Spread the message! This vandalism must be stopped!

Edit on 1/18/15: I sent for Miracle on 34th Street (1947) off Netflix to see what version arrived. Sure enough, it was the same one I have (obviously a present from long ago I don’t remember receiving) marketed as the “Exclusive Color Version” on VHS.

The original is available on Netflix, though, under the heading of “Black-and-White Version”. So naturally moving forward from the days of VHS, it is clear the color job is simply being held by Netflix as the real schlemiel, so to speak. And I really wonder what director George Seaton and cinematographers Lloyd Ahern and Charles Clarke would think of that, considering this “real deal” was created in 1985 after they died in 1979 and 1983 respectively.

Reviewing All 56 Disney Animated Films And More!

Ok guys I’m upset! Those who read my Scrooge Month got a clear idea of my feelings on the colorization of Black and White movies.  So imagine my shock when I DVR’d the holiday classic Miracle on 34th Street on a major channel, AMC, and what do I see but the colorized version.  AMC should be ashamed of themselves!  I’m serious.  Putting out an assault on an artists vision as if it was the original property on national TV is worthy of the strictest censure.

Why do I hate colorized movies so much?  Well, here we go.

The Michael Bay’s of the world consider film a product but I think of it as art, especially how the movie looks.  People could be painters, sculptors or dancers and they chose to work in film.  We would never take a bronze sculpture and tell the artist he should be using jade or…

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http://news.yahoo.com/mad-men-begins-stretch-run-april-193216044.html

PASADENA, Calif. (AP) — The television series “Mad Men” begins airing its final seven episodes in April and the show’s notoriously secretive creator, Matthew Weiner, said he told only star actor Jon Hamm in advance how it will end.

So Weiner certainly wasn’t spilling any secrets to a roomful of television critics Saturday as he and the cast, by turns wistful and appreciative, talked about their experiences over the past decade. The series begins its stretch run on AMC on April 5.

“I feel very satisfied with a lot of what we did, and I am super proud of the fact that we did not repeat ourselves, which is the tallest order of all of them,” Weiner said.

The creator and executive producer immersed himself in 1960s culture to write “Mad Men,” set at an ad agency during that era. He said he was struck by how many Americans turned inward after the tumultuous events of 1968, including the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy, and said that is reflected in the ending of his series.

Each of the last seven episodes feels like a finale, Weiner said. He took great pains over the years not to publicly reveal details of the show in advance but, behind the scenes, would often talk to actors about ideas that he had for their characters. That wasn’t the case for the end of the series. Actors like Elisabeth Moss said Saturday they were pleasantly surprised by the ending.

“It was surprising to the end,” actor John Slattery said. “It’s been surprising the whole time.”

Weiner said he’s certainly interested in making the ending satisfying to fans. But he cautioned that you can’t please everyone, and it wouldn’t be smart creatively to do that.

I think this blog has done a good job showing what I like in literature, not least because in addition to the 2 books I have reviewed I have mentioned, I have also provided lists of books I’ve read. I’m not as thorough as Daniel who seems to review every book he reads on Goodreads and then on his blog thereabouts, but you have a fairly good idea of my tastes.

Perhaps some of you have been wondering, however, what kind of television I like to watch. Well, I’ve referenced Mad Men more than a few times on here, because I have been watching every episode of it and the revived series of Doctor Who on Netflix since the first week of 2013. It was a fun thing I thought of for new year’s, and naturally, since I do one a week, I’m still wrapped up in it nearly 2 years later. (It was in fact something I thought of to fill the gap in my time after finishing my Casual Vacancy reviews.)

I have watched all but the last 2 episodes of Mad Men to air however, resorting to internet uploads I spent a lot of time tracking down and one that I actually recorded the night it aired. You might have guessed at my Doctor Who fandom, however, based on my quoting the Ninth (and in my opinion best) Doctor in the last post. And that referencing of pop culture and what it says about a person is going to be the main topic here, and that’s why I’ve gone on for so long about it.

For, you see, I am now going to be discussing another show that I haven’t mentioned very much – The Big Bang Theory. I actually have a very interesting relationship with this show, because my aunt* fell in love with it all the way back in 2008, but her description didn’t make it sound all that appealing. “It’s about these four guys who know a lot about science but they don’t know much about women”. In fact, I don’t think I expected the show to last nearly as long it has (renewed to have a total of at least 10 seasons!).

So it took me until the third season to check the show out. I believe I watched some of “The Pirate Solution” on October 12 2009 and wasn’t too interested in it. I didn’t make an effort to watch a full episode until November 16, 2009 – The Adhesive Duck Deficiency. This was a pretty good episode to start off with. I immediately grasped the appeal of the show to my aunt. It is, in spite, a very old-fashioned sitcom. In the rise of unconventionals like Scrubs, Arrested Development, Malcolm in the Middle, The Office, and my dad’s beloved Modern Family, The Big Bang Theory follows in the traditional heels set forth by I Love Lucy. At the time I found it difficult to get into new shows, so this intrigued me and was something I enjoyed.

I went out of my way to watch the next episode (The Vengeance Formulation – Aired November 23, 2009), and I was hooked. In fact, I have a shockingly consistent track record for watching the rest of that season – the only I missed and made no effort to watch later are The Large Hadron Collision, The Precious Fragmentation, The Plimpton Stimulation, and the finale. In retrospect, it’s kind of amazing how fast I got into it – but that quickly stopped. I caught the Season 4 and 5 premieres, but only a few scant episodes of those shows (I like to watch things live without the DVR). I got only about 2 episodes in Season 6 and none in Season 7. And before the show premiered for this Season 8, I read a Cracked article entitled “5 Current TV Shows That Get More Praise Than They Deserve”. The Big Bang Theory made #5, right behind Doctor Who. So naturally I was very grateful to Cracked for the reminder to watch every episode of Season 8.

I have done a solid job so far (mostly thanks to me having few other ways to spend my free time), and I’d like to talk about tonight’s episode The Focus Attenuation.

One thing the Internet will reveal is that the show has received a lot of backlash, and it’s easy to see why. The show can seem out-of-touch and childish when you see where modern sitcoms have evolved, but it’s also the highest-rated comedy, so that’s obviously very comforting to a lot of people.

The first thing I’d like to zero in on is simply how long a show should last. For a silly sitcom like The Big Bang Theory, many might say it’s lost its appeal in the eighth season. But for me, this episode was a very strong entry in a season that’s been fairly decent so far. But more than that, it provides a good example of the show itself, rather than just one slice out of the whole. If you have never watched a single episode of this show, I recommend you watch this episode because it does a good job illustrating the appeal.

3 of the show’s main characters are Caltech physicists, and naturally the show developed a fandom among the scientific community as a show that would use lines that qualified as a “genius bonus”. But with time those have mostly worn out. For broader appeal, the show has made the perhaps wise decision to concentrate on what is called “nerd culture”, or to be more pc, the fandom of science fiction, which means we don’t get a lot of plots involving the complicated jobs these 4 men hold, but plenty of references to stuff like Star Wars, Star Trek, Indiana Jones, Firefly, Hitchhiker’s Guide, and Babylon 5.

And man, oh man, this episode was a doozy. I counted references to Jaws, The Cabin in the Woods, The Shining, and The Lake House all before the opening theme song. I had a feeling this was going to be a good one based on the description alone: “WITH THE GIRLS IN VEGAS, THE GUYS TRY TO INVENT ‘THE NEXT BIG THING'”.

And naturally we don’t get a lot of actual scientific thinking at all in this episode. But we do get an extended debate about potential paradoxes and the proper tense used in discussing time travel in a spirited debate of Back to the Future: Part II, praise for The Social Network, and finally our 4 leads all sit down to watch Ghostbusters in lieu of any actual work. In a way it strikes me as a lot of wink-wink nudging and blatant
enjoyment of what the show has become.

You see, the characters keep getting sidetracked in looking up all sorts of random junk instead of focusing on their hypothesizing. And naturally this all directly appeals to me personally, when you see how often I reference other books and movies in my reviews on here. I even quoted an extended excerpt from Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis in my last post, so you can see how much of myself is in this episode!

And that, I believe, is the main appeal to the show. It’s about a group of guys who a lot of people can relate to. Sure, they were picked on in high school, but look how successful they are now. Also, I thought the underdog Oozma Kappi team in Monsters University was stupid and eye-rolling when I saw it last year, but now I think it may be slightly touching. How can you really describe yourself as adrift from society, an underdog, and a loser accepted by no one and incapable of surviving the real world of wedgie-delivering bullies when you have created your own microcosm of a society all to yourselves?

The show is a tremendous validation of generations grown up being taunted and laughed at, a celebration of what they really have. When people like Leonard, Howard, Sheldon, and Raj watch this episode, they’re not laughing at them so much as they’re laughing at themselves, and thus with them.

But moreover, as a lover of popular culture, I just find it fun to see a piece of popular culture get so caught up in a mass of pop culture-referencing web, to the point I can barely make my way out anymore. There’s something for everyone in here, and even as I laugh so hard I find myself getting dizzied and wanting to collapse just thinking about the rampant, uncontrollable procrastination these men involuntarily indulge in, even as they tear their arm hair off in a desperate, but obviously feeble leap to stop themselves.

Also, I’ve never understood why sitcoms usually have to have at least 1 subplot (I mean, you’d think it would be easier to spread them out to keep from running out of ideas), but this episode had a pretty good one, with the girls off in Vegas. I’ve mentioned how much I love character contrast, and this is a doozy with Amy and Bernadette wanting to party and get drunk and sample every LV strip club, while Penny just needs to get her work done and isn’t too ashamed about it either. Yet in the end we see what giving in to one’s primal urges gets you – no work done and in the case of Miss Farrah-Fowler and Mrs. Wolowitz, a massive hangover in the morning. You really have to admire Penny for being the only one to actually get all her work done despite being the one with legitimate distractions all around her in basically every waking moment. And she gets to go out and have some fun in the pool once she’s done with it, her two alcohol-addled friends unable to say the same.

Also, as you might have guessed, I’ve been too caught up in other books to read any more of The Book Thief for now, and I haven’t watched a YouTube copy I found of the 1987 Secret Garden, either. In fact, I haven’t even started the next Book Thief post, so here’s the focus attenuation, you guys. Hope you enjoyed it somewhat and weren’t too irritated by its long-winded distractions.

*My poor aunt: She was just explaining to me how of course my sister can’t appreciate The Lake House because she’s never experienced real passionate romantic love like that, and here Sheldon rags on it too. And then Penny and Bernadette refuse to see a Barry Manilow show, just to make her extra insulted by her favorite modern sitcom.

I should start off this review by returning to two basic themes I have been trying to get across about this book:

  1. 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.

Pure excitement.

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 ***

OFFICIALLY PRESENTS

Mein Kampf

(My Struggle)

by

Adolf Hitler

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.

Goodbye.

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?

TRICKSTERS

<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.

“About what?”

“You know.”

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.

“Hey!”

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:

Thirty-three.

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.

