The Book Thief and Mary
Yesterday I:
* knocked out another couple thousand words
* said some things I’ve been meaning to for a very long time and felt lighter
* deleted my WoW character
* read The Book Thief and Nabokov’s Mary.
* did NOT get around to hoovering like I wanted to.
* went for a long walk in the rain and dark, feeding the Muse with streetlight shine and quiet dark houses.
The Kiwi wanted to know if The Book Thief was any good. I thought it was fantastic, despite some glaring missteps. But any book narrated by Death and set in Nazi Germany is going to have a few rough patches. Plus, it’s an ARC, and my inner editor screamed over a few typos. The story goes like this: Liesel Meminger is a foster child in prewar Germany. Her mother can’t afford to keep her and her brother, so she is going to Munich to give them to the agency. (Liesel’s father was a Communist, and so the mother is under Nazi suspicion and ineligible for membership in the Party.) On the train to Munich, Liesel’s brother dies, and Liesel steals her first book. She doesn’t steal for the book itself–she can’t read.
Liesel ends up at the house of Rosa and Hans, both odd people. Hans is a housepainter and accordionist. Rose is a washerwoman with a foul mouth and a cardboard face. What I loved most about this book was the portrayal of Rosa and other flawed human beings–we meet someone and are told the most unappetizing things about them, but as we get to know them through the book we can learn to forgive–or not to forgive, as the case may be–their behavior, viewing it in the best or the worst possible light.
I think the book would have been better without the “narrated by Death!” thing, but I don’t think it would have gotten published despite the incandescent passages–of which there are no few. Everything in the book seemed inevitable, which is one of the highest praises I can give a literary fiction author. If everything is set up believably to make tragedy and comedy inevitable, then I think an author’s done his or her job.
The Book Thief isn’t for everyone. For some, the “Death as narrator!” thing will grate, and there are enough missteps to infuriate a not-so-patient reader. But it’s still worth a read in trade paper, I think, or mass-market if you can find it. (I only have an ARC but I’m thinking of getting a trade paper for the missing artwork.) Plus, it’s a story about a girl who steals books and in the process discovers the power of words–but not because she steals books, because someone loves her enough to teach her. Which is enough to make even the missteps okay in my book.
Nabokov’s Mary was his first published novel, and I loathe the protaganist almost as much as I love Nabokov’s writing, which is always a treat. Ganin is a self-centred emotionally-abusive pig. But…Nabokov’s writing. Mmmh.
Besides, as I have pointed out ad nauseum, it is no crime to make a character others love or hate. The thing a writer should fear is creating a character others can remain indifferent to. All the same, Mary wasn’t my favorite Nabokov. I think I shall go read Invitation to a Beheading again.
Related posts:
