Book #1: "The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak

It's rare to come across a work of fiction that has written on the front cover, "It's the kind of book that can be LIFE CHANGING."  And the quotation is attributed to the New York Times no less. 

Similarly, the back cover claims that the author, Markus Zusak, "has given us one of the most enduring stories of our time."  

I was skeptical, to say the least.  

However, by the end of the introduction, once Death has introduced himself and his protagonist, Liesl Meminger, and says:

If you feel like it, come with me.  I will tell you a story.

I'll show you something. (15)

I was hooked.  

This book is narrated by Death, as he goes about his work in World War II Germany.  He is taking the souls of the dead, and there are many in those years.  It is never clear where the souls go, whether they find peace, if they go to a Christian or Jewish God.  They are simply taken. 

There is no sadness in Zusak's Death, only tiredness and angry disbelief at the horrible ways that humans choose to kill each other.  After the city of Koln is strafed with bombs, Death goes among the dead, describing:

Five hundred souls.

I carried them in my fingers, like suitcases. Or I'd throw them over my shoulder. It was only the children I carried in my arms. (336)

The voice of Death appears and disappears as Liesel Meminger comes to life and tells her own story.  She is foster child, trying to reestablish her own life after the loss of her mother and brother, all the while coming to terms with the Nazis and treatment of the Jews.

The story takes place in a suburb of Munich.  In the 1940s, Munich was a hotbed of Nazism. Today it is a beautiful European city, so perfect, that sometimes I feel like it secretly may be a movie set.  Whenever I visit, I inevitably will see a number of white haired old men, nattily dressed, out for a walk-- often with a little dog, elderly wife, or silver capped cane.  They were there while Hitler and his supporters slaughtered 6 million people.  I want to ask, "What did you do, Sir, when the Nazis came to power? What was your part? What is your story?"  

But one could never ask these things of a stranger.  "The Book Thief" manages to answer these questions.  It shows the lives of ordinary Germans during the war, and the life of one extraordinary little girl who steals books.  Some of the characters are brave and stand against Nazism.  Most do not. Liesel's foster parents seem the most unlikely people to shelter a Jew, yet they do.  Zusak explores this paradox so eloquently that his characters become real.  He makes them real.  

"The Book Thief" was a heck of a way to start my reading project.  I fear for my future choices.  They are going to fall short.

The Year of the Book

One resolution of mine for 2009 is to read more.  

I love reading, but must admit that I too often succumb to trashy lifestyle magazines and the lure of mindless internet browsing.  However, cooking blogs and celebrity fashions are not enough. They do not feed the soul like literature--deftly researched non fiction--or even a rollicking romance novel.  Pages. Chapters. Plots. Being surprised. Savoring every page.

I initially resolved that I would try to read 100 books this year, but after calculating that meant an average of two books per week, I have since halved that number.  100 books might have been possible before having Bee but it is doubly impossible now that I am a parent and don't have regular access to an English language library.  

So 50 books it is.  That still seems like a lot.   

Care to join me?

I'll stay with 2008, thank you very much . . .

4:50 pm:  Babysitter calls David at work to say that Max got sick all over the dining room rug.  What should she do?  (It's a good thing she didn't call me with this particular question; that's all I'm gonna say about that.)

5:15 pm: David heads to the corner grocery store to buy rug cleaner.  He stands in line for 30 minutes.  Bee and I enjoy a few minutes together. We read lots of books. Eat brie on crackers.

6:15 pm: Minor kitchen fire. (The oil was too hot and the tomatoes too wet.  Kerblam! Splatter! Giant orange flames shooting out of the pan.  Me yelling, "Cover the pan! Cover the pan!"  Bee yelling, "Daddy, fire!"  It was very dramatic.)

6:20 pm: David pours himself a big glass of red wine. . .

7:20 pm:  We finally eat dinner for a grand total of five minutes before it's time to whisk Bee off to bed.

Now Bee is sleeping and there are chores to do and an oily floor to mop.  Right now, I am really wishing it was still last weekend and I am curled up on the couch with my sister, reading a magazine.  Reality has interceded at last.  Party's over folks.  Back to work.

