, this seems to be a complete lie considering Death then proceeds to tell us he leaves for Cologne in a few weeks, whereas Rudy has to stay in Molching indefinitely.
Furthermore, Death really gives us an abrupt tone change as he tells us that they never saw Arthur Berg again after he moved, and describes the last time he met Rudy and Liesel.
I suppose the point is just to acknowledge that even the supporting characters are fully-fledged people in their own right. We don’t tend to think about them much, but Death is trying to remind us Arthur was a person, too. He even gives us this last glimpse of his life:
*** A SMALL TRIBUTE TO ARTHUR BERG, ***
A STILL-LIVING MAN
The Cologne sky was yellow and rotting,
flaking at the edges.
He sat propped against a wall with a child
in his arms. His sister.
When she stopped breathing, he stayed with her,
and I could sense he would hold her for hours.
There were two stolen apples in his pocket.
I haven’t talked about these notes that interrupt/complement the text at all, really, but now I’m starting to feel like they are sheer poetry. This one in particular just creates a whole image of a moment in time that exists outside the narrative. Perhaps these notes are the only way to express certain ideas and get points across.
It reminds me of a part in Voyage of the Dawn Treader where C.S. Lewis randomly interrupted the narrative to tell us in great detail about the only crew member aboard the Dawn Treader who did not eventually sail to the End of the World with Caspian and our heroes. We never really knew him, but Lewis inexplicably decided to show us a glimpse at his personality and how he lived out the rest of his life.
At the end of the half-hour they all came trooping back to Aslan’s Table and stood at one end while Drinian and Rhince went and sat down with Caspian and made their report; and Caspian accepted all the men but that one who had changed his mind at the last moment. His name was Pittencream and he stayed on the Island of the Star all the time the others were away looking for the World’s End, and he very much wished he had gone with them. He wasn’t the sort of man who could enjoy talking to Ramandu and Ramandu’s daughter (nor they to him), and it rained a good deal, and though there was a wonderful feast on the Table every night, he didn’t very much enjoy it. He said it gave him the creeps sitting there alone (and in the rain as likely as not) with those four Lords asleep at the end of the Table. And when the others returned he felt so out of things that he deserted on the voyage home at the Lone Islands, and went and lived in Calormen, where he told wonderful stories about his adventures at the End of the World, until at last he came to believe them himself. So you may say, in a sense, that he lived happily ever after. But he never could bear mice.
Zusak here seems to be telling us Arthur’s fate similarly. It’s sort of like how I’ve always wondered about the personal lives of the henchmen in James Bond films and how their families react to their inevitable deaths, not to mention how MI6 and other agencies sort out the paperwork and funeral matters following the inevitable round of fatalities that occur in every film.
Even though it is doubtful we were going to wonder about whether he survived the war, Death just gives us this glimpse into his life and tells us that he does live through World War II and may even be alive at age 80 in 2005.
It sort of makes us want to know more about him, and realize how little we do know about the random people in our lives, what will happen to them, and the fact that people just wander into our lives and then we never see or hear from them again with absolutely no warning.
This really is a strange book in how it makes random diversions like this and the story abruptly returns to Liesel and Rudy in the present: selling the chestnuts Arthur gave them the last time they met rather than vomiting them up later, and getting their revenge on Frau Diller.
“Mixed candy again?” She schmunzeled, to which they nodded. The money splashed the counter and Frau Diller’s smile fell slightly ajar.
“Yes, Frau Diller,” they said in unison. “Mixed candy, please.”
Flawless, absolutely flawless. But then Death gives us this to end the chapter:
Triumph before the storm.
Nazi Germany is not going to remain a wondrous place. Every part is sort of a story in itself, all building up to a dramatic end-point. Max is almost here to make life more difficult, and I don’t think I should be looking forward to Part Four.
THE STRUGGLER, CONCLUDED
It’s fitting that I compared Zusak’s writing to C.S. Lewis’, because the thing they seem to have in common is that they both seem to enjoy writing, namely by doing it in entirely their own way, rather than following the traditional accepted literary methods. The real difference seems to be that Lewis had a lot more fun writing than Zusak, I don’t think he took it nearly as seriously because The Chronicles of Narnia were all written over a few months.
You can tell this in a way because whenever Lewis had to describe something that would be hard for him he would just give a fun little comparison and be done with it. Zusak, by contrast, handles descriptions in the form of comparisons, as well, but primarily through metaphors that are carefully phrased in writing that has obviously been intricately constructed and edited.
Lewis never got nearly so poetic and he usually just spoke in the voice of the narrator to get any idea across. (He even randomly included lines indicating the characters related the story in the future to him at one point, which doesn’t explain how he knew certain details such as the fate of Pittencream.) However, Zusak starts off this closing chapter with writing that is very similar to Lewis:
The juggling comes to an end now, but the struggling does not. I have Liesel Meminger in one hand, Max Vandenburg in the other. Soon, I will clap them together. Just give me a few pages.
I’ve used the name “Zusak” a lot of times when I should technically be referring to Death, but in passages like this it’s very hard to see him as anything else. I do enjoy this kind of writing tremendously. It’s always struck me as much more light and fun to read than formal, dignified, strict writing.
And it really is a good way of setting off the next chapter as he brings us directly to the moment we have been waiting for. It’s obviously November 7 and there is a sense of pure fun in Zusak’s acknowledgement that he is setting the pieces in motion to get the story where he has told us it is going to go.
Naturally, he cuts directly to Max and it’s clear he feels thrilled, on the verge of being triumphant but every nerve in his body is tingling as he realizes the great magnitude of what will happen next.
If they killed him tonight, at least he would die alive.
Apparently, he actually dared walk off the train from Pasing to Molching:
It was late when he saw the town. His legs ached terribly, but he was nearly there – the most dangerous place to be. Close enough to touch it.
I really can feel all of his emotions. Death’s giving so much of the story away does work well actually, as we realize we are at the point he has told us so much of.
Just as it was described, he found Munich Street and made his way along the footpath.
He is literally so close to the Hubermann house, and our story is about to begin! This is amazing, edge-of-your-seat writing!
Glowing pockets of streetlights.
Dark, passive buildings.
The town hall stood like a giant ham-fisted youth, too big for his age. The church disappeared in darkness the farther his eyes traveled upward.
It all watched him.
I can see it all perfectly. The atmosphere here is so perfectly vivid and tense. We get particularly grim humor from Max as he counts his steps in sets of 13, and after a remarkable 1170 steps (I didn’t really think it was that far from Munich Street to Himmel Street), he makes his way right up to the Hubermann household.
Now he turned on to the side street, making his way to number thirty-three, resisting the urge to smile, resisting the urge to sob or even imagine the safety that might be awaiting him. He reminded himself that this was no time for hope. Certainly, he could almost touch it. He could feel it, somewhere just out of reach. Instead of acknowledging it, he went about the business of deciding again what to do if he was caught at the last moment or if by some chance the wrong person awaited him inside.
I have only read one other Holocaust novel. It was a children’s book named Daniel’s Story, and I read it for school. And even though that book was actually narrated by the Jewish victim and a child no less, I never really felt the horrible mixture of emotions the victims of the Holocaust suffered.
Perhaps the idea is that Death is just fascinated by human emotions, but Zusak’s empathy is so remarkable this really is the first time I find myself getting genuinely angry at Hitler and the Nazis. As horrible as that sounds, I never really saw this as more than sad history until now. And we haven’t even seen Max face any real threat to his life yet! What did he do to deserve any of this? Nothing! WHY WAS THIS ALLOWED TO HAPPEN? Just by reading this, it’s clear Max is a good person:
Of course, there was also the scratchy feeling of sin.
How could he do this?
How could he show up and ask people to risk their lives for him? How could he be so selfish?
I don’t think Max is entirely wrong to feel this way. The Hubermanns are privileged German citizens, but that doesn’t mean they’ve done anything wrong and they don’t really deserve to be endangered with him.
The part that comes after this is strange, though. There is a pause in the writing and then we get this:
They looked at each other.
I’m assuming this is Max’s perspective staring up at the two numbers on the door of 33 Himmel Street, but maybe typing the numbers as numerals would have made the meaning more immediately obvious. (This may have been changed by an editor, ala the unfortunate “nevar” proper spelling instituted by editors in Lewis Carroll’s author note to Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There.)
The book does go on to portray Max at the door, and I have to enjoy the sad authenticity in Zusak’s writing:
From his pocket, he pulled out the key. It did not sparkle but lay dull and limp in his hand. For a moment, he squeezed it, half expecting it to come leaking toward his wrist. It didn’t. The metal was hard and flat, with a healthy set of teeth, and he squeezed it till it pierced him.
Something that allows you to open the door to the house of privileged German citizens who will care for you may sound like a magical object, but pick up any key and put it in your hand. This is the exact experience you will have, no matter who you are.
And I love that this third part ends just before we see Max make the final step that will mean so much more than hard and flat metal teeth:
Slowly, then, the struggler leaned forward, his cheek against the wood, and he removed the key from his fist.
This raises a lot of questions, really. Death made it pretty clear Max showing up at Hans’ door wasn’t what he had wanted in April, which is why it surprised me that he sent the door key of his house. So what was the plan, and how did it end up getting ruined/sidetracked by Max’s arrival at 33 Himmel?
I frequent the blogs of people who tear apart the Hunger Games trilogy, The Fault in Our Stars, and the first Harry Potter book and talk about how people are too non-critical and afraid to challenge what they read. I do feel I could have been harder on Rowling in my Casual Vacancy
reviews, but I simply can’t feel guilty for praising this. Anyone who complains about emotions being ignored and reduced to “I didn’t even know how to react, I just felt empty” in books would love this. It’s amazingly emotional writing.
This was a fairly short set of chapters and I find myself getting goosebumps thinking about Part Four, in fact. I get the feeling we’re going to get a lot of explanations as soon as Max goes in to meet the Hubermanns, and I can’t wait to see Rosa’s reaction.
This is a Holocaust novel.
Listen to “Penny Lane” while reading “The Aryan Shopkeeper”.
Tell me I am depraved. Go on, do it.