Hello, and welcome again! It’s good to be back. I apologize for the long delay. I hope to not keep you waiting nearly as long in the future (well, to the few people who actually care about these reviews), but there were matters in my personal life I had to attend to. Not to mention, I’m ashamed of it and I really am unhappy with this arrangement, but somehow I always find myself caught up in reading multiple books at once. As it is, here is the arrangement:

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan

11/22/63 by Stephen King

When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead (re-read)

I know, I know! It’s not right to get caught up in so many at once because a critic should only focus on analyzing one book at a time, yada yada yada. I agree completely, and I don’t know how this even keeps happening.

But rest assured, I am not thinking of any of those books right now. I only have my mind on this one, and my main thought is this: Where does the story go from here?

I mentioned at the end of the last review I didn’t know what was coming next, and that really is true. This is a very strange thing to say, because that’s the way it works with most books, but Zusak consistently dropped so much foreshadowing into the book to lay a neat road-map to Hitler’s birthday that I feel empty now that it’s all over and done with.

He has been hinting for quite a while at someone showing up at the Hubermann doorstep with something related to Hans’ past, but his last expansion on this gave the date as “the early hours of a November morning“. So this is still 7 months to come. Somehow I doubt Zusak is going to skip half a year entirely, but what is going to happen before then?

The subtitles for this part aren’t much help. The actual title of Part Three is “mein kampf“, which baffled me because… well, how is Hitler’s book going to drive the plot of 8 chapters and 7 months? It was only just yesterday, when watching a video review of The Book Thief’s first 2 parts*, that I realized that both of the first 2 parts were named after the important book that Liesel stole in them. I immediately felt ashamed for not noticing this myself.

The subtitle is

featuring:
the way home – a broken woman – a struggler – a juggler – the attributes of summer – an aryan shopkeeper – a snorer – two tricksters – and revenge in the shape of mixed candy

I don’t have a clue what to make of any of this. These are the most incomprehensible “clues” he has given us yet.

THE WAY HOME

And the opening of this chapter just left me immediately more confused:

Mein Kampf.

The book penned by the Führer himself.

I’ve talked about how idiosyncratic Zusak’s writing is, but one of the more controversial aspects of it I have been ignoring for quite some time, but I can do so no longer: He does not always use complete sentences. The book is written in a very conversational style, almost as Death is just sitting in front of us telling us the story, which is fine, but it seems like a violation of basic writing that so much of these sentences do not form complete ideas. They’re just sentence fragments, including the very first sentence of the entire book! I’m sorry. You can defend it and explain to me why I am wrong, but I just had to say that.

Death confuses me even further by stating that Liesel did not actually steal Mein Kampf (so will some parts just be named after a book Liesel happens to obtain, rather than steal, then?), and then offers us some vague hints at how she does get it before thankfully dropping us back into the scene with Hans and Liesel walking home on Hitler’s birthday.

As the ending of the last chapter was leading up to, Liesel cannot stand being burned by the book. It might make sense to just beat it out with her fist through the shirt, but instead she takes it out and juggles it from hand to hand.

Papa: “what the hell do you call that?”
He reached over and grabbed hold of 
The Shoulder Shrug.

Well, I was hoping Liesel could keep the book without anyone else noticing, but it’s pretty obvious this isn’t a big deal. I mean, as he proceeds to acknowledge through casual joking, Hans already kept her secret after finding the first book, right?

Something very strange and very interesting does proceed to happen, though:

Like most humans in the grip of revelation, Hans Hubermann stood with a certain numbness. The next words would either be shouted or would not make it past his teeth. Also, they would most likely be a repetition of the last thing he’d said, only moments earlier.
“Of course.”
This time, his voice was like a fist, freshly banged on the table.
The man was seeing something. He was watching it quickly, end to end, like a race, but it was too high and too far away for Liesel to see.

This really is great writing. I am intrigued, as immediately we begin to see how something could be set up to get to that strange event in November.

And I really love everything about how it’s written. Nothing is illustrated in an especially conventional way in this book. (In fact, during the break between posts, I actually read this chapter multiple times just to admire how it flows.)

What marvelous act was Hans Hubermann about to produce from the thin Munich Street air?
Before I show you, I think we should first take a look at what he was seeing prior to his decision. 

*** PAPA’S FAST-FACED VISIONS ***
First, he sees the girl’s books: The Grave Digger’s Handbook, Faust the Dog, The Lighthouse, and now The Shoulder Shrug. Next is a kitchen and a volatile Hans Junior, regarding those books on the table, where the girl often reads. He speaks: “And what trash is this girl reading?” His son repeats the question three times, after which he makes his suggestion for more appropriate reading material.

This really does come out of nowhere, but that’s what fills me with excitement. I mean, I can see how this “spoiling” is a legitimate literary method now. I could have quit reading after the last chapter, but how could I do that now? Hans has never seemed the type to come up with zany schemes, and hell, I don’t even understand what is motivating him, so what is going on?
The only real part of his strange, mysterious plan that we see set in motion in this chapter is that he goes to the Nazi Party office in the first few days of May and obtains a used copy of Mein Kampf.

“Happy reading,” said one of the party members.
“Thank you.” Hans nodded.

It’s good to see that it will be coming into play somehow. Already, the foreshadowing at the start of this chapter makes perfect sense, but all I can really get is that Hans’ plan is likely going to involve stealing books. But I don’t have a clue why he feels this is necessary.

From the street, he could still hear the men inside. One of the voices was particularly clear. “He will never be approved,” it said, “even if he buys a hundred copies of Mein Kampf.” The statement was unanimously agreed upon.

My first reaction to this was to smile, but I quickly realized that this is not a good thing at all to have the Nazis thinking of Hans this way. And it’s very strange. I mean, is it really that obvious to all the local party officials that Hans has no support for Hitler’s cause? He doesn’t seem to be very vocal about his beliefs, but it’s not a good thing that he seems to be labeled as staunchly against the government in any case.

We also get a hint at his motivations here:

Hans held the book in his right hand, thinking about postage money, a cigaretteless existence, and the foster daughter who had given him this brilliant idea.

So he wants to come up with a solution to their aforementioned cash problems. But will stealing books really get them that much? And aren’t there better ideas that don’t involve breaking the law?

Also somehow I imagined this vivid scene taking place on a bright early morning (it helped I read it for the first time on a bright early morning driving up to Springfield), but then I remembered Death said “The book showed up at 33 Himmel Street perhaps an hour after Liesel had drifted back to sleep from her obligatory nightmare“.

I should acknowledge some other foreshadowing Zusak has been doing, too:

There must have been a good share of mixed feelings at that moment, for Hans Hubermann’s idea had not only sprung from Liesel, but from his son. Did he already fear he’d never see him again?

I ignored it completely in my review back then, but after he left Himmel Street, Death gave heavy foreshadowing of Hans, Jr. dying at Stalingrad. I’ve noticed the book has been surprisingly free of actual death so far except for the opening, despite the setting and, well, the fact that the book is narrated by Death. It doesn’t mean much to me knowing that Hans, Jr. will probably die because he was in the story so little, but it disturbs me that Zusak seems to be willing to give away that kind of information because I don’t know what to expect at all, or how I’d feel about suddenly having that dropped on me.

The chapter ends on a very intriguing note:

On the other hand, he was also enjoying the ecstasy of an idea, not daring just yet to envision its complications, dangers, and vicious absurdities. For now, the idea was enough. It was indestructible. Transforming it into reality, well, that was something else altogether. For now, though, let’s let him enjoy it.
We’ll give him seven months.
Then we come for him.
And oh, how we come.

I feel unprofessional again, but well, how could I possibly quit reading now? I’m hooked! This is exactly what I was looking for. I don’t have a clue what is going to happen, but it seems like he honestly is replying in the story to everything I say here!

THE MAYOR’S LIBRARY

Death begins by clarifying the obvious:

Certainly, something of great magnitude was coming toward 33 Himmel Street, to which Liesel was currently oblivious.

He then gives us a bit of a surprise, however:

Someone had seen her.
The book thief reacted. Appropriately.

All right, so it seems that it wasn’t Rudy, after all. Well, it’s good to know that some lasting drama has come out of that, after all. And Zusak portrays Liesel’s paranoia very realistically.

For Liesel, the paranoia itself became the punishment, as did the dread of delivering some washing to the mayor’s house. It was no mistake, as I’m sure you can imagine, that when the time came, Liesel conveniently overlooked the house on Grande Strasse. She delivered to the arthritic Helena Schmidt and picked up at the cat-loving Weingartner residence, but she ignored the house belonging to Bürgermeister Heinz Hermann and his wife, Ilsa.

*** ANOTHER QUICK TRANSLATION ***
Bürgermeister = mayor

Note, however, that he makes a clear separation between “paranoia” and “dread”, as if to suggest that there is a point where paranoia ends for Liesel, and it becomes clear roughly who saw her.

And, Markus Zusak, I watched Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town (1970) many a Christmas as a child, so I know exactly what “bürgermeister” means, thank you very much.

After the path, there were eight steps up to the main entrance of the house, and the great door was like a monster. Liesel frowned at the brass knocker.
“What are you waiting for?” Rudy called out.
Liesel turned and faced the street. Was there any way, any way at all, for her to evade this? 

This is masterful tension-building, though I’ll admit at being surprised that Liesel is doing everything she can not to let on the source of her fear to Rudy. I know for a fact Death mentioned him being involved in her future book-thieving escapades, so she is obviously going to confide in him eventually.

It helps with the tension, though, as we are on the edge of our seat until our fear is abruptly ended, and we can sigh in relief like Liesel:

At first, she didn’t look at the woman but focused on the washing bag in her hand. She examined the drawstring as she passed it over. Money was handed out to her and then, nothing. The mayor’s wife, who never spoke, simply stood in her bathrobe, her soft fluffy hair tied back into a short tail. A draft made itself known. Something like the imagined breath of a corpse. Still there were no words, and when Liesel found the courage to face her, the woman wore an expression not of reproach, but utter distance. For a moment, she looked over Liesel’s shoulder at the boy, then nodded and stepped back, closing the door.

I will note an error, though, that remains here despite Markus Zusak’s scrupulous editing: Rosa ordered Liesel, “…if you don’t come home with the washing, don’t come home at all“. Yet Liesel has handed over the washing to the mayor’s wife now and before that there was a paragraph dedicated to why Liesel wouldn’t let Rudy handle the washing bag on the way there. I don’t know how that one passed him and his editors by unnoticed.

I will note also that he included one, and only one solitary hint as to the shadow’s identity before this chapter:

Perhaps the woman hadn’t seen her steal the book after all. It had been getting dark. Perhaps it was one of those times when a person appears to be looking directly at you when, in fact, they’re contentedly watching someone else or simply daydreaming. 

When Frau Hermann was introduced, she was described as having “hair like fluff“, to match up with the shadow’s “fluffy hair“, though it’s doubtful anyone would remember a random description made eighty pages ago.

He does write very beautiful sentences, too:

Eleven-year-old paranoia was powerful. Eleven-year old relief was euphoric.

Before promptly ruining them with:

*** A LITTLE SOMETHING TO ***

DAMPEN THE EUPHORIA

She had gotten away with nothing.

