Markus Zusak. Book thief. Excerpts from the novel (preprint)
“The Book Thief” is a short story that, among other things, tells about: one girl; about different words; about the accordionist; about various fanatical Germans; about a Jewish fighter; and many thefts.
At the end of January, the Eksmo publishing house will publish the novel “The Book Thief” by Australian writer Markus Zusak. Markus Zusak was born in 1975 and grew up hearing stories from his parents, immigrants from Austria and Germany who lived through the horrors of World War II. Australian and American critics call him a “literary phenomenon” and recognize him as one of the most inventive and poetic novelists of the new century. Zusak is the winner of several literary awards for books for teenagers and young adults.
World press about the novel “The Book Thief”:
The Book Thief will be praised for the audacity of its author... The book will be read everywhere and admired because it tells a story in which books become treasures. And you can't argue with that. - New York Times
Zusak doesn't sugarcoat anything, but the palpable darkness of his novel can be endured in the same way as Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five - here, too, the sense of humor is somehow grimly comforting. - Time Magazine
A brilliant, whimsical tale. An excellent book that you will recommend to everyone you meet. - Herald-Sun
Buknik and the Eksmo publishing house present you with excerpts from the novel. Translation from English by Nikolai Mezin, edited by M. Nemtsov .* * * LAST STOP * * *
Street of Yellow Stars
No one wanted to linger here, but almost everyone stopped and looked around. The street is like a long broken arm, on it there are several houses with torn glass and shell-shocked walls. Stars of David are painted on the doors. These houses are like some kind of lepers. At the very least - festering sores on wounded German soil.
“Schiller Strasse,” said Rudy. - Street of Yellow Stars.
In the distance, some passers-by were wandering along the street. The drizzle made them seem like ghosts. Not people, but blots trampling under lead-colored clouds.
“Hey, let’s go,” Kurt (the eldest of the Steiner children) called, and Ruby and Liesel hurried after him.
At school, Rudy persistently looked for Liesel at every break. He didn't care that others snorted at the stupid new girl. He began to help her from the very beginning, he will be there even later when her melancholy overflows. But he will not do this disinterestedly.
* * * WORSE THAN THE BOY WHO * * *
ONLY ONE THING HATES YOU -
the boy who loves you.
One day at the end of April, after classes, Rudy and Liesel were wandering along Himmel Strasse, getting ready, as usual, to play football. It was a little early, the rest of the players had not yet come out. On the street they saw one foul-mouthed Pfiffikus.
“Look,” Rudy waved.
* * * PORTRAIT OF PFIFFICUS * * *
Flimsy figure.
White hair.
Black raincoat, brown pants, decayed boots and
language - and what kind of language.
Hey Pfiffikus!
The silhouette in the distance turned around, and Rudy immediately whistled.
Straightening up, the old man immediately went to scold with such ferocity that it was impossible not to recognize a rare talent. No one seemed to know his real name, and if anyone knew, they never called him by it. Only “Pfiffikus” is the name of someone who loves to whistle, and Pfiffikus clearly loved it. He constantly whistled a melody called “Radetzky's March,” and all the city kids, calling out to him, began to play the same tune. Pfiffikus immediately forgot his usual gait (leaning forward, large circular steps, hands behind his back in a raincoat) and, straightening up, began to spew abuse. It was then that all goodness was shattered into smithereens, as his voice seethed with rage.
This time Liesel repeated the taunt almost mechanically.
- Pfiffikus! - she picked up, instantly assimilating the appropriate cruelty that childhood, apparently, requires. She whistled very badly, but there was no time to improve.
The old man chased after them, screaming. Starting with "gescheissen", he quickly moved on to stronger words. At first he aimed only at the boy, but the matter soon came to Liesel.
- Youthful whore! - he yelled. The word hit Liesel across the back. - I haven't seen you here before!
Imagine calling a ten-year-old girl a whore. This was Pfiffikus. Everyone unanimously agreed that he and Frau Holzapfel would make a lovely couple.
- Well, come here! - These were the last words that Liesel and Rudi heard as they ran. They did not stop until Munich Strasse.
Let’s go,” Rudy said when they had caught their breath a little. - Over there, not far!
He led her to the Hubert Oval, where the Jesse Owens story had happened, and they stood silently, hands in their pockets. stretched out before them treadmill. There could only be one thing next. And Rudy started.
- One hundred meters! - he egged Liesel. - I bet I'll outrun you!
Liesel couldn’t stand this:
- I bet you won’t overtake!
-What are you betting on, you young pig? Do you have any money?
- Where? And you?
- No. - But Rudy had an idea. The Don Juan in him spoke. - If I overtake you, I will kiss you! - He sat down and began to roll up his trousers.
Liesel was alarmed, to say the least.
- Why do you want to kiss me? I'm dirty!
- But not me? - Rudy clearly didn’t understand how a drop of dirt could interfere with the matter. For each of them, the period between baths was approximately halfway through.
Liesel thought about this while looking at her opponent's skinny legs. Almost the same as hers. There’s no way he can overtake me, she thought. And she nodded seriously. Agreement.
- If you overtake it, you’ll kiss it. And if I overtake, I won’t stand on goal at football.
Rudy thought.
- Fine.
And they shook hands.
Everything around was dark and vague, and small fragments of rain were falling.
The path turned out to be dirtier than it looked.
The runners got ready.
Instead of firing the starting shot, Rudy threw a rock into the air. When it falls, you can run.
“I can’t even see where the finish line is,” Liesel complained.
- But I see?
The stone hit the dirt.
They ran side by side, pushing with their elbows and trying to run ahead of the other. The slippery path crunched underfoot, and about twenty meters before the end they both fell to the ground at once.
- Jesus, Maria and Josef! - Rudy whined. - I'm covered in shit!
“It’s not shit,” Liesel corrected, “it’s dirt,” although she wasn’t so sure. They drove another five meters to the finish line. - Well, is it a draw?
Rudy looked around - all sharp teeth and bulging blue eyes. Half of the face is painted with mud.
- If it's a draw, am I still entitled to a kiss?
- What more! - Liesel stood up and began to brush off the dirt from her jacket.
- I won’t put you on the gate.
-Choke on your gate.
On the way back to Himmel Strasse, Rudi warned:
- Someday, Liesel, you yourself will want to kiss me to death.
But Liesel knew differently.
She took an oath.
Never in her life would she kiss that pathetic, dirty pig, and she certainly wouldn't today. Now there are more important things to do. She looked at her mud armor and stated the obvious:
- She'll kill me.
“She” was, of course, Rosa Hubermann, also known as Mama, and she really almost killed. The word “pig” was heard without pause as the punishment was being carried out. Rose ground her into mince.
THE INCIDENT OF JESSE OWENS
As we both know, Liesel was not yet on Himmel Strasse when Rudi accomplished his shameful childhood deed. But as soon as she looked back into the past, it seemed to her as if she had seen everything with her own eyes. She almost managed to recognize herself in the crowd of imaginary spectators. No one told her about the feat, but Rudy more than compensated, so when Liesel finally decided to remember her story, the incident with Jesse Owens became as much a chapter of it as everything that the girl had observed herself.
It was 1936. Olympic Games. Hitler's Olympics.
Jesse Owens just won his fourth. gold medal, completing the 4x100 meter relay. Rumors spread around the world that he was a subhuman because he was black, and Hitler refused to shake his hand. In Germany, even the most notorious racists marveled at Owens' success, and the fame of his record seeped through the cracks. No one was more impressed than Rudy Steiner.
While the rest of the family milled about in the living room, Rudy slipped out the door and headed into the kitchen. Having scooped up coal from the stove, he filled all his small handfuls with it.
- Here! - Rudy smiled. Let's get started.
He spread the charcoal evenly and thickly until it was painted all black. Even my hair got it.
Rudy smiled half madly at his reflection in the window, and then, wearing only shorts and a T-shirt, his brother’s bike quietly snuck away and drove off to the Hubert Oval. He hid a couple of pieces of coal in his pocket as a reserve, in case the paint peeled off somewhere.
In Liesel's thoughts, the moon was sewn to the sky that evening. And there are clouds all around.
The rusty bike crashed into the Hubert Oval fence and Rudy climbed into the stadium. On the other side, he trotted frailly towards the start of the hundred-meter race. Having perked up, I clumsily performed several warm-up exercises. I dug out the starting block in the slag.
