Excerpt 1 - Death and Chocolate Pages 3-4
First the colors.
Then the humans.
That's usually how I see things.
Or at least, how I try.
***HERE IS A SMALL FACT***
You are going to die.
I am in truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing in me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.
**REACTION TO THE AFOREMENTIONED FACT***
Does this worry you?
I urge you -- don't be afraid.
I'm nothing if not fair.
-- Of course, an introduction.
A beginning.
Where are my manners?
I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will 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 will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.
At that moment, you will be lying there ( I rarely find people standing up). You will be caked in your own body. There might be a discovery; a scram will dribble down the air. The only sound I'll hear after that will be my own breathing, and the sound of the smell, of my footsteps.
The question is, what color will everything be at the moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?
Personally, I like the chocolate-colored sky. Dark, dark chocolate. People say it suits me. I do, however, try to enjoy every color I see -- the whole spectrum. A billion or so flavors, non of them quite the same, and a sky to slowly suck on. It takes the edge off the stress. It helps me relax.
Then the humans.
That's usually how I see things.
Or at least, how I try.
***HERE IS A SMALL FACT***
You are going to die.
I am in truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing in me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.
**REACTION TO THE AFOREMENTIONED FACT***
Does this worry you?
I urge you -- don't be afraid.
I'm nothing if not fair.
-- Of course, an introduction.
A beginning.
Where are my manners?
I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will 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 will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.
At that moment, you will be lying there ( I rarely find people standing up). You will be caked in your own body. There might be a discovery; a scram will dribble down the air. The only sound I'll hear after that will be my own breathing, and the sound of the smell, of my footsteps.
The question is, what color will everything be at the moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?
Personally, I like the chocolate-colored sky. Dark, dark chocolate. People say it suits me. I do, however, try to enjoy every color I see -- the whole spectrum. A billion or so flavors, non of them quite the same, and a sky to slowly suck on. It takes the edge off the stress. It helps me relax.
Excerpt 2 - Thirteen Presents Page 217
***A Late-Night Excerpt***
I realized much later that I actually visited
33 Himmel Street in that period of time.
It must have been one of the few moments when the
girl was not there with him, for all I saw was a
man in bed. I knelt. I readied myself to insert
my hands through the blankets. Then there was a
resurgence- an immense struggle against my weight,
I withdrew, and with so much work ahead of me,
I even managed a short, closed-eyed pause of
serenity before I made my way out.
I realized much later that I actually visited
33 Himmel Street in that period of time.
It must have been one of the few moments when the
girl was not there with him, for all I saw was a
man in bed. I knelt. I readied myself to insert
my hands through the blankets. Then there was a
resurgence- an immense struggle against my weight,
I withdrew, and with so much work ahead of me,
I even managed a short, closed-eyed pause of
serenity before I made my way out.
Excerpt 3 - The Handover Man Page 366
Yes, I have seen a great many things in this world. I attend the greatest disasters and work for the greatest villains.
But then there are other moments.
There's a multitude of stories (a mere handful, as I have previously suggested) that I allow to distract me as I work, just as the colors do. I pick them up in the unluckiest, unluckiest places and I make sure to remember them as I go about my work.The Book Thief is one such story.
When I traveled to Sydney and took Liesel away, I was finally able to do something I's been waiting on for a long time. I put her down and we walked along Anzac Avenue, near the soccer field, and I pulled a dusty black book from my pocket.
The old woman was astonished. She took it in her hand and said, "Is this really it?"
I nodded.
With great trepidation, she opened The Book Thief and turned the pages. "I can't believe..." Even though the text had faded, she was able to read her words. The fingers of her soul touched the story that was written so long ago in her Himmel Street basement.
"Did you read it?" she asked, but she did not look at me. Her eyes were fixed to the words.
I nodded. "Many times."
"Could you understand it?"
And at that point there was a great pause.
A few cars drove by, each way. Their drivers were Hitlers and Hubermanns, and Maxes, killers, Dillers, and Steiners...
I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didnt already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race -- that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.
None of those things, however, came out of my mouth.
All I was able to do was turn to Liesel Meminger and tell her the only truth I truly know. I said it to the book thief and I say it now to you.
***A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR***
I am haunted by humans
But then there are other moments.
There's a multitude of stories (a mere handful, as I have previously suggested) that I allow to distract me as I work, just as the colors do. I pick them up in the unluckiest, unluckiest places and I make sure to remember them as I go about my work.The Book Thief is one such story.
When I traveled to Sydney and took Liesel away, I was finally able to do something I's been waiting on for a long time. I put her down and we walked along Anzac Avenue, near the soccer field, and I pulled a dusty black book from my pocket.
The old woman was astonished. She took it in her hand and said, "Is this really it?"
I nodded.
With great trepidation, she opened The Book Thief and turned the pages. "I can't believe..." Even though the text had faded, she was able to read her words. The fingers of her soul touched the story that was written so long ago in her Himmel Street basement.
"Did you read it?" she asked, but she did not look at me. Her eyes were fixed to the words.
I nodded. "Many times."
"Could you understand it?"
And at that point there was a great pause.
A few cars drove by, each way. Their drivers were Hitlers and Hubermanns, and Maxes, killers, Dillers, and Steiners...
I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didnt already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race -- that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.
None of those things, however, came out of my mouth.
All I was able to do was turn to Liesel Meminger and tell her the only truth I truly know. I said it to the book thief and I say it now to you.
***A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR***
I am haunted by humans