The mayor’s wife had seen her, all right.

She was just waiting for the right moment.

OH MY GOD WHY. I CANNOT BELIEVE THESE WORDS ARE PRINTED HERE. WHY ARE YOU SUCH A SADIST. WHY DO YOU LOVE TORTURING US SO MUCH. GOOD FUCKING GOD JESUS CHRIST.

He then just passes through the next few weeks in 6 1-sentence paragraphs! And he writes “Reading The Shoulder Shrug between two and three o’clock each morning, post-nightmare, or during the afternoon, in the basement.” without telling us what this book is actually about, even though Liesel and Hans obviously know perfectly well! And then he just skips through “Another benign visit to the mayor’s house.” just to get to:

All was lovely.
Until.

GOOD GOD SADIST SADIST WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.

He, of course, immediately hurls us into the following scene:

When Liesel next visited, minus Rudy, the opportunity presented itself. It was a pickup day.
The mayor’s wife opened the door and she was not holding the bag, like she normally would. Instead, she stepped aside and motioned with her chalky hand and wrist for the girl to enter.

She then leaves and comes back holding a pile of books, and invites Liesel into the house. Naturally, Liesel assumes the worst:

She’s going to torture me, Liesel decided. She’s going to take me inside, light the fireplace, and throw me in, books and all. Or she’ll lock me in the basement without any food.

And though there is palpable dread and tension, I had my doubts here. Would Zusak really do exactly what he’s been building to (when he hasn’t let us in on the outcome)? I had my own idea of what might follow. But surely Markus Zusak wouldn’t allow me to feel happiness like that? Surely he wouldn’t allow such light to penetrate these pages, would he……..

The mayor’s wife was not deterred. She only looked briefly behind and continued on, to a chestnut-colored door. Now her face asked a question.
Are you ready?

……………………………………………………..He does.

“Jesus, Mary…”

She said it out loud, the words distributed into a room that was full of cold air and books. Books everywhere! Each wall was armed with overcrowded yet immaculate shelving. It was barely possible to see the paintwork. There were all different styles and sizes of lettering on the spines of the black, the red, the gray, the every-colored books. It was one of the most beautiful things Liesel Meminger had ever seen. 

He actually DOES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

With wonder, she smiled.
That such a room existed!
Even when she tried to wipe the smile away with her forearm, she realized instantly that it was a pointless exercise.

I don’t think I can communicate how brilliant this is. I feel so sorry for calling him a sadist, but he was. He built up so much happiness, then continually destroyed it only to let us and his characters bask in undiluted misery.

That’s been his consistent trend through 134 pages, and here he finally subverts it and gives us what we always wanted. And in a way I feel that it is also a subversion of novelistic expectations. Having the mayor’s wife throw Liesel in jail would be exciting. It would further the plot. And so would having her whipped like Gale in Catching Fire, or any number of horrible outcomes for her. But which do/should we really WANT? It’s uncomfortable to think about what sadists authors have turned us into, when fiction has the power to make us creatures of great empathy.

In a world where authority figures are feared by children, Liesel especially having become accustomed to this by the nuns at her school, the mayor’s wife is willing to let the rules slip just to send Liesel this small message to show her she has a friend, someone who understands her love for books. In a way it shows even people within the government from time to time can be resentful of the duties their higher-ups require them to perform. And it’s so rare that this happens that it makes this book all the more heartwarming and dare I say, life-affirming.

And the page that follows is pure beauty the likes of The Secret Garden (I am genuinely reminded of Ben’s tear-stained salute to Colin in the garden), and I know Markus Zusak did travel back in time to read my blog, and Markus, I’m sorry I thought you were 100% heartless. Though I know there is plenty of death to come, that the story ends with a lot of death, Liesel herself may likely die at the end, so I may end up apologizing for that, too.

But this is really a celebration of books, more than anything else. It’s easy to see why book lovers love this so much: because it’s a celebration of a love for literature, and it actually manages to do just that quite literally within the text. Many biblophiles may love it for this scene alone. As a biblophile, I would feel uncomfortable at the thought of someone not loving the book.

And what I particularly love is that Liesel doesn’t even read any of the books. This might seem silly to rational types, but it’s the idea that counts, the perfection that you appreciate and don’t want to interrupt:

It felt like magic, like beauty, as bright lines of light shone down from a chandelier. Several times, she almost pulled a title from its place but didn’t dare disturb them. They were too perfect.
To her left, she saw the woman again, standing by a large desk, still holding the small tower against her torso. She stood with a delighted crookedness. A smile appeared to have paralyzed her lips.
“Do you want me to-?”
Liesel didn’t finish the question but actually performed what she was going to ask, walking over and taking the books gently from the woman’s arms. She then placed them into the missing piece in the shelf, by the slightly open window. 

Many authors would have had Liesel stop and read some of the books, but Zusak leaves her with this beautiful experience. Liesel knows that’s all the mayor’s wife intended her to have, that it would be enough, and so she goes on her way, having to try three times to leave, and then standing for several minutes in the hallway doing nothing.

And as she walks home she can do nothing but replay the entire experience in her mind. It’s amazing how well both emotions are evoked, hers and ours.

But then we see Liesel realize how little she repayed the woman’s generosity:

Soon, her sedated condition transformed to harassment and self-loathing. She began to rebuke herself.
“You said nothing.” Her head shook vigorously, among the hurried footsteps. “Not a ‘goodbye.’ Not a ‘thank you.’ Not a ‘that’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.’ Nothing!” Certainly, she was a book thief, but that didn’t mean she should have no manners at all. It didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite.

But we will have no regret, no sour emotions to tide off this chapter. She runs back and thanks her, despite the mayor himself being there, undoubtedly very surprised by this seemingly excessive display of gratitude for the washing (at least I assume that’s what he thinks).

The mayor’s wife bruised herself again. Coming forward to stand beside her husband, she nodded very faintly, waited, and closed the door.
It took Liesel a minute or so to leave.
She smiled at the steps.

And that’s it, that’s the note our chapter ended on, for all the dread, suspense, and exhibition of the worst in human nature that led up to it. We end on a moment of unsolicited generosity, compassion, gratitude, and human empathy.

All that seems to be ignored and very difficult to find as wars play out.

I suppose I should have expected moments like this, though, considering that people like this book so much more than The Casual Vacancy. There were very few gleams of hope even at the end to interrupt that novel’s unrelenting cynicism, and people do not seem to respond well to that.

I, being a cynical Mad Men mega-fan who feels the ending to “Commissions and Fees” is a beautiful summation of life and the human condition, don’t tend to mind this kind of tale at all, but even I can’t help adoring this. If the central idea of Mad Men as spelled out by Don Draper is “What’s happiness? It’s a moment before you need more happiness”, then perhaps Markus Zusak’s idea is “What’s happiness? It’s a moment that you have had if you had it, it’s a moment your life was wholly and undeniably worth living because you had it”.

ENTER THE STRUGGLER

Many authors spend time and eternity puzzling over how best to introduce new characters into a plot and get the story going in new, interesting places.

Markus Zusak shakes his head and laughs at those authors. For you see, when you have Death as your friendly neighborhood narrator, you can just start off your next chapter like this:

Now for a change of scenery.
We’ve both had it too easy till now, my friend, don’t you think? How about we forget Molching for a minute or two?
It will do us some good.
Also, it’s important to the story.

And it’s times like this we are forced to remember that this is a story narrated by Death. It’s amazing the abrupt tonal shift this chapter is from the previous one. There is little conventional about Zusak’s writing. And doesn’t it feel like he’s just reaching through time and space to taunt me personally in the second line? I guess Zusak is conceding that in the end…. we just need some more happiness.

It gets worse:

*** A GUIDED TOUR OF SUFFERING ***
To your left,
perhaps your right,
perhaps even straight ahead,
you find a small black room.
In it sits a Jew.
He is scum.
He is starving.
He is afraid.
Please – try not to look away.

Death has taken us to the city of Stuttgart (unlike Molching, this is a non-fictional city, surprisingly enough). This Jew is being sheltered in a secret storage room in protection from the Holocaust.

It was the best place, they decided. It’s harder to find a Jew in the dark.

So the man is being sheltered here in the protection of either an organization of Jews, or an anti-Hitler resistance force. I had been wondering how the Holocaust would affect our characters in this book, since Liesel and the Hubermanns are privileged German citizens. Death had been mentioning a “Jewish fist-fighter” from the beginning, but even without that it seems obvious a Jew was going to come into play somewhere. In a way, I’m ashamed of Zusak for resorting to such an easy and overused plot device, but it’s obvious something needs to drive the conflict as we move through the war, and I suppose this is obviously best to depict the reality of the times. And depict this reality he does:

There was sleep, starving sleep, and the irritation of half awakeness, and the punishment of the floor.
Ignore the itchy feet.
Don’t scratch the soles.
And don’t move too much.
Just leave everything as it is, at all cost. It might be time to go soon. Light like a gun. Explosive to the eyes. It might be time to go. It might be time, so wake up. Wake up now, Goddamn it! Wake up.

Some readers may criticize the tonal change in this book as too abrupt, but I think it goes to demonstrate something very well: Think of how Liesel being bullied at school formed the climax of our first part, but by the end of the second part, both she and the boy involved realized it didn’t matter anymore and quietly made amends.

It is remarkable just how privileged Liesel and the Hubermanns are in their sheltered existence as middle-class Germans, when you look at this Jewish man. Liesel has been having nightmares, sure, but she has a wonderful foster father. This is nothing compared to the hell that marks this innocent man’s every waking hour, and what’s worse is that there is next to nothing that he can do to alleviate his suffering anymore and he did absolutely nothing to deserve it at all. Zusak pours his all into portraying just how nightmarish and paranoia-inducing his life is, brilliantly through his style of writing that relies on vivid sensory details (furthered by the sentence fragments) that break from orthodox, detached writing that describes everything professionally and analytically. In fact, he does it so well that it actually becomes physically uncomfortable to read.

Death really spells out the privilege Liesel has in her regular nightly comfortings from Hans in this one passage, in particular:

“Max,” [a voice] whispered. “Max, wake up.”
His eyes did not do anything that shock normally describes. No snapping, no slapping, no jolt. Those things happen when you wake from a bad dream, not when you wake
 into one.

A man has arrived, but only briefly. He mentions a man with an identity card, says he is concerned about being watched, and leaves Max with the identity card and a key inside a book, along with a small amount of food, then leaves, saying he will be back in a few days. Apparently, Max already has a map and directions for where he needs to go. We don’t know where this is yet, and it is also noteworthy that Death does not mention who this man is and gives next to no physical description, so that’s one mystery we still have at this point.

Things start to make sense at the end, though:

“Please,” he said. “Please.”
He was speaking to a man he had never met. As well as a few other important details, he knew the man’s name. Hans Hubermann. 

This isn’t very surprising, considering how much Death foreshadowed someone coming in November and the frequent mentions of Hans caring for and coming up with a plan to help a “Jewish fist fighter”. In fact, I believe Max’s last name “Vandenburg” was actually given at some point prior, even though it isn’t mentioned here.

It does prove Hans is not the man who came to see Max, but this was unlikely from the beginning due to this setting being more than a hundred miles away.

And in any case the story is brought full circle with this line and now we have a good idea of the exciting new direction this story is about to go in.

THE ATTRIBUTES OF SUMMER

Death opens with a matter-of-fact summing up of the events that have preceded, and brings us right back to Liesel, informing us of how she spent her summer back in her heavily sterilized world on Himmel Street.

For the book thief, the summer of that year was simple. It consisted of four elements, or attributes. At times, she would wonder which was the most powerful.

So we have all in one, the title for this chapter and its road map:

*** AND THE NOMINEES ARE… ***
1. Advancing through The Shoulder Shrug every night.
2. Reading on the floor of the mayor’s library.
3. Playing soccer on Himmel Street.
4. The seizure of a different stealing opportunity.

The second event is surprising enough, and I’m conflicted about how I feel about it. because I really did feel it would be stronger to have Liesel only allowed to experience the library in that one scene, and to have that one event make such a long-lasting impact on her that she didn’t need to actually read any of the books. However, I don’t know where Zusak is going to take this story in this area, and I am willing to wait and see if the events surrounding this become so important to the overall plot that it was 100% necessary for Liesel to make extended visits.

The fourth “nominee” just leaves me shocked and confused, actually. The best we can get of Hans’ plan is that it involves this Jewish man, though it’s obvious Hans had been helping him for some time and it’s still very unclear how Liesel gave him an inspiration for a plan apparently involving Max. I don’t see what real motivation Liesel has at this point to continue stealing, either, or how it could help Max. In fact, it seems strange that something apparently relating to this plan is going to come up, considering Max won’t arrive until November.

I suppose Zusak is actually using his “spoiling/foreshadowing” well at this point in the narrative because unlike the last part, where he simply gave us all the basic information of what would happen in the end, he’s included so much foreshadowing that I am dying to figure out what happens next, but at the same time he made it all so vague that I don’t feel I have any way of accurately guessing other than to read on. So let’s do that.

I got the impression Death was going to be vague about The Shoulder Shrug and not give us any idea as to its actual contents. In fact, at this point, I had given up all hope of learning “exactly what kind of threat this book posed to the hearts and minds of the German people“, but I was nevertheless pleased to get our answer:

The protagonist was a Jew, and he was presented in a positive light.

Unforgivable. 

I can’t help but chuckle at the meta nature of this, because we just got through reading a chapter of THIS book where a Jew was presented in a positive light, and Death’s last line is an obvious self-referential wink at that fact.

And am I catching him praising his own sensory details here?

In the early part of summer in Molching, as Liesel and Papa made their way through the book, this man was traveling to Asterdam on business, and the snow was shivering outside. The girl loved that- the shivering snow. “That’s exactly what it does when it comes down,” she told Hans Hubermann. 

We get a straightforward demonstration of the difference between Liesel and Max’s nights here, as Liesel only grows more fond of her foster father and we get this bitter update on Hans, Jr.:

She often heard him and Mama discussing his lack of work or talking despondently about Hans going to see their son, only to discover that the young man had left his lodging and was most likely already on his way to war.

I gather it will be in 1942 or 1943 that he dies, too. Shame his last words to Hans will be “You coward”. I’m sure Death will remind us of that when he does meet his inevitable end at Stalingrad. (You know, I do this sometimes with TV shows that are spoiled for me, think bitterly about how close a person is on their path to death or so on, and it feels so strange to be encouraged to do this, and left with no real other option.)

But forget that! Let’s bring back that checklist!

  • Advancing through The Shoulder Shrug every night.
  • Reading on the floor of the mayor’s library.
  • Playing soccer on Himmel Street.
  • The seizure of a different stealing opportunity.

Liesel has obviously been visiting the library for some time, and surprisingly she’s still being completely secretive to Rudy about this. Oh, and Death is taunting me for my earlier stupidity:

Saukerl,” she laughed, and as she held up her hand, she knew completely that he was simultaneously calling her a Saumensch. I think that’s as close to love as eleven-year-olds can get.

All right, I’m a complete idiot for saying Rudy was romantically interested in Liesel! I KNOW, I KNOW. SHUT UP AND STOP TAUNTING ME!

We then learn Liesel has made 3 previous visits to the library and it was thankfully the mayor’s wife who suggested that she read one. There isn’t very much happiness revolving around the books, either. Frau Hermann’s strange, quiet, emotional state was notable throughout that previous chapter, too, but here it comes front and center:

On this occasion, as Liesel stood in the cool surrounds of the room, her stomach growled, but no reaction was forthcoming from the mute, damaged woman. She was in her bathrobe again, and although she observed the girl several times, it was never for very long. She usually paid more attention to what was next to her, to something missing. 

And on her next visit, we get an answer when Liesel finds the name Johann Hermann written on a picture book and inquires as to his identity.

“He is nothing now in this world,” she explained. “He was my…”

Naturally, we get some beautiful writing that takes full advantage of this story’s unique perspective:

*** THE FILES OF RECOLLECTION ***
Oh, yes, I definitely remember him.
The sky was murky and deep like quicksand.
There was a young man parceled up in barbed wire,
like a giant crown of thorns. I untangled him and carried him
out. High above the earth, we sank together,
to our knees. It was just another day, 1918.

I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t anticipating this revelation, honestly. This woman had clearly been unhappy and emotionally crippled by something. She showed that by just how quiet and sad she’d been in every scene. If you go back, it’s easy to see Zusak laying the pieces for where the story would go at any moment with her being introduced by Rosa as “…sit[ting] at home all day, too mean to light a fire… Absolutely. Crazy.” and being described as having a “posture of defeat“. It’s amazing how even the smallest details become important later on, similar to J.K. Rowling. I mean, he even referred to her as a “broken woman” 2 chapters ago and in the subtitle of this part, but I still ignored that because I didn’t want to see anything dampen Liesel’s happiness.

Death just spells out what Liesel has to learn from this woman, also:

The point is, Ilsa Hermann had decided to make suffering her triumph. When it refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it.
She could have shot herself, scratched herself, or indulged in other forms of self-mutilation, but she chose what she probably felt was the weakest option-to at least endure the discomfort of the weather. For all Liesel knew, she prayed for summer days that were cold and wet. For the most part, she lived in the right place.

This really is amazingly similar to the message of The Secret Garden, and it does a lot to explain what we’ve seen so far. The book is very grim right down to its narrator and has such dark writing at times, yet it also seems very light, pleasant, and human most of the time, too. Death was probably trying to show life for what it really is. Not a totally evil, unforgiving place, but something that is mixed, and happiness can be found even in the worst of times. Which explains why we keep getting happiness periodically ruined by soul-crushing sadness. Liesel is getting cushioned from the war for now, but as it becomes a living hell for everyone, she will have to find something to live for, and Frau Hermann serves as a reminder of why. Perhaps she’s even showing Liesel these books because she senses Liesel has that opportunity that she herself is incapable of, in fact.

She tries to deny that Liesel did anything wrong in bringing it up, at any rate. And Death then seems to be pointing out Liesel doesn’t have all that much privilege but will need to rely on words as her main weapon, and we get some new foreshadowing:

And how awful (and yet exhilarating!) it would feel many months later, when she would unleash the power of this newfound discovery the very moment the mayor’s wife let her down. How quickly the pity would leave her, and how quickly it would spill over into something else completely….

Wow. I really am not liking where it sounds like this is going to go. It’s actually fairly shocking, in fact. But, as Death (who seems increasingly to be speaking directly to me personally) points out:

That was all. It was part two of her existence that summer.

  • Advancing through The Shoulder Shrug every night.
  • Reading on the floor of the mayor’s library.
  • Playing soccer on Himmel Street.
  • The seizure of a different stealing opportunity.

Part three, thank God, was a little more lighthearted-Himmel Street soccer.

He gives us a nice brief depiction of this time in his short sensory images, but really I don’t care much whether the story is “lighthearted” or not anymore. I’m sick of this endless game, and I’m not going to think about it anymore.

This “third attribute” of the summer is actually very short because the only thing plot-relevant Zusak can really bring to it is to show Liesel trying to settle things with Tommy Müller now in the aftermath of peace with Ludwig Schmeikl.

I enjoyed how terrified Tommy is of her, but I find it a bit strange Liesel was so eager to make up.

“How could I know you were smiling for me that day?” she asked him repeatedly.

I don’t see why it really matters. It seemed like no one was standing up for Liesel being bullied and everyone except Rudy was basically laughing at her. So Liesel beating up Tommy for smiling seemed to be anger at his hypocrisy, since he was obviously just enjoying seeing a fight.

  • Advancing through The Shoulder Shrug every night.
  • Reading on the floor of the mayor’s library.
  • Playing soccer on Himmel Street.
  • The seizure of a different stealing opportunity.

I will say that Zusak is very good at depicting the simple world of childhood, and this continues as we get into “part four, summer 1940“. Times are getting worse due to rationing and their families not having enough money, so Rudy is very hungry. The story takes a brief tangent from this point when Liesel tries to learn to swim in the Amper River.

“Come on,” Rudy coaxed her in. “Just here. It isn’t so deep here.” She couldn’t see the giant hole she was walking into and sank straight to the bottom. Dog-paddling saved her life, despite nearly choking on the swollen intake of water.

I can’t be the only one reading this who was reminded of Carl falling through the hollow board in the opening of Up, but also my own sister nearly drowned like this in the public pool and given she had to be saved by a lifeguard, I’m inclined to question whether dogpaddling would work so easily. Also, it just seems strange, and… 

He called after her. “Does this mean I don’t get a kiss for teaching you?”

Saukerl!”

The nerve of him!

Good God, I thought we were done with all that nonsense after Rudy comforted her about her brother’s death! But thankfully, we move on to the development of the actual stealing. We get a very vivid re-creation of peer pressure and the sort of horrible gangs kids can form (though I find it strange and horrifying they would accept 6-year-olds) as they convince a group of young apple thieves to help them and the story moves very quickly.
Also, one of them is Ludwig Schmeikl’s brother, so we get this absolutely wonderful and hilarious bit:

“Isn’t this the one who beat up your brother, Andel?” Word had certainly made its way around. A good hiding transcends the divides of age.
Another boy – one of the short, lean ones – with shaggy blond hair and ice-colored skin, looked over. “I think so.”
Rudy confirmed it. “It is.”
Andy Schmeikl walked across and studied her, up and down, his face pensive before breaking into a gaping smile. “Great work, kid.” He even slapped her among the bones of her back, catching a sharp piece of shoulder blade. “I’d get whipped for it if I did it myself.”

Zusak, you remember sibling rivalry too well. This could easily be me or either of my sisters back when we were young children.

It surprises me very much, however, that this has nothing to do with book thievery. Considering the title of this book, you’d expect Zusak to cram some further book thievery in there somewhere, but no, they just steal the apples and happily eat them, in a scene very akin to the short story “A Quarter’s Worth of Fireworks”.