Waiting for his moment, he lingered nearby, gathering his courage under a dark sky, while the moon and clouds watched him closely.
“Owens is in good shape,” Rudy commented. - Perhaps it's his greatest victory for all...
He shook the imaginary hands of the other athletes and wished his opponents good luck, even if he knew in advance. They have no chance.
The starter gave the start signal. A crowd materialized in every square centimeter around the Hubert Oval track. Everyone shouted the same thing. The crowd was chanting Rudy Steiner's name, and his name was Jesse Owens.
Everything froze.
Rudy's bare feet gripped the ground. He felt it - squeezed between his fingers.
At the "attention" signal, Rudy accepted low start- and then a shot punched a hole in the night.
For the first third of the distance, everyone was approximately level, but it was not for long until the coal Owens moved forward and took the lead.
- Owens is ahead! - sounded the piercing cry of Rudy, rushing along the deserted straight straight into the stormy ovation of Olympic glory. He even felt the ribbon on his chest snap in half as he rushed through it to first place. The fastest man in the world.
And only on the victory lap did trouble happen. In the crowd at the finish line, like a monster in the night, stood my father. Well, more precisely, like a monster in a jacket. (It has already been mentioned that Rudy's father was a tailor. He was rarely seen on the street without a jacket and tie. This time he was wearing only a jacket and an untucked shirt.)
- Was it lost? - he said to his son when he appeared before him in all his coal glory. - What the hell is this? - The crowd disappeared. The breeze blew. “I was sleeping in a chair, and then Kurt noticed that you weren’t there.” Everyone is looking for you.
Under normal circumstances, Herr Steiner was an extremely polite man. Finding one of your children covered in coal on a summer evening was not something he considered normal circumstances.
“The guy’s crazy,” he muttered, although he always understood that if you have six, something like that is bound to happen. At least one must be unlucky. And so he stands and looks at this good-for-nothing, waiting for an explanation. - Well?
Breathing heavily, Rudy bent over and rested his hands on his knees.
- I was Jesse Owens.
He said as if this was the most ordinary thing in the world. And there was even something in his tone that seemed to imply: “What the hell, isn’t it clear?” However, this tone disappeared as soon as Rudy noticed that there was a deep lack of sleep under his father’s eyes.
- Jesse Owens? - A person of the type that Herr Steiner had could be called very wooden. His voice is angular and true. The body is long and heavy, as if made of oak. Hair is like splinters. - And what is he?
- Yes, you know, dad, - a black miracle.
- I'll show you a black miracle! - And Steiner grabbed his son by the ear with two fingers.
Rudy winced.
- Oh, it hurts.
- Yah? - Father was more concerned about the viscous coal powder that stained his fingers. Yes, it turns out he has painted himself everywhere, my father thought. Lord, even there is coal in my ears. - Went.
On the way home, Herr Steiner decided to talk to the boy about politics - and in all seriousness. Rudy will understand everything only in a few years - when it’s already too late and there’s no point in understanding all this.
* * * CONFLICTING POLICIES * * *
ALEX STEINER
Point one: Alex was a member of the fascist party, but not
hated Jews - or anyone else, for that matter.
Point two: Secretly, however, he could not help but feel
some portion of satisfaction (or worse - joy!) when
Jewish shopkeepers were taken out of the game, -
propaganda informed him that
the invasion of Jewish tailors who will take away all his clientele -
it's only a matter of time.
Point three: But does this mean that they should be expelled?
at all?
Point four: Family. Of course, he must do whatever
in his power to support her. If this requires being in the Party,
that means you need to be in the Party.
Point five: Somewhere there, in the depths, he had an itch in his
heart, but he told himself not to scratch it. He was afraid
what might leak out of there.
Turning from street to street, they came out onto Himmel Strasse, and Alex said:
- Son, you can’t walk around the streets painted black, do you hear?
Rudy became interested and confused. The moon had already been spanked, and she was free to go up and down and drip onto the boy's face, which became shy and gloomy, like his thoughts.
- Why not, dad?
- Because they will take you away.
- For what?
- Because you don’t have to want to become black, or Jewish, or someone who... is not ours.
-Who are these Jews?
- Do you know my oldest customer, Herr Kaufmann? Who did we buy your boots from?
- Yes.
- He's a Jew.
- I did not know. Do you have to pay to be a Jew? Need permission?
- No, Rudy. - Herr Steiner drove the bicycle with one hand, Rudi with the other. He also found it difficult to carry on a conversation. He had not yet loosened his fingers on his son's ear. He forgot that he was holding his ear. - It's like being German or Catholic.
- Oh. Is Jesse Owens a Catholic?
- Don't know! - Then he tripped over the bicycle pedal and lost his ear.
They walked for a while in silence, then Rudy said:
- I just want to be like Jesse Owens, dad!
This time Herr Steiner placed his hand on the top of his son’s head and explained:
“I know, son, but you have beautiful blonde hair and big, reliable blue eyes.” You should be happy that it is like this, okay?
But nothing was clear.
Rudy did not understand anything, and that evening became a prelude to what was destined to happen. In two and a half years, all that will remain of Kaufman's shoe store is broken glass, and all the shoes will fly straight into the boxes into the back of the truck.
HITLER'S BIRTHDAY, 1940
Despite all hopelessness, Liesel checked her mailbox every day - all of March and well into April. All this despite Hans requesting a visit from Frau Heinrich from the state guardianship, who explained to the Hubermanns that her institution had completely lost contact with Paula Meminger. But the girl was still stubborn and, as you can imagine, day after day, checking her mail, she found nothing.
Molching, like the rest of Germany, was captured by preparations for the Fuhrer's birthday. That year, given the current situation on the fronts and all of Hitler’s victories, local party activists wanted the celebration to be especially worthy. There will be a parade. Marches. Music. Songs. There will be a fire.
While Liesel walked the streets of Molching, delivering and collecting laundry and ironing, the National Socialists were saving up fuel. A couple of times Liesel saw with her own eyes how men and women knocked on doors and asked if there was anything that the owner thought needed to be done away with or that needed to be destroyed. In the “Molking Express” the Pope wrote that a festive bonfire would take place in the city square, and all local Hitler Youth units would come there. The bonfire will commemorate not only the Fuhrer's birthday, but also the victory over his enemies and liberation from the bonds that have held Germany back since the end of the First World War.
“Any materials from those times,” the article advised, “posters, books, flags, newspapers—and any enemy propaganda found should be immediately taken to the local NSDAP headquarters on Munich Strasse.”
Even Schiller Strasse, the street of yellow stars, which was still waiting for perestroika, was searched once again for the last time, looking for something, at least something, to burn in the name and glory of the Fuhrer. It would not be surprising even if some of the party members went and printed somewhere a thousand or two books or posters with morally corrupting content, only to put them on fire.
Everything was ready for a magnificent April 20th. This will be a day of burning and joyful cries.
And book theft.
At the Hubermans' house that morning everything went as usual again.
“That pig is looking out the window again,” Rosa Huberman scolded. - Every“God’s day,” she did not stop talking. - Well, what are you looking out there now?
“Oh,” Dad moaned with delight. A flag hung from his back from the top of the window. - You should take a look at this lady too. He looked over his shoulder and grinned at Liesel. - At least jump out and run after her. You're no match for her, Mom.
- Schwein! - Mom threatened Dad wooden spoon. - That's a pig!
And he continued to look out the window at the non-existent lady and the very existing corridor of German flags.
On that day, every window on the streets of Molching was decorated in honor of the Fuhrer. In some places, like Frau Diller's shop, the windows were zealously washed, the flags were brand new, and the swastika looked like a diamond on a red and white blanket. In others, flags hung from window sills like laundry drying. But still there were.
There was a little commotion in the morning. The Hubermans couldn't find their flag.
“They will come for us,” Mother assured her husband. - They'll take us away. Who? They. Need to find!
It already seemed that the Pope would have to go into the basement and paint a flag on a canvas. Fortunately, the flag was found, buried in the closet behind the accordion.
- This hellish accordion blocked all my visibility! - Mom spun on her heels. - Liesel!
The girl was entrusted with the honor of pinning the flag to the window frame.
