07 10 / 2010
"
I could introduce myself properly, but it’s not really necessary. You’ll know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time I’ll be standing over you. As genially as possible your soul will be in my arms (unintelligible) will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.
At that moment, you’ll be lying there. I rarely find people standing up. You’ll be caked in your own body. There might be a discovery, a scream will dribble down the air. The only sound I’ll hear after that will be my own breathing and a sound of the smell of my footsteps.
The question is what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying? Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky, dark, dark chocolate.
"
-Death, the Narrator of The Book Thief
It has been a long while since I have had much to say to you, Tumblr. But here at the halfway mark in this novel, I believe it may be time to find the words again & give this another shot. When I write, it appears to stick better. Lessons I learn are more poignant, feelings I feel are more potent. Days are less forgettable. And as the month draws closer to a day that stands in time as the most lonely day I’ve lived, I suppose it may be helpful to start recording these actions & reactions once again.
Ironic, how this novel followed me around. I fought the desire to read it, believing it to be yet another youth-minded tale of the Holocaust-which I’ve taught now for six years and have yet to encounter a story that touches Elie Wiesel’s tale in Night. But right before flying north to see a friend in a very busy city, I let my mother hand me the copy and promised to read it “for the children.”
This quote lies in the first few pages, and within those very first minutes, I was certain this novel would be for much more than my children. I have a list of things that can take my total attention from me without asking my permission first. Among them are the film Casa Blanca, a well-crafted fight scene within a terribly plotted movie, and that moment-when cooking, when the spices in the pan change the contents of the pan entirely. Other sounds cease to exist; my world is quiet. And then there’s just the thing in front of me & my heart’s reaction to the thing-grateful, impressed, changed.
These words did that. Read this book. Try the quiet.
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