  • Advancing through The Shoulder Shrug every night.
  • Reading on the floor of the mayor’s library.
  • Playing soccer on Himmel Street.
  • The seizure of a different stealing opportunity.

That afternoon, before they returned home, Liesel and Rudy consumed six apples apiece within half an hour. At first, they entertained thoughts of sharing the fruit at their respective homes, but there was considerable danger in that. They didn’t particularly relish the opportunity of explaining just where the fruit had come from. Liesel even thought that perhaps she could get away with only telling Papa, but she didn’t want him thinking that he had a compulsive criminal on his hands. So she ate.

It is sad to see two good kids turning to crime like this. I think even Hans would be very ashamed and angry if he learned about their criminal activities. And fittingly the chapter ends with Liesel getting bad consequences in the form of vomiting basically all of them over dinner, though it matters little:

Quickly, [Rosa] turned back to face the vomiting Saumensch. “Well? What is it? What is it, you filthy pig?”
But Liesel?
She said nothing.
The apples, she thought happily. The apples, and she vomited one more time, for luck.

Liesel definitely seems to be enjoying the life of crime she has embarked on, and nothing can bring her back. As Death predicted, the gates of thievery have closed on her, but I really am surprised at where this chapter went. I had predicted Hans heading a series of adventures related to stealing books to further his mysterious plan, so I find myself wondering how exactly Liesel inspired this plan and how he will carry it out in the roughly three months to follow. (My, but this did move fast!)

So, I did enjoy these few chapters. It was all very well-written (as always) and it set up the story twists to come well. Now, I can only guess Liesel will make her way back to being “the book thief” in the three-hundred-and-eighty-four pages to come.


 

*I love Matt’s Book Vs. Movies comparisons, and I highly recommend his videos reviewing The Book Thief, as they are very insightful:

I know this post may seem unusual, since I never reviewed The Secret Garden on this blog. But I enjoyed the book so much, and I had so many thoughts about the 1949 film adaptation that I felt that I couldn’t resist writing about it here.

The Secret Garden is a book I was actually intrigued about for years, mostly because it was mentioned as the first book Matilda read in the classic Roald Dahl novel. (I have always had an ambition of someday reading her full list.) My aunt had had fond memories of her late grandmother reading it (and Little Women) to her and her sister back in the 50s when she was a girl.

I own a lot of books I want to get around to, however, so somehow it took me years to get myself persuaded to start reading it, but once I did, I was surprised at how engrossed I was in it. It was published in 1911, and for a book to still be read 103 years after its first publication, it usually has to be very special. The Secret Garden most certainly qualifies. The writing is beautiful, with passages that are so poetic in describing nature and life itself that they will never stop being relevant no matter how much time passes.

The message itself is timeless, and one that could change a person’s life. A lot of the book is based on sentimentality and a sense of childishness, but this is arguably appropriate since the characters ARE children and what saves it all and makes us get into the silly fairy tale is that it is based on a fundamental idea that many people can agree with: The way our lives are is based largely on the extremes under which we view it. If you live your life with a sense of optimism, of perpetual wonder for finding magic and happiness in the simplest things in life, this is just as powerful as the strongest medicine in the world for helping you live a long life well worth living for.

The characters are amazing. I felt like I got to know all of them well, and one of the pleasures of the book was just getting to be with them. I recommend the book to all, and if I had a Goodreads account (which I’ve been meaning to do one of these days), I would give it 5 stars. It is truly one of the classics in children’s literature, a great novel with which I can find next to no fault at all.

So naturally, it has received quite a few film adaptations. The first was in 1919, and is now lost. So we will be reviewing the 1949 adaptation! It has a very interesting trailer:

I wish trailers were done more like this now. Trailers of the period were basically infomercials where some individual (in this case A RANDOM LITERARY EDITOR!) would just sit around pitching the studio’s product to you.

Mr. Jordan-Smith’s idea that “Great books make great motion pictures” is certainly a clever one to pitch a film adaptation of one’s favorite books to mass audiences, but I don’t think I agree with it and that’s the root for a lot of the problems I have with the film. It is difficult for a film adaptation to get the same effect across that a great novel does, rather than coming across as a hollow retelling of events or worse, a cheap cash-in that misunderstands the book’s themes entirely. Only a few books (“To Kill a Mockingbird” being the primary example) translate very well to motion pictures, and I find it hilarious that all but 2 of Mr. Jordan-Smith’s so-called “Great Books/Pictures” are completely unfamiliar and forgotten to almost anyone 65 years down the line! And of the other 2, let’s face it: no one goes around praising the 1948 Three Musketeers as a great movie!

That said, let’s get to the film itself.

THE POSITIVES

  1.  The movie is filmed in black-and-white with Technicolor sequences in the garden. This is exactly the way the story should be done, and something I feel is a shame for modern cinema is that black-and-white cinematography has been relegated to a thing of the past and an unfortunate technical weakness. It may have literally been so, but people underrate the way it was used in film. The black-and-white imagery creates a superb atmosphere, from the bleak sense of cynicism we get in the aftermath of the typhus epidemic, to the vivid sequence of crossing the moors at night, and so on. It is actually harder to attain this tone so well in color, and the Technicolor scenes are what actually comes off as rather goofy and unevolved when we see how natural color is filmed in movies now. My generation tends to hate and dismiss black-and-white altogether, but to quote the late Gene Siskel (1946-1999), “There is inherent drama in it, there’s no question about it.”
  2. I don’t love Margaret O’Brien in this as much as a lot of people do, but she is pretty decent in the part. I have little complaints at all with Gladys Cooper. Mrs. Medlock didn’t have a big role in the book, and Cooper plays her basically the way she was presented there: stern and serious.
  3. Herbert Marshall is GREAT as Mr. Craven. It’s obvious watching him what a great actor he was, and he perfectly captures the sad, bitter character. As well as the script allows him, anyway. There is, of course, one major problem with his character, but that’s not Marshall’s fault and I’ll get to that…..
  4. The midnight scene with Colin and Mary is done very well. This is actually the scene Jordan-Smith opens to in the trailer, and it is a very important scene. It does come off as suspenseful. And it does intrigue one, listening carefully to every sentence, following the exchanges closely and marveling at the change in story direction just as in the novel.
  5. It mostly works because of one thing the film did very well at: Mary, Colin, and Dickon are childish, and their exchanges are silly and immature to the point it could be difficult to take the story seriously except that they are children. Furthermore, the scenes with the adults are interesting in their contrast, as the adults view the children’s events in such a bemused way, unable to understand. (In the novel, Ben was let into their world, but even he went along playfully with an ironic detachment.) The scenes between Mr. Craven and his son’s doctor illustrate this difference perfectly, through a marked change of tone that only makes the film stronger as a whole.
  6. Overall the film moves at a pretty good pace. Slow and easy, sure, but that’s the way it should be.
  7. Colin’s character growth starts out fairly well: we get an idea of why he is the way he is and what made him that way. The scene where Colin’s doctor makes his recommendation to Mr. Craven really illustrates the story’s central idea.