Closer to noon, Hans Jr. and Trudi arrived - on homemade lunch like they did at Christmas and Easter. In my opinion, now is the right time to present them in more detail:
Hans Jr. had his father's eyes and height. But the silver in his eyes was not warm, like the Pope’s - they had already been proführer there. He also had more meat on his bones, spiky blond hair, and skin like whitish paint.
Trudy, or Trudel, as she was often called, was only a couple of centimeters taller than Mom. She had the lamentable duck walk of Rosa Hubermann, but was otherwise noticeably thinner. Living as a servant in a wealthy part of Munich, she was most likely tired of children, but she always knew how to find at least a few smiling words for Liesel. Her lips were soft. Quiet voice.
Hans and Trudy arrived together on the Munich train, and very soon old tensions were revived.
* * * A SHORT STORY ABOUT * * *
HANS HUBERMAN'S CONFRONTATION WITH SON
The young man was a fascist; his father was not. In eyes
Hans Jr.'s father was part of the old, decrepit Germany -
the one that gives itself to anyone in the proverbial turn,
while her own people suffer. He grew up knowing that
father is called "Der Juden Maler" - Jewish
painter - for painting houses for Jews. Then one incident happened that I
I will soon describe to you in full - the day when Hans Sr. whistled everything already
on the very threshold of joining the Party. It is clear to everyone that there is no need
paint over dirty words written on the facades of Jewish shops. Such behavior
harms Germany and harms the apostate himself.
So, you haven't been accepted yet? - Hans Jr. picked up where they left off at Christmas.
- Where?
- Well, guess what - to the Party!
- No, I think they forgot about me.
- Well, have you contacted me at least once since then? You can’t sit like that and wait until it catches up with you. new world. You have to go and become a part of it yourself - despite past mistakes.
Dad looked up:
- Errors? I have made many mistakes in my life, but not by not joining the fascist party. They have my application - you know - but I won’t go ask again. I just…
That's when the big chill came.
He flew through the window, prancing in the draft. Maybe it was the whiff of the Third Reich, gaining more and more strength. Or maybe it’s just the same Europe, its breath. One thing or another, but it washed over the older and younger Hubermans at that moment when their metal eyes collided like tin pans.
- You always didn’t care about the country! - said Hans Jr. - You don't care about her.
Dad's eyes began to corrode. This did not stop Hans Jr. For some reason he looked at the girl. Having placed her three books upright on the table, as if for a conversation, Liesel silently moved her lips, reading in one.
- And what kind of rubbish is the girl reading? She needs to read Mein Kampf.
Liesel looked up.
“Don’t worry, Liesel,” said Papa. - Read, read. He doesn't understand what he's saying.
But Hans Jr. did not give up. He came closer and said:
- Either you are with the Fuhrer, or against him - and I see that you are against it. It was there from the very beginning. - Liesel watched Hans Jr.’s face, not taking her eyes off his skinny lips and the stone-hard row of lower teeth. “It’s a pitiful person who can stand on the sidelines with folded arms while the entire nation throws out trash and marches toward greatness.”
Trudy and Mom sat silent and scared, and so did Liesel. It smelled like pea soup, something was burning, and there was no agreement.
Everyone was waiting for the next words.
The son spoke them. Just two.
You are a coward. - He threw them in Dad’s face and immediately left the kitchen, out of the house.
Despite all the futility, Dad went out to the threshold and shouted after his son:
- Coward? I coward?!
He rushed to the gate and, as if begging, ran after his son. Rose rushed to the window, tore off the flag and opened the shutters. Mom, Trudy and Liesel crowded by the window and watched as the father caught up with his son and grabbed his hand, begging him to stop. Nothing was heard, but the movements of Hans Jr., who was struggling, screamed quite loudly. And the figure of the Pope, when he looked after Hans, simply roared to them from the street.
- Hansi! - Mom finally called. Both Trudy and Liesel shuddered at her voice. - Come back!
The boy left.
Yes, the boy is gone, and I would be happy to tell you that everything turned out well for young Hans Hubermann, but it didn't.
Having evaporated that day in the name of the Fuhrer from Himmel Strasse, he rushed through the events of another story, and every step inevitably brought him closer to Russia.
To Stalingrad.
* * * SOME INFORMATION ABOUT STALINGRAD * * *
1. In 1942 and at the beginning of 1943, the sky in this city
every morning it faded to a white sheet.
2. All day long, while I carried souls across the sky,
the sheet was splattered with blood until it was soaked
through and did not sag to the ground.
3. In the evening it was squeezed out and bleached again
by the next dawn.
4. And all this while the fighting was only going on during the day.
When his son was out of sight, Hans Huberman stood for a few more seconds. The street seemed so big.
When Dad reappeared in the kitchen, Mom glared at him, but they didn’t exchange a word. She did not reproach him with anything, which was, as you understand, very unusual. Maybe she decided that Dad was already suffering, having received the label of a coward from his only son.
When everyone had eaten, Dad sat silently at the table. Was he really the coward that his son so rudely declared? Of course, during World War I, Hans considered himself one. And he attributed his survival to cowardice. But come on, is it cowardice to admit that you are afraid? Is it cowardice to be happy about being alive?
His thoughts drew zigzags across the tabletop he was looking at.
- Dad? - Liesel called, but he didn’t even look. -What was he talking about? What did he mean when...
“Nothing,” Dad answered. He spoke, quietly and calmly, to the table. - Nothing. Don't think about him, Liesel. - It must have been a full minute before he opened his mouth again. - Isn't it time for you to get ready? - Now he was looking at Liesel. - Don't you need to go to the fire?
- Yes, Dad.
The book thief went and changed into her Hitler Youth uniform, and half an hour later they left and walked towards the BDM department. From there, the children will be taken one by one to the town square.
There will be speeches.
The fire will light up.
The book will be stolen.
100% PURE GERMAN SWEAT
People lined the streets as Germany's youth marched towards the town hall and town square. More than once or twice, Liesel forgot about her mother and all the other troubles that were in her possession at that time. Something swelled in her chest when people in the streets began to clap. Some children waved to their parents, but quickly - they were given clear instructions to step forward and not to look or wave to the spectators.
When Rudy's squad entered the square and received the command to stop, a problem arose. Tommy Muller. The rest of the squad stood up, and Tommy immediately crashed into the front boy.
- Dummkopf! The boy in front hissed before turning around.
“Sorry,” Tommy said, raising his hands pleadingly. His whole face twitched. - I did not hear!
Just a small hitch, but also a prelude to future troubles. For Tommy. For Rudy.
When the march ended, all Hitler Youth units were allowed to disperse. Otherwise, it will be almost impossible to keep the children in line when the fire, excitingly, flares up in front of their eyes. Together everyone shouted a unanimous “Heil Hitler” and were given freedom to roam. Liesel looked out for Rudy, but only the crowd of children scattered, the girl was lost in the confusion of uniforms and ringing cries. The children called out to each other from all sides.
By half past five the air had cooled noticeably.
People joked that it would be nice to warm up.
“Anyway, this trash won’t be good for anything anymore.”
The rubbish was piled up in wheelbarrows. They dumped it in the middle of the city square and poured something sweet on it. Books, paper and other things slipped or fell off the pile and were immediately thrown back. From a distance the pile looked like something volcanic. Or something bizarre and unearthly, inexplicably landing in the middle of the square, something that needs to be slammed down, and quickly.
The smell poured onto the heap fell on the crowd, which was kept at a considerable distance. It was great there for a thousand souls: on the pavement, on the steps of the town hall, on the roofs of the houses surrounding the square.
As Liesel began to squeeze forward, she heard some kind of crackling sound, and she decided that the fire had already started. But no. The sound was from a lively crowd, seething, excited.
They started without me!
And although some inner voice whispered to her that this was a crime - after all, the three books were her greatest treasure - she definitely wanted to see the pile catch fire. She couldn't help herself. I think people like to admire a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards - that's where they start. The great skill of man is his ability to grow.
The fear of not seeing the main thing subsided when Liesel found a gap in the bodies and through it saw the hill of sin, still untouched. They poked him, splashed him, and even spat on him. He seemed to Liesel like no one the right child, abandoned and confused, powerless to change their fate. Nobody likes him. Looking at the ground. Hands in pockets. Forever. Amen.
Pieces and crumbs continued to fall towards the foot, and Liesel looked for Rudy. Where is this pig?
The sky, when Liesel looked up, shivered.
Fascist flags and uniform shirts rose across the horizon and shredded the view every time Liesel tried to look over the head of some shorter child. It was all in vain. The crowd as it is. There was no way to swing her, no way to squeeze through her, no way to convince her. Everyone with the crowd breathed and sang her songs. And waited for her fire.
A man from the platform demanded silence. He was wearing a brand new brown uniform. One might say that the iron has not yet been taken away from her. There was silence.
His first words:
- Heil Hitler!
His first action: salute the Fuhrer.
“Today is a beautiful day,” the speaker continued. “This is not only the birthday of our great leader, but we again repulsed the enemies.” We did not let them penetrate our minds...
Liesel kept trying to squeeze forward.
- We put an end to the infection that spread throughout Germany for twenty recent years, if not longer!
Now he performed what was called Schreierei - a masterly demonstration of passionate cries, calling on listeners to be vigilant, to be vigilant, to notice and stop the villainous machinations, the purpose of which is to vilely infect the beautiful homeland.
- Immoral! Communisten! - There's that word again. That's an old word. Dark rooms. Jacket people. - Die Juden! Jews!
Liesel gave up mid-speech. As soon as the word “communist” caught her attention, the continuation of the fascist recitation flowed past, on the sides, getting lost somewhere in the German legs surrounding Liesel. Waterfalls of words. A girl floundering in the stream. Liesel thought again. Communisten.
Until now, in classes at BDM, they had been told that the Germans were the superior race, but no others were specifically mentioned. Of course, everyone knew about the Jews, since they were the main criminal in terms of the destruction of the German ideal. However, to this day, communists have never been mentioned, despite the fact that people with such political views were also subject to punishment.
She needs to get out.
In front of her, Liesel sat absolutely motionless on her shoulders, her head with parted blond hair and two ponytails. Staring at her, Liesel once again wandered through those dark rooms of her past, her mother answering one-word questions.
Liesel saw it all so clearly.
A hungry mother, a missing father. Communisten.
Undead brother.
- And now we say goodbye! all this garbage, this poison.
Just before Liesel Meminger turned in disgust to get out of the crowd, a shining brown-shirted creature stepped off the platform. Taking a torch from a helper, the man lit a pile, which, with all its criminality, turned him into a gnome.
- Heil Hitler!
Public:
- Heil Hitler!
A crowd of men moved from the platform and surrounded the pile, setting it on fire, to general enthusiastic approval. Voices climbed over the shoulders, and the smell of pure German sweat, which had been suppressed at first, now flowed with all its might. It flowed around corner after corner - and now everyone was swimming in it. Words, sweat. And smiles. Don't forget about smiles.
Joking remarks poured in, and a new wave of “Heilhitler” passed. You know, I’m wondering: after all, with all this, someone could lose an eye, injure a finger or hand. All you need to do is turn your face in the wrong direction at the wrong moment or stand a little closer than necessary to another person. Someone must have been hurt like that. I can tell you from myself that no one died from this - at least physically. Of course, there were about forty million souls that I collected by the time the whole mess was over, but these are already metaphors. Now let's go back to our fire.
The red flame waved welcomingly to the crowd, and paper and letters dissolved in it. Burning words torn from sentences.
On the other side, through the flowing heat, brown shirts and swastikas could be seen - they held hands. There were no people visible. Only form and signs.
Birds drew circles overhead.
They circled, for some reason flocking to the glow - until they descended too close to the heat. Or were they people? Positively, it wasn't the heat.
While trying to escape, she was caught by a voice.
- Liesel!
The voice made its way to her, and she recognized it. Not Rudy, but familiar.
Liesel turned and walked towards the voice, looking for the person associated with it. Oh no. Ludwig Schmeikl. Contrary to her expectations, he did not mock or joke and did not start any conversation at all. He could only pull Liesel towards him and pointed to his ankle. In the confusion it was broken, and it bled darkly and ominously through the sock. There was helplessness on the boy's face under his tangled blond hair. Animal. Not a deer in headlights. Nothing typical or specific. Just an animal, wounded in a crowd of relatives, where it will soon be trampled.
Somehow Liesel helped Ludwig get up and dragged him to the back rows. Out into the fresh air.
They reached the side portal of the church. Having found a free place, we stayed there, the tension subsided.
Breath poured out of Ludwig's mouth. It slid down my throat. Finally he spoke.
He lowered himself onto the step, took his ankle in his hands, and looked up at Liesel Meminger's face.
“Thank you,” he said more into her mouth than into her eyes. More lumps of exhalations. - And... - Both of them had images of beatings in the school yard before their eyes, followed by beatings in the school yard. - Sorry - for... well, you know!
Liesel heard again:
Communisten.
But she decided, however, to switch to Ludwig Schmeikl:
- And you.
After that, they both focused on breathing because there was nothing to talk about. Their business was over.
Blood spread down Ludwig Schmeikl's ankle.
A lonely word fell upon Liesel.
To their left, the crowd hailed the flames and burning books as heroes.
GATE OF THEFT
Liesel sat on the steps, waited for the Pope, looked at the flying ashes and the corpse of the collected books. Everything is sad. The red and orange embers looked like discarded candy, and most of the crowd had already disappeared. Liesel saw Frau Diller (very pleased) and Pfiffikus (white hair, fascist uniform, the same decayed boots and a triumphant whistle) leaving. Now all that was left was cleaning, and soon no one would be able to imagine that anything happened here.
But you can smell it.
What are you doing here?
Hans Hubermann appeared on the church porch.
- Hi, Dad.
- We thought you were in front of the town hall.
- Sorry, Dad.
Dad sat down next to him, half his height on the concrete, and took a lock of Liesel’s hair. With gentle fingers he tucked a strand behind her ear.
- What happened, Liesel?
The girl did not answer immediately. She was doing calculations, although she already knew everything. An eleven-year-old girl is many things, but she is not a fool.
* * * A LITTLE COUNT * * *
The word "communist" + a big fire + a pack of dead
letters + mother's suffering + death
brother = Fuhrer
Fuhrer.
He was the they that Hans and Rosa Hubermann were talking about that evening when Liesel wrote her first letter to her mother. She understood, but she still had to ask.
- Is my mother a communist? - Direct look. Into space. “They kept asking her about everything before I came here.”
Hans moved forward a little, towards the edge, forming the beginning of the lie.
- I have no idea - I've never seen her.
- Was it the Fuhrer who took her?
The question surprised both of them, and made the Pope rise to his feet. He looked at the brown shirts approaching the pile of ash with shovels. He could hear the shovels crashing. The next lie began to stir in his mouth, but Dad could not give it a way out. He said:
- Yes, he probably is.
- I knew it. - The words were thrown onto the steps, and Liesel felt a slush of anger stirring hotly in her stomach. “I hate the Fuhrer,” she said. - I hate him!
What about Hans Huberman?
What did he do?
What did you say?
Leaned over and hugged his adopted daughter like he wanted? Said how sad he was for everything that happened to Liesel and her mother, what happened to her brother?
Not really.
He clenched his eyes. Then he opened them. And he gave Liesel Meminger a hard slap on the cheek.
- Never say that! - He said quietly but clearly.
The girl shuddered and went limp on the steps, and Dad sat down next to her, putting his face in his hands. It was easy to mistake him for an ordinary person tall man, sitting awkwardly and depressed somewhere on the church porch, but everything was wrong. At the time, Liesel had no idea that her adoptive father, Hans Hubermann, was dealing with one of the most dangerous dilemmas a German citizen could face. Moreover, this dilemma had been facing him for almost a year.
- Dad?
Liesel was filled with surprise at the word, but she couldn't help it. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. She could still accept “Varchen” from her sisters or Rosa, but the beating from the Pope was more painful. His palms fell away from Papa’s face, and he found the strength to speak again.
“You can say that at home,” he said, looking gloomily at Liesel’s cheek. - But never say that, neither on the street, nor at school, nor in the paper machine, anywhere! - Hans stood in front of her and lifted her by the elbow. Shaked. - Can you hear me?
Liesel's wide eyes froze in a trap, she nodded obediently.