On board the SS Coffee Table

Gone country

As today was my sister's last full day in Romania, we took the opportunity to do a little bit of traveling, to the foothills of the Carpathian mountains, to a royal town called Court of Arges. 

Our plan was to visit the famous, supposedly fantastically beautiful, 14th century church in the center of town.  Everything went as planned: traffic was light, this morning's snow gave way to sunny skies, and David's new GPS navigated us without any detours.  We found the church and deemed it to be, well, quite ordinary.

To make matters worse, it was locked.  We all took turns peering through the keyhole.  It did look beautiful inside.

Afterward, we went across the street to the town museum.  Bee found it fascinating, especially the religious icon with the "grumpy Virgin Mary."  Mary did look grumpy and I remarked on it--but I really do have to learn to be more careful about what I say. Bee's like a sponge and she spent the rest of the day telling me about Grumpy Mary and Grumpy Jesus.  My wonderful baby daughter seems to have a slightly sacrilegious bent to her personality.  

We were finished visiting the otherwise unremarkable museum in less than 20 minutes. After walking down the town's main street for about as long as it took for my fingers to become numb, we settled on a restaurant ironically named "No Comment."  As in, "How was your meal?"

Fortunately for all of us, the pizzas were actually pretty good.  

Fortunately, after lunch, my sister saved the day.  While consulting our guidebook, she discovered that the town actually is home to two 14th century churches.  The second one, situated in an ancient orthodox monastery, is fantastical indeed.

This church is home to one of the country's most famous legends, that of Manole the builder. He aspired to build the most beautiful church in the entire world. While building the church's foundation, Manole decided that a woman must be bricked up inside the walls in order to ensure that the edifice would be everlasting.  Manole told his laborers that the first woman to come to the work site the next day would be the victim.  All the laborers went home that evening and, wisely, told their wives to stay at home.  The next day, the only woman who came to the church was Manole's wife.  Forced to keep his word, he put her into the wall and sealed her in, as a living sacrifice.  

Manole's luck only continued to deteriorate.  The prideful owner of the church decided to make sure that no other church would ever be as beautiful as his own.  While Manole was finishing the roof, the owner ordered the scaffolding taken down, stranding Manole on the highest spire.

  

In an attempt to escape, Manole fashioned himself a pair of wings and flew from the top of the church.  He crashed to earth.  On the spot where he landed, a natural spring of water appeared. To this day, Manole's fountain still burbles, a short distance from the church.

There is something about the countryside, despite the many trappings of burgeoning modernity and communist era industry, that belies the 21st century and continually looks backward. Whenever I leave the capital I feel that I travel back in time.  Horses pulling carts still ply the country's biggest highway. Conical haystacks dot the landscape, formed in the style of centuries past.  And everyone slows down for sheep crossings.

After the sheep, shepherds, sheepdogs, and donkeys had cleared the road, we headed another 15 miles north, into the mountains to visit Vlad Tepes's (better known as Dracula) mountaintop citadel.  It was haunting.  I read that there are over 1,000 steps to reach the fortress.  The few flights that we could see were covered in ice.  That combined with the thought of carrying Bee, well, this is as close as we got:

Every time I leave the city I tell myself that I have to do it more often.  Despite the bad roads and frustrating traffic--we have to get out more.  There is so much to see.

Mama's girl

I love those chubby little ankles.  The neighbors downstairs, on the other hand, probably do not love the clackity-clack of high heels on the tile floors.

The couch is my castle

Oh, glorious laziness!

David and I took turns sleeping in this morning. He got up with Bee at 7 am and they went and had breakfast and made their usual mess in the living room.  David woke me up around 9:30. With our bed still warm, he jumped back in and slept until almost noon.  

We played with Bee, ate some lunch and now Bee and my sister are both napping. David is happily playing video games, with Max asleep at his side. I have been ensconced on the couch with my fuzzy cashmere blanket reading a stack of magazines, eating caramel popcorn and mulling over which kind of tea I will brew in a bit. 

We have nothing planned for the rest of today, save more of the same and making pizza.  Tomorrow is a holiday, the quite literally named "day after New Years" holiday.   

It is going to be a real shock when, next week, I have to go back to actually working. For now though, I am relishing my four day weekend.