THE NEGATIVES

  1. Despite the fact that these are two film adaptations released more than half a century apart, the strategy used for condensing a book’s opening is very similar in both The Secret Garden (1949) and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005). Both of those novels relied heavily on an exposition-dump through the omniscient narrator simply telling you a lot of backstory and information to set up the story to come. This doesn’t work as well in a movie unless you’re willing to use a narrator (and even then, the effect is different). So these film adaptations simply bypass the expository material altogether and start where the story really begins as proper. I love “The Riddle House” and I love “There Is No One Left”. They are great opening chapters, and films suffer due to not being able to employ prose (and thus limiting your range to a smaller variety of story-telling techniques). So just as we didn’t get a full outline of how Voldemort killed his father and grandparents back in 1944 (and Frank Bryce was reduced to just some random old man to be killed), so here we are not given the full story of Mary’s life in India. We know Mary grew up there the daughter of a couple of high social status, and we know she is a brat, but we don’t really get the full reason why. And this is the problem. The film plays up Mary being an unlikable brat, which she was, but that wasn’t the point. Since her parents and most of her servants are already dead, we don’t get to see the upbringing and the environment that made her this way. The environmental changes that drive Mary and Colin’s personalities and way of looking at the world to change so radically was the point. It was definitely an unfortunate sign of racism and the time the book was made, and is certainly a weakness of the original novel, but it did further the message of the story, which is still very strong in 2014.
  2. Consequently, one of the most upsetting changes for me is that Mary actually throws a fit and complains that no one will take care of her. The most interesting thing about Mary’s reaction to her parents’ death in the book was that she didn’t display an emotional reaction, and Burnett actually spoke through the narration to defend Mary for this: “…as [Mary] knew very little of [her mother] she could scarcely have been expected to love her or to miss her very much when she was gone.” Again, the emphasis is put on why Mary is the way she is. We are not meant to hate her, but to understand her, and the book does this much better: “If she had been older she would no doubt have been very anxious at being left alone in the world, but she was very young, and as she had always been taken care of, she supposed she always would be.
  3. One of the greatest problems of a film adaptation of this book is that the characters come across brilliantly in the novel, leaping off the pages, but reading that book and watching this movie has made me realize more than ever before that there is a distinct way of getting attached to characters in books, and watching them in movies somehow is less personal. Martha was largely a background character in the book. She served her purpose and she was fun enough to read about, but she wasn’t really a well-developed character, which is okay because she wasn’t that important to the point that she mostly disappeared in the last half of the book. But here she comes across mostly as a cardboard cut-out: all her traits are exaggerated, so we do not see her as a person and gain few insights into her heart and soul.
  4. What’s worse, Dickon doesn’t translate that well, either. Dickon was a magical character in the book, but that was mostly because he came across as a larger-than-life figure in the book, a strange unearthly specter. In the movie, it would take a great actor to create the same effect, and Brian Roper simply isn’t up to it. In fact, he’s much too old for the part. He was actually EIGHTEEN-NINETEEN WHILE FILMING! I am not kidding!
  5. In relation, while the use of Yorkshire language made the characters Dickon, Martha, Ben Weatherstaff, etc. very endearing in the book, and it added to Mary’s character growth by showing her use it as she got more fond of Dickon, this doesn’t really work nearly as well in the film because there’s no marked change: we’re just hearing a regional accent, as opposed to a lovable dialect printed in the pages of a book. If anything, it comes off more as annoying.
  6. I’m a bit split on Dean Stockwell as Colin. I initally mistook him for Dickon’s actor while watching the trailer, honestly. And I do like that he comes off as a vulnerable kid hiding behind an image of control over the house, he also seems too nice right from the beginning, and it’s hard to imagine anyone on the household staff actually being intimidated by him even as he is throwing fits. I’m also split on Reginald Owen as Ben (yes, we have two “Mary Poppins” alumni in him and Lanchester as Martha). He captures the gruff, but softhearted nature of the man, but Ben also doesn’t play as strong a part here, and we don’t get to know and like him as well as we did in the book, especially when we really should have.
  7. My favorite scene in the book is the one where Mary stands up to Colin. This worked so well for many reasons: somebody needed to talk to Colin like that, and Colin is stunned that somebody would. It serves to drive both their character changes, as Mary realizes perhaps subconsciously how horrible the way she has acted for most of her life really is. This is perhaps the final nail in securing Mary’s change, and it basically jump-starts Colin’s. However, in the film it doesn’t come off quite like this for many reasons. Mary ignores Colin’s tantrum for a long time, and Mrs. Medlock tries to prevent her from entering his room. In the book, it made her so furious she was having difficulty putting up with it until a servant DIRECTLY TOLD HER to “go and scold him,” at which she ran in eagerly without a second thought. This is more true to her nature, and shows that even the staff realized how bad the situation was and that even if they weren’t allowed to discipline him, someone else could. But the way it comes across here is simply trying to make the scene amusing by having one child end a tantrum by throwing another tantrum. Mary actually, in the film, knocks over things in the room to show that she’s more than telling him off, she’s throwing a tantrum herself. The scene deserves better than to be played at such a simple level.
  8. The scene where Colin first walks is amazing in the book. Here, I will admit a lot of the beauty and wonder of the garden is captured in this first moment, but Colin’s reaction is supremely dulled. In the book, he is so overcome with emotion that he screams with joy that he will be able to recover yet. This solidifes the themes of the book and overwhelms us with the emotion on display. In the film, he merely murmurs, “I shall live forever” in a dull, quiet manner. It is equally childish, but without the added passion and it is so muted one could have yawned and fallen asleep in the theater to it. This is hardly possible in the face of “I shall get well! I shall get well! Mary! Dickon! I shall get well! And I shall live forever and ever!”
  9. But by far, the worst, most unforgivable change is the addition of a phony “murder mystery” to the story. This is such a shocking deviation I found myself powerless to explain it at first. One reviewer on IMDb reasoned that “the desire to add additional menace to the Dark Old House theme probably proved irresistible – as well as giving the excellent British actor, Herbert Marshall, more dramatic gristle on which to chew“. All the same, there is no need to speculate that Colin’s father may be a murderer and it is so cheapening and unnecessary to the beautiful story which had endured for nearly 40 years at this point that I find it amazing no one stopped it in the creative process. The worst part is that so much time is spent on the resolution of this idea. The film seems to try at this point to show the children realizing how complicated the adult world really is, but that wasn’t the central point of the story and this only distracts from the point.
  10. Another one of my favorite scenes is the one where Ben finds the children in the garden. This is a very powerful scene because it shows Colin finally proving himself, as he is driven to show to himself and Ben, Mary, and Dickon that he can walk and that the doctors and Mr. Craven were entirely wrong in their attitudes regarding him. In the film, Colin does not walk until the end, which does make for a dramatic finish, but I don’t know. I personally felt it was very powerful when we saw Colin just run right into his father’s arms, and he was just forced to accept, already knowing there are children using his garden, that his son has learned to walk and has been experienced at it for quite some time. This was especially powerful since we were getting the scene basically through Mr. Craven’s perspective, which I’ll get to in a minute. This scene was also powerful because it showed Ben coming into his own, swearing his allegiance to Colin and actually breaking down in tears when he sees how bad Colin’s life was made by the solely negative worldview presented to him. Ben became a fully fledged character as the story focused on Colin training himself in the art of “magic”, which was an excellent metaphor for the power of positive thinking. The film really rushes through the story to get to the end at this point, and so we have:
  11. The finale. As has been stated in criticism, “The ending is the conceit”, so to speak, so: how does all this come together in the film’s closing? I found the ending of the book to be amazing. It, again, starts off with prose communicating ideas, beautiful ideas that you just can’t get across in film, not in the same way. So much of the film got its impact, as I said, from abandoning our trio entirely and putting us in the shoes of Mr. Craven, a figure only spoken of for most of the book and only seen once. He emerged as a fully-dimensional human being, in this last chapter, and we got to understand why he had abandoned the manor and let Colin believe he would die: because he sincerely believed it, and maybe he didn’t believe it for his wife, but after that heartbreak he simply couldn’t bear to develop an emotional attachment with his son. It’s a very unexpected turn for the book, but it really solidifies the book’s impact as we get a sense of actual “magic” coming into play in the form of the dream that summons Mr. Craven back to Misselthwaite. So we see even a sad cynic like Mr. Craven being overcome by the genuine magic that seems to be happening, and eventually just becoming happy, and it’s ridiculous, it’s “sentimental claptrap”, but you know what? It’s a great ending. Because I believed in it from everything the book had set up, I was more than prepared to accept it, it furthered the message perfectly, and it was consistent with the tone of the book. The film’s ending is actually more hokey in how suddenly it plays out, with Colin suddenly being able to walk. But hey, it gives us that final dose of happiness and culmination of the character changes to play us out, I’ll give it that.

I watched the film twice, and after the first viewing I was so disappointed and underwhelmed I could think of practically nothing for the “Positives”. It was only in the second viewing I found myself enjoying certain aspects and realizing why so many fans do like this version. It does at least get the tone of the book down well for the most part, but in the end I do not think it is a good adaptation, feel it is poorly written mainly, and don’t recommend it.

I will be watching the 1987 Hallmark adaptation next. I may decide to write about it here, but in any case I hope it will be an improvement.

There’s something interesting I didn’t notice about this book that I want to talk about. I was reading the TV Tropes article Slice of Life and the first entry for Literature is this:
“The Book Thief is surprisingly slice of life, considering where it takes place.”

I was immediately shocked and thrilled to realize how true that is! And once I got thinking about it, it was something that actually gives me a lot more respect for the book, in fact, because I’ve always resented the constraints of a book’s plot structure in how it strains verisimilitude. The Casual Vacancy was obviously slice of life, I said as much there, and that’s why I was so much less bothered by its slow pace than a lot of people were.

The thing about The Book Thief that I have to respect is that it does seem to have a central plot, basically, and the narrative does play out to get to a certain point, but Zusak’s gift is in making it all feel natural, even as he tells us beforehand what it’s building up to. For example, the first chapter in this second part served to describe Liesel’s book theft at Hitler’s birthday in 1940, and the following 3 chapters take Liesel to that point as a human being as she’s reaching that point in history. She goes through happiness, sadness, mild hopefulness, then complete and utter despair, then emerges triumphant and ready for

HITLER’S BIRTHDAY, 1940

Since we’ve gotten this far, Death opens off with one paragraph showing the point where it became clear Liesel could never get a reply from her mother (the foster care office has lost track of her; also her name is Paula!) just to resolve that once and for all.

It’s well into April at this point, so the only thing left is mild preparation at this point:

This particular year, with the development of the war and Hitler’s current victorious position, the Nazi partisans of Molching wanted the celebration to be especially befitting. There would be a parade. Marching. Music. Singing. There would be a fire.

An interesting thing for me is that I was only ever aware of Hitler’s 50th birthday in 1939 being a big event, designed to intimidate the world and show off Germany’s military might, to the point Mad Men included a joking comparison of an office Christmas party to it to illustrate the place it had in the American lexicon by 1964 (comical faux-German accents: “Did you enjoy the Fuhrer’s birthday?” “May he live for a thousand years!”).

I suppose it’s obvious, though, that Hitler’s birthday was celebrated broadly in Germany every year (despite the fact that I get mainly results relating to The Book Thief and even Daniel’s post when I google “hitler’s birthday 1940”). We get some interesting information about the event, too:

It would commemorate not only the Führer‘s birthday, but the victory over his enemies and over the restraints that had held Germany back since the end of World War I. “Any materials,” it requested, “from such times – newspapers, posters, books, flags – and any found propaganda of our enemies should be brought forward to the Nazi Party office on Munich Street.” Even Schiller Strasse – the road of yellow stars – which was still awaiting its renovation, was ransacked one last time, to find something, anything, to burn in the name of the Führer’s glory. It would have come as no surprise if certain members of the party had gone away and published a thousand or so books or posters of poisonous moral matter simply to incinerate them.

This feels exactly like the sort of funny historical fact that would be mentioned as an aside in a real textbook, though I’m not really interested in whether it’s true or not.

Also, we get more evidence of Death’s strange repetition of certain facts, perhaps in an effort to drill the events of this story into our mind somehow. Just as he repeated that Werner had died on the train ad nauseum, he tells us for the third or fourth time that Liesel will be stealing a book.

Then it’s right into April 20, no ifs, ands, ors, buts about it. We get one sorely needed funny bit with Hans and Rosa to prepare us for the grim realities of the day to follow.

A mini-catastrophe almost occurs when Hans can’t find the family’s Nazi flag, which serves just to show just how dangerous it was living in Nazi Germany. After all, here in America it’s considered anti-patriotic if you don’t trash the President twice before breakfast, but the fact that such unswerving obedience was required from all citizens suggests even some of the supporters may have harbored resentment toward Hitler’s government.

And it only gets worse. Remember what I said about Zusak being too impersonal in writing because Hans, Jr. and Trudy’s presence wasn’t a big deal at Christmas? Well, they’re back now, and he writes, “Now seems like a good time to introduce them a little more comprehensively

and proceeds with 2 typical Zusak-esque unorthodox descriptions that note their similarities to their parents.

However, it then becomes clear that I was more astute in my perception of Zusak’s foreshadowing that time around:

*** A SHORT HISTORY OF ***
HANS HUBERMANN VS. HIS SON
The young man was a Nazi; his father was not. In the opinion of Hans Junior, his father was part of an old, decrepit Germany – one that allowed everyone else to take it for the proverbial ride while its own people suffered. As a teenager, he was aware that his father had been called “Der Juden Maler” – the Jew painter – for painting Jewish houses. Then came an incident I’ll fully present to you soon enough – the day Hans blew it, on the verge of joining the party. Everyone knew you weren’t supposed to paint over slurs written on a Jewish shop front. Such behavior was bad for Germany, and it was bad for the transgressor.

Hans is, notably, however, unwilling to actually say that he doesn’t support the Nazi Party. He tries to remain neutral about his feelings, but his son confronts him and insults him for not realizing what good Hitler is doing for the country, before storming out of the house in fury.

Children have a tendency to rebel against their parents, seeing them as stuck in the past, often deliberately doing the opposite of what they would. My grandfather became a Democrat, unlike his devout Republican father, then his son became a Libertarian. I don’t think these convictions were necessarily acts of targeted disapproval, but there is still the attempt to distance one from your parents’ generation. And what’s amazing is that Zusak portrays the exchange at that level. Rather than demonizing him, he comes off as a person one can relate to. The situation is played out through the lens of the time, and no real effort is even made to make us see this through the perspective of the present, though Zusak knows his 21st-century readers will naturally be discomfited.

It also goes to show how people love judging others, to the extent that it is probably considered more PC and intelligent in 2014 to say “I judge people by their politics” than the opposite.

I have been in a situation where droves of people have supported this very statement and my opposite opinion has received no defenders. It is easy to see why this is, for at face value one’s politics are a good way of judging who they are. But in practice one is likely to just end up being arrogant and hateful towards people because you do not understand why they believe what they believe.

There are many people I love who hold political opinions I hate, find idiotic or repulsive and cannot agree with, and only get past this by forcibly repressing the urge to disagree with them.