It was actually a rehearsal for the future lecture, when all of Hans Hubermann's worst fears would appear on Himmel Strasse at the end of the year, in the early pre-dawn hours of a November day.
- Fine. - Hans lowered Liesel into place. - Now let's try... - At the foot of the stairs, Dad stood up straight and raised his hand. Forty-five degrees. - Heil Hitler!
Liesel stood up and also extended her hand. In complete despondency she repeated:
- Heil Hitler!
This was the scene - an eleven-year-old girl on the steps of the church trying not to cry, saluting the Fuhrer, and voices behind Dad's shoulder hacking and pounding the dark mountain.
Are we still friends?
About a quarter of an hour later, the Pope was holding a rolling olive branch in his palm - the paper and tobacco he had recently received. Without single word Liesel sullenly held out her hand and began to roll it up.
The two of them sat like that for quite a long time.
Smoke climbed up Papa's shoulder.
Another ten minutes - and the gates of theft will open a little, and Liesel Meminger will open them a little wider and squeeze through them.
* * * TWO QUESTIONS * * *
Will these gates close behind her?
Or will they kindly wish to release her back?
As Liesel discovers, a good thief needs many different qualities.
Inconspicuousness. Insolence. Agility.
But much more important than everyone is one last requirement.
Luck.
Actually.
Not ten minutes.
The gates are already opening.
BOOK OF FIRE
Darkness came in pieces, and when the rolling of the cigarette was finished, Liesel and Hans Hubermann walked home. The path from the square lay past the fireplace and through the alley - onto Munich Strasse. But they didn't get there.
They were called out by an elderly carpenter named Wolfgang Edel. It was he who put up the platforms on which the party bigwigs stood during the fire, and now he was busy dismantling them.
- Hans Huberman? - Edel had long sideburns that curved towards his mouth and a dark voice. - Hansi!
“Great, Wolfal,” answered Hans. An acquaintance with Liesel and “Heil Hitler!” followed. - Well done, Liesel.
For the first few minutes, Liesel stayed within a five-meter radius of the conversation. Snippets of conversation flew past, but she did not listen.
- A lot of work?
- No, it’s difficult now. You know how it is, especially if someone is not in the ranks.
- Hansi, you told me you were joining.
- I tried, but I made a mistake - it looks like they are still thinking about it.
Liesel reached the mountain of ashes. The mountain stood there like a magnet, like a freak. Irresistibly attracting the eye - just like the street of yellow stars.
Just as she had been impatient to see the heap light up, now Liesel could not take her eyes off it. Alone with the crowd, she did not find the wisdom to keep at a safe distance. The pile attracted him, and Liesel walked around it.
The sky above turned to black as usual, but in the distance over the mountain shoulder there was a dim trace of the sun.
“Pass auf, Kind,” the brown shirt told her. “Be careful, child,” throwing another shovel of ash into the wheelbarrow.
Closer to the town hall, some shadows stood and talked under a lantern - most likely, they rejoiced at the successful bonfire. Liesel heard their voices as mere sounds. Without any words.
Liesel watched for several minutes as the men shoveled the pile of ash, first cutting it from the sides so that more of the top would fall off. They walked from the pile to the truck and back, and after three passes, when the pile at the base had shrunk, small area still living raw materials.
* * * RAW MATERIALS * * *
Half a red flag, two posters advertising a Jewish poet,
three books and a wooden sign - with some inscription
in Hebrew.
Maybe the raw materials are damp. Maybe the fire went out early, not reaching, as it should have, the depths where they lay. Whatever it was, they huddled together among the coals, shocked. Survivors.
- Three books. - Liesel said this quietly and looked at the backs of the cleaners.
“Move,” said one. “Let’s hurry up, well,” I’m dying of hunger.
They moved towards the truck.
The trio of books stuck their noses out.
Liesel came closer.
The heat was still so strong that it warmed Liesel when she stood at the foot of the ash pile. She reached out and her hand was bitten, but on the second try she tried and did everything right, quickly. She grabbed the nearest book. It was hot, but also wet, burnt only at the edges, but otherwise unharmed.
Blue.
The cover felt like it was woven from hundreds of tightly stretched and pressed threads. Red letters are imprinted into the threads. The only word Liesel managed to read was “...shoulders.” There was no time for the rest, and a new difficulty arose. Smoke.
Smoke rose from the cover as Liesel, tossing the book from hand to hand, hurried away. The head was lowered, and with each long step the painful beauty of the nerves became more and more deadly. Fourteen steps and then - a voice.
He stood up behind her.
- Hey!
Then Liesel almost rushed back and threw the book into the fire - but she couldn’t. The only movement available to her was to turn.
- Something didn’t burn here! - One of the cleaners. He was not looking at the girl, but rather at the people at the town hall.
- Well, light it again! - came the answer. - And make sure it burns!
- It seems raw!
- Jesus, Maria and Josef, should I do everything myself?
Liesel passed the sound of footsteps. It was the burgomaster - in a black coat over a fascist uniform. He did not notice the girl who stood completely motionless, almost next to him.
* * * VISION * * *
A statue of a book thief installed in the courtyard...
Very rare, you don't think the statue has appeared
before her hero became famous?
Feel better.
The delight of not being noticed!
The book seems to have cooled down a bit, and you can put it under the form. At first, the book felt pleasant and warm against my chest. But Liesel moved on, and the book began to heat up again.
By the time Liesel returned to the Pope and Wolfgang Edel, the book had already begun to burn her. It seemed like it was about to burst into flames.
Both men looked at the girl.
Liesel smiled.
The moment the smile left her lips, Liesel felt something else. Or rather, someone. There could be no mistake - she was being watched. Someone else's attention entangled Liesel, and her suspicion was confirmed when the girl plucked up the courage to turn around at the shadows near the town hall. To the side of the gathering of silhouettes stood another one, moved a few meters away, and Liesel realized two things.
* * * SEVERAL SMALL FRAGMENTS * * *
AWARENESS
1. Belonging to the shadow and
2. The fact that the shadow saw everything
The shadow's hands were in his coat pockets.
She had fluffy hair.
If she had a face, it would reflect suffering.
“Gottverdammt,” Liesel said under her breath. - Damn it!
We are going?
Just now, in seconds of deathly danger, dad said goodbye to Wolfgang Edel and was ready to take Liesel home.
“Let’s go,” she answered.
They moved away from the crime scene, and the book was already really and seriously burning Liesel. The Shrug pressed against her ribs.
As they passed the dangerous shadows outside the town hall, the book thief winced.
- Is there something wrong? - asked Papa.
- Nothing.
And a few things were obviously wrong:
Smoke rose from Liesel's collar.
A necklace of sweat appeared around his neck.
The book under the uniform blouse was eating into her.
THE WAY HOME
"Mein Kampf"
A book written by the Fuhrer himself.
This was the third important book that reached Liesel Meminger, although Liesel did not steal this book. This book showed up at 33 Himmel Strasse, about an hour after Liesel, awakening from her inevitable nightmare, fell back into sleep.
Some might say it's a miracle that Liesel even got this book.
The journey of this book began when Liesel and Papa were returning home in the evening after a campfire.
They walked about halfway to Himmel Strasse, and then Liesel could not stand it. She bent double and pulled out a smoking book, letting it jump from palm to palm in confusion.
When the book cooled down a little, they both looked at it for a second or two, waiting for words.
Dad:
- Well, what the hell is this?
He reached out and grabbed the Shoulder Shrug. No explanation was required. It was clear that Liesel had stolen the book from the fire. The book was hot and damp, blue and red - so different, confused - and Hans Huberman opened it. On pages thirty-eight and thirty-nine.
- Another one?
Liesel rubbed her side.
Exactly.
Another one.
“Looks like,” Dad suggested, “I won’t have to exchange rolling papers anymore, huh?” You manage to steal these books faster than I can buy them.
Liesel was silent compared to the Pope. Perhaps this was the first time she realized that the crime spoke for itself. Irrefutable.
Dad examined the title, apparently wondering what kind of danger this book could conceal for the minds and souls of the German people. Then he returned the book to Liesel. Something happened.
- Jesus, Maria and Joseph. - Every word dried out around the edges. Breaking off, it gave the appearance of the next one.
The criminal could not stand it any longer:
- What, dad? What's happened?
- Well, of course.
