That Fascination with Death!

Being born in a family of book lovers, I was taught not to judge a book by its cover at an early stage. So I didn’t. Instead I judged the book by how its contents looked. For example, if the book does not have colorful pictures or large font, then it simply wasn’t my type. I held no fascination for novels, I was happy in my little world of Tinkle, Amar Chitra Katha Comics, Pinky, Chacha Chaudhury etc. The first novel that I finally dared to read with its small font, at the age of 13, was One Night@ The Call Centre. Since then I have taken pride in saying that I did not have a good start into the world of novels and do not let anyone convince me otherwise. The journey then on must have been good enough because now I wait desperately to lay my hands on the tiny fonts of my Literature books without any prejudices.

The back cover of The Book Thief 

                Having read not-so-many books, I had never been able to decide my favourite one. No, it is not the Harry Potter series, for the people who think I am a great Potterhead. It isn’t any of the Nicholas Sparks romances either, they are all similar anyway. I rub my head to recollect every book that I have read including the ones in my Literature syllabus. No favourite there either. Then one day while surfing a book store with no intention of buying anything I came across a book that one of my teachers had suggested me to read. And after all these years, I fell in love with the first thing that I read. I judged the book by its cover, its back cover which said This novel is narrated by Death in the centre. I have not regretted it.

                Death intrigues me. Why? I don’t know. How? I don’t know. What do I mean by it? I don’t know. The fact that one cannot express the experience of death, because obviously the person is then dead, is probably what attracts me. We can always talk about near death experiences, but never about death. There is no such experience in the end, I guess. But I choose to believe otherwise. Death remains a mystery. For someone like me then, to have a personified version of death is a treat for the curious mind. But I am pretty sure any person with no such fascination but a heart for reading might like the book equally. After all, The Book Thief has a lot of elements to fall in love with, Death as the narrator is just the cherry on the top or a little more.

                Death is the omniscient first person narrator. He narrates the story of his three meetings with a little girl during the Second World War in Germany. Every word that he speaks increases one’s hunger for more instead of satiating it. It has been more than a year that I read the book. I remember being disappointed with how the story ends, but that’s probably because I found it quite forced and unnecessary. Or maybe, during that time I was so taken with the theory of absurd and meaninglessness of life in my literature classes that I did not like happy endings. But then Death certainly did a number on me.

A SMALL PIECE OF TRUTH

I do not carry a sickle or scythe. I only wear a hooded black robe when it’s cold. And I don’t have those skull-like facial features you seem to enjoy pinning on me from a distance. You want to know what I truly look like? I’ll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.

You can’t convince me that you did not take a deep breath after reading these lines, if you have of course read it in the whole context.

They say that war is death’s best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thing, incessantly. ‘Get it done, get it done.’ So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss however, does not thank you. He asks for more.

One is totally bound to empathize with this personified version of death, because we all know it’s our story. We might not collect the soul of the dead, but the way we feel about our jobs is pretty much the same. There is so much more to this unconventional narrator. But one can only know when the book is read in its entirety. One might also be surprised in the course of reading the book when s/he realizes, Even Death Has A Heart.

Another of my fascinations is to note the last sentences of every book. When one reads Zusak’s The Book Thief in one go, the last sentence of the book has the power to wrench the tears out of one’s soul.

A last note from your narrator: I am haunted by humans.

Lately, I have recommended The Book Thief by Markus Zusak to quite a few people. It was the subconscious addition of “It’s one of the best books I have ever read. It’s my complete favourite” that made me realize that I finally have a favourite book. I have often wondered how Zusak could associate such humanly emotions to something like death which over the ages has been described as evil. But then, that is probably the reason which keeps the reader interested in the subject.

If you’re reading this, I hope I have been successful in developing a tiny little bit of your interest in this book. If not, then it’s my bad. I have never written about a book before. I still hope, someday when you come across the book while surfing a book store, then you might think of this blogpost and spend a few bucks to give it a try! Happy reading. :D

Ps: The personification of Death in The Book Thief stole my heart. I am not blinded by it.

The image on the front cover of The Book Thief.