Once when I was at my local bookstore a few years ago, a man was being mocked for buying a Glenn Beck book, to the point that he growled “Shut up, it’s not for me” and when I turned around he was gone and the clerk was calling over an equally incredulous and amused co-worker to report the sale of another Beck volume. “Good God, seriously? Another GLENN BECK book!?” When I reported this incident to my staunch Democrat aunt, she was thoroughly disgusted and appalled to the point she insisted the customer must have been a close friend or they wouldn’t have dared act that way.

Similarly I feel the Christian religion causes a great deal of problems and pain for people, but I hold nothing against individual Christians, because people are largely the product of their upbringing more than anything else, and I do not feel it is my place to guess as to why they hold their beliefs. Those clerks knew nothing of why the man was buying a Beck novel, just as I have been insulted for defending my father for being a Libertarian, even though I did this more due to being raised by him rather than any measure of my own intelligence, or even proof positive that I necessarily held said beliefs, as I in fact disagree with several! Similarly, many Libertarians are ridiculed under the belief they are Rand followers, but Ayn herself hated Libertarianism and to the best of my knowledge dear old Dad owns not a thing with her name on it.

This illustrates the failings of the “I judge people by their politics” school of thought very well, I believe. It is an easy snark to astonish and discombobulate an opponent and provides little potential for the growth of empathy, constructive debate, and rational thinking in human beings.

I fully understand why people can be so hostile in these situations, of course, because it is a passionate area for most people and in the modern age I would find Hans, Jr. repugnant if he was a neo-Nazi still, for this is a basically indefensible school of thought in 2014. I don’t know what I would think of a Communist or Socialist if I met them. I might attempt to understand why they believe what they believe, though I would probably end up just disliking them a lot as human beings as a result.

I realize I’ve gone on for quite a while on this tangent, but that’s simply a measure of what a lofty topic Zusak was willing to bring up. And here is another interesting thought he introduces:

For a while, he remained silently at the table after the eating was finished. Was he really a coward, as his son had so brutally pointed out? Certainly, in World War I, he considered himself one. He attributed his survival to it. But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?
His thoughts crisscrossed the table as he stared into it.

This is really very heavy thinking, and many people won’t go that far to consider it. I well remember my sister calling me a coward when I told her I do not give into peer pressure (this was a bald-faced lie, I’ll give her that), but all too often those who call themselves brave are in fact fool-hardy idiots. Snarking a police officer or a mugger, for instance, might be brave, but it can also get you into a lot of trouble. When I was about 15 years old, I was at the park one night when I spied a dangerous-looking person who appeared to be a gang member on the verge of intimidating me. I turned tail and ran home. This may not have been brave, but it ensured no harm came to me, if I was not at risk of actual physical injury.

So I am not ashamed to admit I have been a coward at times. Many people are prone to putting their honor before their reason. It is not a coincidence that people who call themselves brave often hang out in gangs and get killed or violently assaulted, while those of us who live honest and peaceful existences retire at a healthy old age. So yes, I feel absolutely no shame in admitting that I am a coward, in many respects.

Well, anyway, Hans takes Liesel off to the BDM headquarters, from where she will march to the town square in her Hitler Youth uniform. Death closes by prepping us for the long-awaited event to come that serves to justify the book’s title:

Speeches would be made.
A fire would be lit.
A book would be stolen.

You might have noticed he closed the previous chapter with a similar prepping, and I think if I had already read the book this kind of style would do well to make me excited for my favorite parts to come. Similarly I don’t know how much has changed about the impersonality of Zusak’s writing, but I’m getting the feeling now that that may be done deliberately to show Death’s stiff relation of events described in Liesel’s diary. It’s also interesting that there are few wasted words. The writing flows very neatly.

100 PERCENT PURE GERMAN SWEAT

Fittingly, the next chapter opens by throwing us right into the march to the town square. Judging by this and the chapter titles, it’s obvious these remaining three chapters will be comprised of the same basic event.

Many people may be intimidated by this book due to its length (88 chapters and 548 pages) but most of the chapters are actually very short and the book seems designed to be an easy read. In fact, if I wasn’t reading the book in this manner for the blog, I’d probably be able to get through it very quickly.

And now that we are so close to the event he has spent so much time building up to, Zusak appropriately enough includes foreshadowing of the next things to come in the story:

When Rudy’s group came into the square and was instructed to halt, there was a disprecancy. Tommy Müller. The rest of the regiment stopped marching and Tommy plowed directly into the boy in front of him.
“Dummkopf!” the boy spat before turning around.
“I’m sorry,” said Tommy, arms held apologetically out. His face tripped over itself. “I couldn’t hear.” It was only a small moment, but it was also a preview of troubles to come. For Tommy. For Rudy.

I don’t know exactly what kinds of “troubles” these will be exactly. A deviation from what is expected of a proper German is going to get Rudy and Tommy in trouble, I suppose?

But it will have to become more than that, or be something that affects everyone. Because there’s obviously going to be a conflict in the story. We haven’t gotten there yet, but it’s clear the book can’t remain slice-of-life the whole way through. From what we know already, it will involve a Jewish fist fighter and something or someone related to Hans’ past, at the very least.

So this is probably a good point to bring out the check list again. I think Hans, Jr.’s confrontation with his father qualifies as excitement, so…

  1. much excitement
  2. much beautiful evil
  3. one blood-soaked ankle
  4. and a slap from a trusted hand
  5. Liesel Meminger attain(s) her second success story

At the moment, Liesel’s group splits up, which does not bode well as Liesel is primed to run into trouble by herself.

The fire starts, and there is a very vivid description of it in Zusak/Death’s unique style. We then get a much-needed insight into how exactly Liesel feels about all this:

Although something inside told her that this was a crime-after all, her three books were the most precious items she owned-she was compelled to see the thing lit. She couldn’t help it. I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that’s where they begin. Their great skill is their capacity to escalate.

I remember a book on literature that I was assigned for school in the past made the point that in a movie, you usually have to guess how the characters feel, from their dialogue, actions, and facial expressions. Most of the time, you aren’t given an insight into their personal thoughts. I have heard a favorite critic of mine cite this as a reason why The Hunger Games film could never be as good as the book: because so much of the book is filtered through and revolves around Katniss’s individual perspective.

So I’m glad to see Zusak take advantage of this opportunity for a book, and then he uses some very effective and well-written personification writing:

The thought of missing it was eased when she found a gap in the bodies and was able to see the mound of guilt, still intact. It was prodded and splashed, even spat on. It reminded her of an unpopular child, forlorn and bewildered, powerless to alter its fate. No one liked it. Head down. Hands in pockets. Forever. Amen.

Liesel is troubled by the fact that she cannot find Rudy, but then the speaker begins his patriotic address for the occasion, and it brings out some interesting feelings in Liesel:

He was performing now what is called a Schreierei-a consummate exhibition of passionate shouting-warning the crowd to be watchful, to be vigilant, to seek out and destroy the evil machinations plotting to infect the motherland with its deplorable ways. “The immoral! The Kommunisten!” That word again. That old word. Dark rooms. Suit-wearing men.

My grandmother and aunt urged me not to read the Harry Potter books for many years due to how disturbing they found certain parts. And indeed, when I eventually did, there were parts that left me chilled to the bone when I finished a chapter. I’ve become much less sensitive since then, but this writing is absolutely stunning and spine-chilling in its sheer horror and shock, as Liesel begins to realize what happened to her mother, and the realities and implications of their involvement in the Communist party that she never understood, through her deepest memories that suggest it is likely Liesel’s father was taken away and killed so long ago she has no memory of him.

In front of her, a head with parted blond hair and pigtails sat absolutely still on its shoulders. Staring into it, Liesel revisited those dark rooms of her past and her mother answering questions made up of one word.

She saw it all so clearly.

Her starving mother, her missing father. Kommunisten.

Her dead brother.

The writing is amazingly effective, as this is the moment, perhaps the most important point in the book so far, where Liesel truly wakes up to what is happening right before her very eyes. And there will be no more happy daydreams about the Führer. No more Nazi-loving Liesel Meminger. Only recognition of the sheer beautiful evil that resides all around her.

Voices climbed over shoulders and the smell of pure German sweat struggled at first, then poured out. It rounded corner after corner, till they were all swimming in it. The words, the sweat. And smiling. Let’s not forget the smiling.

Many jocular comments followed, as did another onslaught of “heil Hitlering.” You know, it actually makes me wonder if anyone ever lost an eye or injured a hand or wrist with all of that. You’d only need to be facing the wrong way at the wrong time or stand marginally too close to another person. Perhaps people did get injured. Personally, I can only tell you that no one died from it, or at least, not physically.

The Time review excerpt on the back cover describes this writing a lot better than I ever could. “Zusak doesn’t sugarcoat anything, but he makes his ostensibly gloomy subject bearable the same way Kurt Vonnegut did in Slaughterhouse Five: with grim, darkly consoling humor.”

I have never read Slaughterhouse Five (in fact, I’m only familiar with Vonnegut from criticisms of him on Cracked.com), but this makes me want to check it out. The next bit confuses me, though:

There was, of course, the matter of forty million people I picked up by the time the whole thing was finished, but that’s getting all metaphoric. Allow me to return us to the fire. 

At first, I thought this referred to literally the number of people, Jews, Nazis, Hitler himself, that met horrible deaths in the years following this. But I’m not sure if this qualifies as metaphoric. And it’s not like it was really this book-burning that set off the Holocaust. Perhaps it refers to the number of followers Hitler received as a result of this patriotic event. They, perhaps, in a way, became Death’s minions, through the genocidal years to come. I’m not sure.

The book then takes another interesting turn, however:

In her attempt to escape, a voice found her.

“Liesel!”

It made its way through and she recognized it. It was not Rudy, but she knew that voice.

She twisted free and found the face attached to it. Oh, no. Ludwig Schmeikl.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But it doesn’t go quite the way you would expect:

He did not, as she expected, sneer or joke or make any conversation at all. All he was able to do was pull her toward him and motion to his ankle. It had been crushed among the excitement and was bleeding dark and ominous through his sock. His face wore a helpless expression beneath his tangled blond hair. An animal. Not a deer in lights. Nothing so typical or specific. He was just an animal, hurt among the melee of its own kind, soon to be trampled by it.

So she takes pity on him and they sit together to rest by the church steps. They remember the beating episode of just 5 months past, but somehow it seems like a lifetime ago. It was the main conflict in Liesel’s life that closed off the first part of the book, but somehow just 6 chapters later it has become irrelevant and childish, with the horrible realities that have come to play. They both apologize for the incident, then sit silently having realized they are both human beings adrift in a sea of chaos, and need all the help and support they can to survive amid the madness their world has become.

The blood enlarged on Ludwig Schmeikl’s ankle.

A single word leaned against the girl.

To their left, flames and burning books were cheered like heroes.

Absolutely beautiful.

