There are some stories that read like an old soul reminiscing with a moat of eager listeners, and there are others that read like a hushed and urgent whisper, coming from a friend who is practically spilling over with secrets. The Book Thief is both.
Death narrates and he (yes, he), has stories to tell and an appreciation for spoilers. He's not giving us cliffhangers to keep us fiending for the next page. For Death, who is trapped to the tedious burden of gathering souls, the big events (characters' deaths, for one) aren't enough. He spoils several of them halfway through, and with hardly an apology. Rather than keep us tilting on the edge of our seats, he wants us to appreciate the nuances and details of the characters' lives in full appreciation before they're gone. "I don't have much interest in mystery," he says, "Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me."Markus Zusak creates a narrator that wants us to savor the meal, rather than scoff it down.
By knowing which characters will not survive by the last page, we focus harder on them. Their actions, smirks and words sit a little more beautifully in our minds, now that we are agonizingly aware of their mortality. Doesn't chocolate taste better when you know there isn't any more in the box? By spoiling a few major events, Death implores us to enjoy what we can before it's too late. And still, even with this cushion of knowing the future, you will not cry any less when Death reaches in and grabs their souls. He doesn't rob us of the opportunity to be shocked and overwhelmed. The experience simply, and effectively, moves us with something more profound than an assassination or otherwise eventful plot-twist.
Which leads me to why this isn't a typical story about Nazi Germany, or World War II. Yes, the Nazis and the war play major roles in how these characters cross each other's paths, but they're the stage and the set, not the players. The players weave the real story, which is one of innocence lost, and making irrevocable choices. When you lose innocence, that means you've become aware; you've realized that you have the power to make a decision. Eve, for instance, lost her innocence when she was faced with the decision to either eat the apple from the tree of knowledge or remain in paradise. Liesel, the book thief, is faced with similar decisions, and more often than not, she takes the contraband despite the risk of punishment. Her loss of innocence didn't come from sex, like the phrase unfortunately implies. Innocence is nothing more than ignorance. Is it coincidence that Eve was tempted at the Tree of Knowledge? Liesel has no interest in innocence, so she takes the apples (sometimes literally, and sometimes in bulk) when they present themselves. That's what this book is about: losing innocence so that survival becomes more than waking up; it turns into a challenge to come back from sleep with a sharper mind, a fiercer ability to love, and a taste for trouble. this is why Death describes her as a "perpetual survivor," an "expert at being left behind,"which is why he tells her story. Of the heaps of souls he's encountered and carried, she is among a handful that are worth not only remembering, but also sharing. It's as if Markus Zusak himself is telling us to grab the apples, if only for Death, an immortal whose soul-bearing burden is lifted by the delight of our own mischief.
