I could tell from the moment I inhaled that it was love. The fragrance that graced my nostrils sent shivers down my spine…that unmistakable smell of a new book. My fingers gently stroked the parchment and I tenderly flipped a few pages. I cherished the moment, relishing the unknown adventure on which I was about to embark. Closing the book, I marveled at the title’s strange font and the mysterious, unsettling tone of the picture on front. I ran my hand slowly down the length of the cover, letting my fingers glide to a smooth halt in a quiet caress. Poised, careful, expectant, I opened The Book Thief to Chapter ONE.
Death and Chocolate
My eyes alighted on the peculiar shape of the first paragraph.
First the colors.
Then the humans.
That’s usually how I see things.
Or at least, how I try.
***HERE IS A SMALL FACT***
You are going to die.
Clarification: This is not a book that convinces the weak to hurt themselves. There are no damaging subliminal messages, like if you take every third letter of every 500th word and spell it backwards, the result says, “Marijuana is fun; you should try dying.” Nothing like that.
This book adopted me. It chose me.
I won’t summarize the plot for you because I don’t want to mar its beauty with my own hollow, powerless words. I can tell you that it sucked me into a black whirlwind of textures, sounds, voices, images, memories, futures, anything, all of it and none of it, and I emerged wishing I had written this book, that this was my child. Instead, I must settle for it as a friend, one that follows me, rarely the center of attention but rather hovering on the periphery.
Markus Zusak harnesses his words and uses their actual physical shapes to mold pictures. He forges sentences with absolute mastery and incorporates words with no regard for their intended meaning. Instead, he infuses them with his own language, letting their natural sound and aura speak for them as opposed to some culturally accepted interpretation. For years, this book has been bouncing around in my pocket, seeping into my life subtly, but with great impact. I am honored to share it with you.
Beautiful, beautiful. I wish I had the words.
My tools for communication pale in comparison.
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak….Five Hundred and Forty Seven Pages.
Dear God, if I could only have Five Hundred and Forty Seven more.
Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it. ~P.J. O'Rourke
The beginning sentence about the smells of the book made me laugh. That's personally a big thing to me its why I could never use a kindle. I love the feel of a book in my hand!
ReplyDeleteI can relate strongly to most of your post, from the smell of the book, the love to Book Thief, to wishing that I can have 547 more pages. Books and I definitely have a timeless love affair and I'm sure you do too. Thanks for sharing as always! This is exactly how I feel most of the time.
ReplyDeleteI get what you mean by the smell of the pages. I open up old favorites and it brings the same feeling of comfort and happiness. The one thing I've spent more than I probably should have at school is definitely books, and I mean for pleasure reading. Your writing is wonderfully poignant and I can feel your message. I mean that literally in that I'm thinking of how my new books always feel. This post shows such a passion for literature that I find myself envious of your dedication to taking the time to read for pleasure, not just class. Very well done.
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