  1. much excitement
  2. much beautiful evil
  3. one blood-soaked ankle
  4. and a slap from a trusted hand
  5. Liesel Meminger attain(s) her second success story

THE GATES OF THIEVERY

This chapter opens in an appropriately somber fashion. Death actually writes, “Everything was sad,” in fact. There is some very solemn reflection on the horrible deed that has been done:

Now there was nothing but cleaning up, and soon, no one would even imagine it had happened.

But you could smell it.

Perhaps this symbolizes the entire world after World War II, or post-Nazi Germany. I’m not sure.

Hans comes to pick up Liesel, then, and the writing becomes very slow and deliberately paced as he can tell Liesel is unhappy. Zusak portrays the realization that has come to her very succinctly and well in his own unique fashion:

*** A SMALL ADDITION ***

The word communist + a large bonfire + a collection of dead letters + the suffering of her mother + the death of her brother = the Führer

For most of the book, Liesel has been unaware of the world around her, and Hans does not seem to want to break her blissful ignorance, but the point at which he can no longer hide the reality of their situation from her any longer is perfectly pitched.

“Did the Führer take her away?”

The question surprised them both, and it forced Papa to stand up. He looked at the brown-shirted men taking to the pile of ash with shovels. He could hear them hacking into it. Another lie was growing in his mouth, but he found it impossible to let it out. He said, “I think he might have, yes.”

And Liesel leaves Hans hate with no way to deny the reality of her new worldview, one she had already realized before he said a word to her.

“I hate the Führer,” she said. “I hate him.”

If I have exaggerated my love for him, it is only because Hans has been consistently portrayed as the most sympathetic and likable character in the book. Death even told us he was one of the 10% of German citizens who didn’t support Hitler, but he has nevertheless been portrayed realistically, in his refusal to come out and say what Liesel just has. When his son confronted him, he would not disown the Nazi Party altogether and Zusak did hint he would not embrace Hitler for more personal reasons than was being revealed at the moment, so even now we don’t really have a clear idea.

And despite being a good person, he doesn’t have the benefit of hindsight, so because of all this it is unclear whether his beliefs are so extreme as Liesel’s.

This is the moment where we get a good idea of what kind of person Hans really is, through his reaction, and Zusak knows this. He knows the reader is immensely interested in Hans’ reaction to this statement, and he follows up accordingly in his writing:

And Hans Hubermann?

What did he do?

What did he say?

Did he bend down and embrace his foster daughter, as he wanted to? Did he tell her that he was sorry for what was happening to her, to her mother, for what had happened to her brother?

Not exactly.

He then throws the answer at us, with no remorse:

He slapped Liesel Meminger squarely in the face.

“Don’t ever say that!” His voice was quiet, but sharp.

This is shocking to read, and even to copy down here. The book was published in 2005, and every reader would have applauded Liesel if they were in Hans’ position. It is horrifying to read of Hans reacting like this, but Zusak did cushion the blow beforehand with the express statement that he WANTED TO word-for-word “bend down and embrace his foster daughter“, and he shows us now that there is more going on than we realize:
It would be easy to say that he was just a tall man sitting poor-postured and shattered on some church steps, but he wasn’t. At the time, Liesel had no idea that her foster father, Hans Hubermann, was contemplating one of the most dangerous dilemmas a German citizen could face. Not only that, he’d been facing it for close to a year.

Close to a year ago would be around May 1939, and if one goes back to The Other Side of Sandpaper, which took place in late May 1939, a Nazi Parade on Munich Street was described, during which Hans, passively sitting by, “wore a face with the shades pulled down“. Something is going on that we are not aware of, but we do know what’s going on in his mind for the most part at this moment. These people are living in Germany in 1940, and you could not have anti-Hitler, anti-Nazi feelings back then, and Hans only acted the way he did out of this unpleasant reality. Liesel cannot go around talking like this, and Hans explains to her how it is:

“You can say that in our house,” he said, looking gravely at Liesel’s cheek. “But you never say it on the street, at school, at the BDM, never!” He stood in front of her and lifted her by the triceps. He shook her. “Do you hear me?”

With her eyes trapped wide open, Liesel nodded her compliance.

Horrible to imagine in 2014, but that’s as good as it gets in this time.

But you know WHAT OTHER TIME IT IS? TIME FOR MORE FORESHADOWING:

It was, in fact, a rehearsal for a future lecture, when all of Hans Hubermann’s worst fears arrived on Himmel Street later that year, in the early hours of a November morning.

In fact, we haven’t actually gotten much more information, as this was described in further detail back in The Smell of Friendship. I quoted the passage in full there, so I’ll just recap here:

  1. These worst fears involve Hans’ accordion.
  2. They involve an individual, in specific, arriving with “ruffled shoulders and a shivering jacket“.
  3. Said individual will bring “a suitcase, a book, and two questions“.

I get spoiled for books/movies quite frequently, and in these cases I will try to get myself in the mindset of not knowing those things yet, but no matter how hard I try I always arrive with the feeling I knew the story would get to this point, and usually I don’t, oddly enough, feel hampered by this. What’s interesting is that Zusak is manufacturing this feeling deliberately. He wrote about how things only made sense for Liesel “when all the stories came together… A story. Story after story. Story within story.

What point in the story are we at now? Well, let’s bring out that check-list:

  1. much excitement
  2. much beautiful evil
  3. one blood-soaked ankle
  4. and a slap from a trusted hand
  5. Liesel Meminger attain(s) her second success story

So, you, me, we all know what’s up next!

After another ten minutes, the gates of thievery would open just a crack, and Liesel Meminger would widen them a little further and squeeze through. 

*** TWO QUESTIONS ***

Would the gates shut behind her?

Or would they have the goodwill to let her back out?

Considering the title of this book, I think the answer is pretty clear. And I love that I know what is going to happen in the next chapter, and that I am actually supposed to! But I still feel awkward about the real time blogging for Part One’s closing chapter, so I think we should do a retrospect recap for the finale this time around.

Actually.

Forget the ten minutes.

The gates open now.

And that’s my cue to say:

ALL RIGHT WE ARE DOING THIS LIVE.

BOOK OF FIRE

All right, so the chapter does not thrust us right into the book-stealing action. Night wears on and Liesel and Hans head home. And it is a measure of Zusak’s writing skills that I was immediately alarmed by this:
To get out of the square, they would walk past the bonfire site and through a small side road onto Munich Street. They didn’t make it that far.

But it’s only a random carpenter named Wolfgang Edel who starts a conversation with Hans. We’ve never seen him before, and he only serves to provide a distraction for Liesel to wander off.

So the gates may have already opened, but it’s exactly one page before an abrupt transition to:

Liesel wandered toward the mountain of ash.

I remember Death saying there were many factors in Liesel’s desire to steal the second book, and it seemed like it would be due to her anger at the Nazi Party and her growing love for books. But what’s rather strange and difficult to figure out is what’s drawing her in to the mound in the first place:

It sat like a magnet, like a freak. Irresistible to the eyes, similar to the road of yellow stars.

The mood is very eerie and tense as Liesel keeps making her way closer, drawn on like Aurora to the spinning-wheel in Sleeping Beauty.

Pass auf, Kind,” a uniform said to her at one point. “Look out, child,” as he shoveled some more ash onto a cart.

Closer to the town hall, under a light, some shadows stood and talked, most likely exulting in the success of the fire. From Liesel’s position, their voices were only sounds. Not words at all.

But what are they saying? Liesel has been noticed already. Are they discussing locating Hans to return Liesel to him? Is she going to get seen taking the books?

But somehow she manages to stay there for a few minutes simply watching, and Hans must be getting worried by now.

They came back and forth from a truck, and after three return trips, when the heap was reduced near the bottom, a small section of living material slipped from inside the ash.

*** THE MATERIAL ***

Half a red flag, two posters advertising a Jewish poet,

three books, and a wooden sign with something written

on it in Hebrew

Obviously Semitic in nature, so it’s easy to see why they were burned, but how did they survive the fire?

Perhaps they were damp. Perhaps the fire didn’t burn long enough to fully reach the depth where they sat.

Okay. But, wait… THREE books? SO WHY DID LIESEL GET ONLY ONE?!!!

“Come on,” said one of them. “Hurry up, will you, I’m starving.”

They moved toward the truck.

He’s already trying to lull us into a sense of security, but I’m not buying it: Why is Liesel not about to get all three books?

The heat was still strong enough to warm her when she stood at the foot of the ash heap. When she reached her hand in, she was bitten, but on the second attempt, she made sure she was fast enough.

This is so tense. I know she succeeds at least partially, I know that she’ll be alive in 1943, I know there are four hundred and sixteen pages left, yet I’m still on the edge of my seat AGAIN.

She latched onto the closest of the books. It was hot, but it was also wet, burned only at the edges, but otherwise unhurt.

It was blue.

Death mentioned a lot of red writing and a red picture on “The Shoulder Shrug”, but the first detail he mentioned of it was that it was blue. So she’s got it now, right? How does the chapter not simply end here?

Red letters were pressed into those fibers. The only word Liesel had time to read was Shoulder. There wasn’t enough time for the rest…

All right, so mission accomplished! That’s that. What’s left?

, and there was a problem. The smoke.

This doesn’t refer to smoke inhalation, does it? Because Death mentioned “it smoked in her hands…. it lit her ribs.” So I’m sorry, I’m not feeling the big tension here.

There were fourteen steps till the voice.

It propped itself up behind her.

“Hey!”

That was when she nearly ran back and tossed the book onto the mound, but she was unable. The only movement at her disposal was the act of turning.

All right, this is disconcerting. Who is it?

“There are some things here that didn’t burn!” It was one of the cleanup men. He was not facing the girl, but rather, the people standing by the town hall.

So all she has to do is hide the book and get out of there.

We do get some hinting at the future of just how famous Liesel will become for her book thievery, but as it is I’m sorry to be negative, but no, this chapter didn’t have as much tension as it could have because of how much was given away beforehand. She gets back to Hans and Wolfgang Edel, and then, well, we get some more suspense:

Immediately, when the smile shrank from her lips, she could feel something else. Or more to the point, someone else. There was no mistaking the watched feeling. It was all over her, and it was confirmed when she dared to face the shadows over at the town hall. To the side of the collection of silhouettes, another one stood, a few meters removed, and Liesel realized two things.

*** A FEW SMALL PIECES ***

OF RECOGNITION

1. The shadow’s identity and

2. The fact that it had seen everything

All right, I don’t know how to feel anymore. I’m constantly being manipulated and we get few details of this person, but Liesel is only irritated and given Death mentioned Rudy being involved in Liesel’s thievery to come, I’m guessing it’s just him.

“What’s wrong?” Papa asked.

“Nothing.”

Quite a few things, however, were most definitely wrong:

Smoke was rising out of Liesel’s collar.

A necklace of sweat had formed around her throat.

Beneath her shirt, a book was eating her up.

Well, that’s it! I can’t say it was as strong a finish as the last part, but it was at least focused well on getting us to this point and it does solidify the title. The realities of the war are coming into play, Liesel has reached the turning point in her character now, and I am eager to see what lies ahead because I don’t really know what’s next, actually. It’ll be interesting to read the 8 parts to come.

But for now… bye.