Like most people caught in an epiphany, Hans Hubermann stood in a kind of stupor. He will either shout out the next words, or they will never come out of his lips. Or, more likely, they will become a repetition of the last thing said only a couple of seconds earlier.
- Well, of course.
This time the Pope's voice was like a fist that had just slammed on the table.
Hans Huberman saw something. He quickly looked from one end to the other, like at a horse race, only it was too high and far away for Liesel to see. She begged:
- Dad, okay, what is it? - She was worried whether Dad would tell Mom about the book. As happens with people, at that moment Liesel was interested only in this. -Will you tell?
- A?
- You understand. Will you tell Mom?
Hans Huberman was still watching - tall, distant.
- About what?
Liesel picked up the book:
- About it. - And she shook it in the air like a pistol.
Dad was confused.
- For what?
Liesel hated such questions. They forced her to admit the terrible truth, to expose herself as a vile thief.
- Because I stole again.
Dad bent over, leaning toward Liesel, then straightened up and placed his hand on the top of her head. He stroked her hair with long rough fingers and said:
- Of course not, Liesel. I won't give you away.
- Then what will you do?
That was the question.
What magnificent step will Hans Hubermann spot in the liquid air of Himmel Strasse?
Before I show you this, I think we should take a look at what he saw before he found the solution.
* * * IMAGES THAT QUICKLY PASSED BEFORE THE DADDY * * *
First he saw Liesel's books: "Instructions for a Grave Digger"
“A Dog Called Faust,” “At the Lighthouse,” and the current one, “Shrug.”
Then - the kitchen and the hot-tempered Hans Jr., nodding at
those books on kitchen table, where Liesel used to read. Hans says:
- And what kind of rubbish is the girl reading? - The son repeats
his question three times, after which he suggests a more appropriate reading.
Listen, Liesel. - Dad hugged her and led her further. - This will be our secret - this book. We'll read it at night or in the basement like the others, but you have to promise me something.
- Whatever you say, Dad.
The evening was soft and quiet. Everyone around was listening.
“If I ever ask you to keep my secret, you won’t tell it to anyone.”
- Honestly.
- OK. Now let's go faster. If we are even a little late, Mom will kill us, but do we need that? Can you imagine that you won’t be able to steal books anymore?
Liesel chuckled.
She did not know and would not know for a long time that in the coming days her adoptive father would go and exchange another book for rolling papers, only this time not for Liesel. He knocked on the door of the fascist party branch in Molching and first asked about the fate of his application. When they talked to him about this, he gave the party members his last pennies and a dozen rolled cigarettes. And in return I received a used copy of Mein Kampf.
“Have a nice reading,” the party activist told him.
“Thank you,” Hans nodded.
As he walked out the door, he could still hear the conversation inside. One voice sounded especially clear.
“He will never be accepted,” said this voice, “even if he buys a hundred copies of Mein Kampf.” - The rest unanimously approved this remark.
Hans clutched the book right hand and thought about postage, a tobacco-free existence, and his adopted daughter, who had given him this brilliant idea.
“Thank you,” he repeated, and a passer-by asked him what he said.
In his usual friendly manner, Hans replied:
- Nothing, dear friend, it’s just me. Heil Hitler! - and walked along Munich Strasse, carrying the Fuhrer's pages in his hand.
He probably experienced rather complicated feelings at that moment, because it was not only Liesel who gave the idea to Hans Huberman, but also his son. Maybe Hans already had a presentiment that he would never see him again? At the same time, he reveled in the delight of the idea, not yet daring to imagine its complexities, dangers and ominous absurdities. For now, it was enough that there was an idea. She was invulnerable. Making it a reality is, well, that's a completely, completely different matter. For now, well, let Hans Huberman rejoice.
We'll give him seven months.
And then we’ll fall on him.
Oh, how we will pile on.
"The Book Thief"- 2006 novel by Markus Zusak. Was on the list The New York Times Best Seller list" for more than 230 weeks. Another name: The Book Thief
"The Book Thief" summary
The story takes place in Nazi Germany, starting in January 1939. The story is told from the perspective of Death. The main character of the novel is nine-year-old Liesel Meminger, who becomes older as the plot develops. Liesel has a difficult fate: her father, in an unknown way connected with the communists, has gone missing, and her mother, unable to care for the girl and her brother, decides to give the children up to foster parents, thereby saving her from persecution by the Nazi authorities. On the way to the new home, Liesel's brother dies a difficult death from illness, which happens right before the girl's eyes, leaving a difficult impression for the rest of her life. Liesel’s brother is buried in the cemetery, where the girl picks up her first book in her life - “ Instructions for gravediggers».
Soon Liesel arrives in the non-existent town of Molching to her new adoptive parents Hans and Rosa Huberman (working as a painter and laundress, respectively), who live on Himell Strasse (which translated means “Heavenly Street”). Rosa does not greet the girl very warmly, but Liesel soon gets used to the local style of communication and becomes close to her adoptive mother, understanding Rosa’s inner kindness, hidden under a touch of rudeness. But the girl develops an excellent relationship with Hans and there is complete mutual understanding. In addition, Huberman is an anti-fascist, which plays an important role in the development of events. Living on Himmel Strasse, Liesel quickly makes new friends, one of whom is Rudi Steiner, a neighbor boy who is destined to become her best friend. Rudy is haunted by the laurels of the great sprinter Jesse Owens, a black athlete who smashed Nazi theories of white supremacy and won four gold medals at the Berlin Olympics. But, for obvious reasons, he can only tell Liesel about his idol. Friends go to school together, play football, steal food from hunger - they experience all the events of their lives together.
As the story progresses, Hans teaches Liesel to read by painting letters on the basement wall. Reading captivates her so much that she begins to steal books, making her a real “book thief.” The first stolen book is “ Shrug”, which Liesel pulled from the ashes in the square where the Nazis burned books by “racially inferior” authors. Then the burgomaster's wife gives Liesel the book " Whistler" As the plot develops, the author develops the idea that books mean much more to Liesel than they seem. They feed her soul, give her food for the mind and soil for development. Books are the only consolation in the girl’s difficult life. In the climax of the novel, Liesel makes a new friend - Max Wattenburg, a runaway Jew who temporarily lives with the Hubermans, who hide him in the basement own home from the Nazis. Max's father saved Hans Hubermann's life during the First World War, and he considers it necessary to repay the debt to his fallen comrade by saving his son. Max and Liesel become closer without noticing it. Gradually they become friends, and Max gives Liesel a book consisting of his own drawings and inscriptions. Ironically, Max writes this book, having painted over the pages of Hitler’s book Mein Kampf, the leitmotif of the work is the words of Liesel: “ Your hair is made of feathers”, uttered by her at the moment when she first saw Max. A spiritual connection is established between them, they become attached to each other for the rest of their lives. In 1942, Max nevertheless leaves the house on Himell Strasse when there is a threat of discovery. After some time he is caught and sent to concentration camp near Munich.
Liesel's whole life is permeated with the events of World War II. The plot of the novel reflects everything: the idea of fascists, the persecution of Jews, the division of the German people into two halves - those who joined the NSDAP and those who are against Hitler’s ideology. The Hubermanns are shown as an ordinary German family that does not share fascist views, but at the same time is afraid to say anything against it, since the consequences may be irreversible. Liesel is a victim of her time. A girl who hates Adolf Hitler, who ruined her entire family (her own family, and subsequently her adopted one), cannot do absolutely anything. She sees with her own eyes all the humiliations that people who do not belong to the Aryan race have to endure, and all this weighs heavily on her soul. The book ends tragically - at night bombs fall on Himell Strasse and only Liesel remains alive, who that night was sitting in the basement, where she fell asleep while writing down her story. Liesel, who was already fifteen years old at that time, is taken in by the burgomaster and his wife. Then Rudi Steiner's father Alex returns from the war, he runs a studio and Liesel often helps him there. Max finds her there, having returned from the liberated concentration camp.
In the epilogue, Liesel, being married and already an old woman, lives in Sydney, Australia. Death visits her there and reveals that he found her book. Before taking Liesel away, he tells her his main secret: « I'm overwhelmed by people».
“The Book Thief” composition
The novel is structured in an unusual way - the narration is told from the perspective of Death, who for the author is a man. Death is a rather vague image, but its presence in the novel plays an important role. Death talks about his difficult work and often makes his own comments about what happens in the book.
