A Bit of Someone’s Imagination, a Piece of My Own Heart
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
The sky was a warm shade of orange when I sat down to read the last 100 pages of The Book Thief. A few hours later, I peeked out of the window and notice a color change; a long- stretched out, melancholic blue. My eyes were glued to the sky, maybe because the formidable nature was behaving like a mirror, reflecting the state of my own heart. And slowly, when the night wore in and the pitch darkness enveloped me; I felt a shiver through my spine and my knuckles turned white as I read the tearing climax and bittersweet end of this phenomenal novel.
It was 1939, in Munich, Germany. Our protagonist, Liesel, with her brother and mother was on her way to foster parents, on a train. Until it was only her. Her brother lost his life almost suddenly in that carriage and Liesel, for the first time in her life realized the meaning of losing someone forever. After his burial under the snow, Liesel noticed something leathery with silver writing on it, hidden underneath the blanket of snow. She picked it up and became the titular character. She was soon dropped off at her new foster home, at the Hubbermans on Himmel Street.
Slowly adjusting to her new life and the colony she now lived in, Liesel and I are bestowed with one of the most memorable and lovable accordion player Papa of all times, Hans Hubberman. He taught Liesel to read and soon when the world outside was covered in darkness, they were reading her first stolen book in the basement of their home. From there, she set on a chase afterward.
Times were difficult for the Hubbermans, with less money and the outbreak of war, they had to be more cautious. For Liesel, she had only started to explore the world through the printed ink and pages, taking all in. Unlike the usual mayhem going around in the country, one night, the unexpected happened: The door of the Hubbermans was knocked by a stranger, a Jew. Liesel and her family were hiding a Jew in their basement now. For her, new horizons are opening but all the while, she had to be more careful than ever before.
Death was everywhere in the world and Death is our narrator. Not the callous, sinister, or heartless kind, but the opposite. Death with a heart who feels pain and can be just as afraid, astonished, and amicable as you and I are.
People observe the colours of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it’s quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colours. Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darknesses. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.
-Death
With every soul he has to carry, he makes a note of the change in the color of the sky, makes an intuitive remark of the same. Lost in his solemn soliloquies and naïvely, throwing off some thought-provoking philosophies. I’d say that the narrator was a little impatient at times, spilling beans and foreshadowing the future, but preparing the readers for the devastating, heart-wrenching climax.
In all my life, I’ve been running from the truth, from people, from me. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned; sooner or later running exhausts you, you run out of breath and you have to find a place to rest in. And then, it doesn’t take long for those things to creep their way through. So, why not we just muster up all of our courage for once and decide to face our fears? Yes, it is easier said than done.
Books we read always open new doors, new arenas that we haven’t discovered yet; in some we find comfort, some answer our long-lost questions and some fill our voids we, ourselves, were unaware of. And since I decided to pick this book up, read, and be engrossed in it, I chose a journey to be in; the voyage of sufferings and miseries, love and happiness, words and books. To discover something, for which I finally felt I was ready. There were moments when I curled up in bed, yearning for a hug and a place to hide myself in. The foreshadowed end, did nothing but to make me more anxious, to the point, I had to leave it midway and wander around. A place, in the arms of someone I love so I could shed my tears for the people who were now sheltering in my heart.
Truth always holds the power to perplex and astonish us with its transparency, sometimes the brutality of it can make you question your own existence.
Usually we walk around constantly believing ourselves. “I’m okay” we say. “I’m alright”. But sometimes the truth arrives on you and you can’t get it off. That’s when you realize that sometimes it isn’t even an answer — it’s a question.
The ability to perceive and continuing with the inhumanity of humans more often than not leads to ignorance and dishonesty to our self, and the only way out is acceptance of the truth.
The enriched layers of the characters, their secrets and experiences add up to their personalities. Hans Huberman and Rudy — Liesel’s yellow-haired friend, instantly stole my heart and kept it safe till they couldn’t. In hindsight, the novel teaches a lot about the situation of the Germans during the war, emotionally drenching me out. This is a book of a slow read, savoring every word on the go and re-reading when I want to be on a roller-coaster ride of emotions, to feel tears brimming in the eyes and lips curling into a placid smile.
For the least to be mentioned, I know I’m not the kind of person to leave people behind, whom I love, I give my heart to. I’ve known and loved people and fictional characters alike, and for now that I’m my heart is expanding, I know I’m capable of holding more love than I was before, for which I’m admiring and adoring the people around me more and more with every passing moment and I intend to keep feeling the same.
Zusak’s thinking, his story has seared through my heart, even shattered a part of it into tiny pieces that I am willing to keep in-between the pages. When I come back, I want to fall in love with them all over them.
I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
-Liesel
