There are times when I reach the end of a book, and I wish I
could unread it. Something told me from the beginning that I should just put it
down and walk away. But I couldn’t. From the moment I read the first few pages,
I knew I would devour the entire book. The story pulled me in. No time to savor
it. I needed to turn the pages as quickly as I could. I had to know how it
ended. But in my heart I knew how it ended—the narrator even gave the ending
away quite early in the book. I clung to hope that at the end of the story I
would find hope, that the narrator was tricking me. That there would be a
glimmer of light to redeem humankind, this book, and the hours of my life I
dedicated to it.
It wasn’t there. Just as the bombs obliterated any hope
Liesel had, the book left my hope dried up and dusty. My sigh puffed it into a
wispy cloud, and it disappeared.
There were tears. I cried as I read it because I knew it
wasn’t fiction. Sure, the characters are fictitious, but the story is not.
Perhaps the events didn’t play out in Liesel’s life in the way it was portrayed
in the book, but the events all happened. In Nazi Germany. To millions of other
Liesels and Max’s. The train wreck that
was the end of the book was imminent. It was no surprise. But I couldn’t tear
my eyes away. I rushed at it head-on, willing myself to go faster.
While I attempted to live my normal, mundane, comfortable
life, I was haunted by the unread pages. The unfinished story. I had to go back
to it. It was waiting for me. All other responsibilities became a distraction
and a burden. I couldn’t get the story out of my mind. So, I decided to just
get it over with. With everyone in bed, and a pile of unfinished work waiting
for me, I sat down to devour the rest of the story.
I love the book. I hate the book. The story and its
characters will forever haunt me now. I can’t unread it, and I can’t forget it.
The narrator—Death—marvels at the duality of human nature. I
do too. Humans are capable of so much evil and so much good. As much as I study
Nazi Germany, the Holocaust, and other atrocities, I still cannot fathom how it
was allowed to happen. How could hatred grow so thick and hot in so many
people? How could fear imprison a nation? But it happened. The ugly side of
human nature speaks louder than the beautiful side. It’s easier to give into.
It doesn’t require as much work, and it provides fuel in the form of anger and
hate.
I don’t want to see myself in the book. I don’t want to see
myself in these people’s stories. But it could just as easily have been me. I
just got lucky in the decade and country of my birth. I identify with the
characters. The people. They are real. We all have basic needs—food, love,
comfort, companionship. We are all born with a will to live and overcome—to escape
death. I am Liesel, and Rosa, and every other woman in the story.
So now I’m left to pick up the fragments of my reality and
piece it back together. I have to sweep up the dusty hope that settled to the
floor and shape it into something I can believe in again. I have to leave the
Book Thief in the cold basement on Himmel Street and turn my face toward the
sun. She will haunt me in the corners of my consciousness, but I have to leave her
there and not bring her into the light. She will be there in the quiet moments
when thoughts wander. She will try to draw me in, but I have to resist. The
guilt pains me. Ignoring her won’t make her disappear. It won’t unwrite the
story. It can’t change the reality of what happened. But I have to believe that
the ugly side of human nature won’t win. I have to cling to the hope that the
beautiful part will. I have to believe that a flattened street of rubble isn’t
the end. There are brighter days ahead. If I keep reading the story long enough
eventually I will see the reason for all the suffering. Pain will be swallowed
up in understanding and love.The last puzzle piece will be in place, and I can
step back and see the entire picture. It will be beautiful. It will be made up
of suffering and darkness in many places, but when they all come together, they
will form something miraculous and hopeful.