The novel is divided into ten parts, each of which has its own title. The final, tenth part is called the same as the book itself - “The Book Thief”.
"The Book Thief" main characters
- Death (as narrator)
- Liesel Meminger
- Rosa Huberman, "Mother"
- Hans Huberman, "Papa"
- Rudy Steiner
- Max Vandenburg
- Ilsa Herman
1
Table of contents
- about the author
- Markus Zusak The Book Thief
- PROLOGUE A MOUNTAIN RANGE OF BROKEN STONE where our narrator introduces himself - the paints - and the book thief
- PART ONE "A GRAVEDIGGER'S INSTRUCTION" featuring: Himmel Strasse - the art of pig-making - women with an ironing fist - kiss attempts - Jesse Owens - sandpaper - the smell of friendship - the heavyweight champion - and all the bashing of bashing
- PART TWO "SHRUG" featuring: a girl made of darkness - the joy of rolling papers - a street walker - some dead letters - Hitler's birthday - one hundred percent pure German sweat - the gates of theft - and the book of fire
- PART THREE “MY STRUGGLE” featuring: the way home - a broken woman - a fighter - a cunning man - the properties of summer - an Aryan shopkeeper - a snorer - two tricksters - and retribution in the form of a candy mixture
- PART FOUR “THE HANGING MAN” featuring: an accordionist - a promise keeper - a nice girl - a Jewish brawler - Rosina's rage - a lecture - a sleeper - an exchange of dreams - and a few pages from the basement
- PART FIVE "WHISTLE" featuring: a floating book - players - a little ghost - two haircuts - Rudy's youth - outcasts and sketches - a whistler and a pair of boots - three stupid things and a frightened boy with frozen feet
- PART SIX “THE POSTMAN OF DREAMS” featuring: a death diary - a snowman - thirteen gifts - the next book - a nightmare with a Jewish corpse - a newspaper sky - a visitor - a "schmunzeller" - and a farewell kiss on poisoned cheeks
- PART SEVEN "DUDEN'S COMPLETE DICTIONARY AND THESAURUS" featuring: champagne and accordions - a trilogy - a few sirens - the sky thief - a business proposal - a long walk in Dachau - peace - an idiot and several men in raincoats
- PART EIGHT "WORD SHAKER" featuring: dominoes and darkness - thoughts about naked Rudy - punishment - the wife of one who kept his word - the collector - bread eaters - candles in the forest - a secret book of drawings - a collection of anarchist costumes
- PART NINE “THE LAST HUMAN STRANGER” featuring: a new temptation - a gambler - the snows of Stalingrad - an ageless brother - an accident - the bitter taste of questions - a set of tools, bloody and a bear - a crashed plane - and returning home
- PART TEN "THE BOOK THIEF" featuring: the end of the world - the ninety-eighth day - the sower of war - the path of words - a petrified girl - confessions - the black book of Ilse Herman - the chests of airplanes - and a mountain range of broken stone
about the author
Australian writer Markus Zusak was born in 1975 and grew up reading the stories of his parents, emigrants from Austria and Germany who survived the horrors of World War II. Australian and American critics call him a “literary phenomenon” for good reason: he is recognized as one of the most inventive and poetic novelists of the new century. Markus Zusak is the winner of several literary awards for books for teenagers and young adults. Lives in Sydney.
World press about the novel “The Book Thief”
The Book Thief will be praised for the audacity of its author... The book will be read everywhere and admired because it tells a story in which books become treasures. And you can't argue with that.
New York Times
“The Book Thief” stirs the soul. This is an unsentimental book, but deeply poetic. Its darkness and the tragedy itself flow through the reader, like a black and white movie from which the colors have been stolen. Zusak may not have lived under the thumb of fascism, but his novel deserves a place on the shelf next to Elie Wiesel's The Diary of Anne Frank and Night. It looks like the novel is bound to become a classic.
USA Today
Zusak doesn't sugarcoat anything, but the palpable darkness of his novel can be endured in the same way as Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five - here, too, the sense of humor is somehow grimly comforting.
Time Magazine
An elegant, philosophical and touching book. Beautiful and very important.
Kirkus Reviews
This weighty volume is no small literary achievement. The Book Thief challenges us all.
Publisher's Weekly
Zusak's novel is a tightrope walker's rope, woven from emotional plasticity and inventiveness.
The Australian
A triumph of literary discipline... one of the most extraordinary and compelling Australian novels of modern times.
A fast-paced, poetic and superbly written tale.
Daily Telegraph
A literary gem.
Good Reading
A brilliant, whimsical tale. An excellent book that you will recommend to everyone you meet.
Herald-Sun
Brilliant and ambitious... Books like these have the power to change lives because, without denying the inherent immorality and randomness of the natural order, The Book Thief offers us hard-won hope. And she is invincible even in poverty, war and violence. Young readers need such alternatives to ideological dogmas and such discoveries about the importance of words and books. And they won’t hurt adults either.
The New York Times Review of Books
One of the most long-awaited books of recent years.
The Wall Street Journal
This book affects the reader like a graphic novel.
The Philadelphia Inquirer
Marvelously written and populated with memorable characters, Zusak's book is a poignant tribute to words, books, and the power of the human spirit. This novel can not only be read - it is worth living in it.
The Horn Book Magazine
Markus Zusak has created a work that deserves the full attention of not only sophisticated teenagers, but also adults - a hypnotic and original story, written in poetic language that makes readers revel in every line, even as the action drags them inexorably forward. Extraordinary storytelling.
School Library Journal
Teenagers may be intimidated by the book's thickness, themes, and author's approach, but the book is certainly captivating with its inspired storytelling.
The Washington Post's Book World
This story will break the hearts of both teenagers and adults.
Bookmarks Magazine
Stunning human characters, written without unnecessary sentimentality, grab the reader by the soul.
Booklist
Markus Zusak
Book thief
To Elisabeth and Helmut Zusak with love and admiration
PROLOGUE
MOUNTAIN RANGE FROM BROKEN STONE
where our narrator introduces:
yourself - paints - and a book thief
DEATH AND CHOCOLATE
First the paints.
Then people.
This is how I usually see the world.
Or at least I'm trying.
* * * HERE IS A LITTLE FACT * * *
Someday you will die.
I'm not lying at all: I try to approach this topic lightly, although most people refuse to believe me, no matter how much I am indignant. Please believe me. I still How I know how to be light. I know how to be friendly. Friendly. Soulful. And this is with one letter D. Just don’t ask me to be nice. This is not for me.
* * * REACTION TO THE ABOVE FACT * * *
Does this bother you?
I urge you - do not be afraid.
I'm just being fair.
Oh yes, introduce yourself.
To start.
Where are my manners?
I could introduce myself according to all the rules, but there is no need for this. You will get to know me quite intimately and quite quickly - with all the variety of options. Suffice it to say that on some day and hour I will stand over you with all my cordiality. I will have your soul in my arms. There will be some paint sitting on my shoulder. I will carefully carry you away.
At this moment you will be lying somewhere (I rarely catch a person on his feet). The body will freeze on you. Perhaps it will happen unexpectedly, a scream will splatter in the air. And after that I will hear only one thing - my own breathing and the sound of the smell, the sound of my steps.
The question is what colors will everything be painted the minute I come for you. What will the sky talk about?
Personally, I love chocolate. The sky is the color of dark, dark chocolate. They say this color suits me. However, I try to enjoy all the colors I see - the whole spectrum. A billion flavors or so, and no two are alike - and a palate that I'm slowly absorbing. All of this smooths out the rough edges of my burden. Helps relax.
"Book Thief" is a 2006 novel by Australian writer Marcus Zusak. Was on The New York Times Best Seller list for over 230 weeks.
Plot
The action takes place in fascist Germany, starting in January 1939. The main character of the novel is a nine-year-old German girl, Liesel Meminger, who becomes older as the plot develops. Liesel has a difficult fate: her father, who has unknown connections with the communists, has gone missing, and her mother, unable to care for the girl and her brother, decides to give the children up to foster parents. On the way to the new home, Liesel’s brother dies a difficult death from illness, this happens right in front of the girl’s eyes, leaving a difficult impression for the rest of her life. Liesel's brother is buried in the cemetery, where the girl picks up her first book in her life - “Instructions for Grave Diggers.”
Soon Liesel arrives in the town of Molching, to her new adoptive parents, who live on Himell-Strasse, which means “Heavenly Street”. The adoptive mother, Rosa Huberman, does not greet the girl very warmly, but Liesel soon gets used to the local manner of communication and customs. But with Hans Hubermann, her adoptive father, the girl develops an excellent relationship and achieves complete mutual understanding. In addition, Huberman is an anti-fascist, which plays an important role in the development of events.
Living on Himmel Strasse, Liesel quickly makes new friends, one of whom is Rudi Steiner, a neighbor boy who is destined to become her best friend. Liesel and Rudi go to school together, play football, steal food from hunger - they experience all the events of their lives together.
As the plot develops, Liesel learns to read, and this activity fascinates her so much that she begins to steal books, making her a real “book thief.” The first book stolen is “The Shrug,” in which Hans Hubermann, her adoptive father, willingly helps her master it. Together with him, Liesel reads all her other books, including “The Whistler” and others. Books mean much more to Liesel than they seem. They feed her soul, give her food for the mind and soil for development. Books are the only consolation in the girl’s difficult life.
In the climax of the novel, Liesel makes a new friend - Max Wattenburg, a runaway Jew who temporarily settled with the Hubermanns. Max and Liesel become closer without noticing it. Gradually they become friends, and Max gives Liesel a book consisting of his own drawings and inscriptions. A spiritual connection is established between them, they become attached to each other for the rest of their lives.
Liesel's whole life is permeated with the events of World War II. The plot of the novel reflects everything: the idea of fascists, the persecution of Jews, the division of the German people into two halves - those who joined the NSDAP and those who are against Hitler’s ideology. The Hubermanns are shown as an ordinary German family that does not share fascist views, but at the same time is afraid to say anything against it, since the consequences may be irreversible. Liesel is a victim of her time. A girl who hates Adolf Hitler, who ruined her entire family (her own family, and subsequently her adopted one), cannot do absolutely anything. She sees with her own eyes all the humiliations that people who do not belong to the Aryan race have to endure, and all this weighs heavily on her soul.
The book ends tragically - the Hubermanns and other people close to Liesel die under bombing. The girl, who was already fifteen years old at that time, is left alone. Subsequently, she will write a book called “The Book Thief”, where she will talk about her fate.
Composition of the novel
The novel is structured in an unusual way - the story is told from the perspective of Death. Death is a rather vague image, but its presence in the novel plays an important role. Death talks about his difficult work, and often makes his own comments about what happens in the book.
The novel is divided into ten parts, each of which has its own title. The final, tenth part is called the same as the book itself - “The Book Thief”.
Main characters
- Death (as narrator)
- Liesel Meminger
- Rosa Huberman, "Mother"
- Hans Huberman, "Papa"
- Rudy Steiner
- Max Vandenburg
- Ilsa Herman
- and etc.
World press about the novel “The Book Thief”
- The Book Thief will be praised for its author's audacity. The book will be read and admired everywhere because it tells a story in which books become treasures. And you can't argue with that. - New York Times
- “The Book Thief” stirs the soul. This is an unsentimental book, but deeply poetic. Its darkness and the tragedy itself flow through the reader, like a black and white movie from which the colors have been stolen. Zusak may not have lived under the thumb of fascism, but his novel deserves a place on the shelf next to Elie Wiesel's The Diary of Anne Frank and Night. It looks like the novel is bound to become a classic. - USA Today
- This weighty volume is no small literary achievement. The Book Thief challenges us all. - Publisher's Weekly
- A literary gem. - Good Reading
- This story will break the hearts of both teenagers and adults. - Bookmarks Magazine
- A triumph of literary discipline...one of the most unusual and compelling Australian novels of modern times. - The Age
« This story will break the hearts of both teenagers and adults."
Bookmarks Magazine
Literary quests of the majority modern writers that turn to the theme of war, trying to express themselves and their work in this way, often end in failure, since works of this kind are most susceptible to a wide variety of criticism from both experts and ordinary people. However, there are also very successful attempts.
Novel Markus Zusak"The Book Thief" ( The Book Thief) was released in 2006, causing a stunning storm of emotions among both young people and members of the older generation, who perceived the work of the young Australian writer with some surprise, if not suspicion. A short but extremely precise statement Bookmarks Magazine largely predetermined the subsequent attitude of readers to the extraordinary, strikingly dark and exciting story about the tragedy of human destinies during the Second World War. Of course, the topic chosen by the author is not new - on the contrary, it has repeatedly appeared in the works of writers of the last century, whose terrible memories, together with parental stories about the horrors of the fascist regime, often shocked teenage readers.
Photo source: http://gosmellthecoffee.com/files/2009/03/markus20zusak20c_20bronwyn20rennix.jpg
Among them was Zusak, the son of Austrian emigrant workers, who managed to unite general ideas generation that was not “under the heel of fascism”, and a fundamentally new literary approach into something worth reading. However, not everyone agrees with this. Some condemn the author for the specificity of the narrative; others criticize his “incomprehensible” and “terrible” style, while others are dissatisfied with the writer’s idea as a whole. Those who remained, of whom there are quite a few, on the contrary, believe that Zuzak managed to bring this problem to light. new level. One cannot but agree with this, since the theme of the struggle between fascism and anti-fascism in a special way permeates the entire story of the survival of the nine-year-old Liesel Meminger in Nazi Germany from early 1939.
Photo source: http://www.lisa-prosch.de/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/BT1.jpg
Learning to read in the basement of a house on Himmel Strasse, the girl gradually becomes attached to books that help her satisfy her need for self-development. They “feed” her soul, helping her maintain optimism and humanity even in the most difficult circumstances. The initial distrust and fear of fascist cruelty gradually develops into the “book thief’s” hatred of the Nazis, who deprived her of her own and then her adoptive family, which subsequently forces Liesel and her peers to have a different attitude towards life in a society divided into followers and opponents of Hitler’s ideology. The latter hate fascism as much as the main character: most citizens are forced to live in constant fear, hiding their true attitude towards it, while the rest are not afraid to resist the “Führer” Inquisition, while remaining brave people with kind and loving hearts.
The form of narration from the perspective of Death itself, a metaphysical figure who carries away souls in his arms, is truly unusual: Zusak personifies what seems to be the most terrible enemy of humanity, reinforcing the impression of a terrifying reality from which it is impossible to hide. However, the paradox of “The Book Thief” lies in something completely different: the author gives the narrator the ability to love and empathize, which is manifested in the relationship between the main character and Death, who “accompanies” Liesel, watching her throughout the novel.
Author's style Zuzaka is often criticized for being “excessively” metaphorical, filled with reasoning and not always clear comparisons. Short, choppy sentences, which force readers accustomed to smoother language forms to often return to the text they have already read, rethinking it, have also repeatedly become the subject of controversy between fans and opponents of the original presentation.
Still from the film “The Book Thief”
In 2013, the book was filmed by a film company 20 th Century Fox: film "The Book Thief" directed by Brian Percival received both extremely negative reviews from critics who considered it an awkward and inept likeness of the original source, and positive reviews from viewers who have not read the novel. Of course, the ending of the film makes a strong emotional impression on both, but those who are familiar with The Book Thief to one degree or another, as a rule, lack more precise characteristics heroes, whose images acquire a certain vagueness, uncertainty, and fragmentation, which cannot be said about their literary prototypes. Many episodes from the book - the death of Liesel's little brother, a difficult separation from her mother, the relationship between the main character and her adoptive parents - Hans And Rose Huberman, the strong and touching friendship between Liesel and the bully Rudy Steiner– in the film adaptation are not filled with the deep meaning that determines the specificity and originality of Markus Zusak’s novel. Second World War loses its significance, turning into only a faded background for the story about the life of the “book thief”, since the director avoids demonstrating even a small part of the military actions described in the novel. The relationship between the mass burning of books in the square and the subsequent theft of Liesel, justified by the writer, is absolutely incomprehensible to a critical viewer, as well as to the reader, for whom the role of reading in the life of the main character, her development as a person, occupies a central place in the plot of the novel. Few viewers will be able to recognize the voice of the narrator, who, as in the book, is Death.