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My husband is not an avid reader, and he used to get very frustrated in college when teachers would insist discussing symbolism in a literary work when there didn’t seem to him to be any. He felt that writers often just wrote the story for the story’s sake and other people read symbolism into it.
It does seem like modern fiction just “tells the story” without much symbolism. Is symbolism an older literary device, like excessive description, that is not used much any more? Do you think there was as much symbolism as English teachers seemed to think? What are some examples of symbolism from your reading?
This is kind of a toughie. There are some cases where I think the author definitely intended symbolism (e.g., Piggy’s glasses as a symbol of intelligence/civilization in Lord of the Flies), and then there are cases where some readers see symbolism and others don’t. Does this mean that the ones who see the symbolism are smarter or better readers and that the ones who don’t see it are somehow lesser? I don’t think so.
So much of what I love about literature is that it is, by nature, something each of us experiences differently. Even as individuals, we can read the same book at two different points in our lives and see different meaning in it with each reading. We bring our experiences and emotions, our worldviews and our worries, and our hopes and disappointments with us to each book we read. We are different people, and it only makes sense that we are going to read things differently.
I took this great philosophy of aesthetics course my senior year in college, and we spent countless hours looking at art and discussing first what the artist’s stated message was (if the artist ever did state what he or she was trying to convey) and then what the piece said to us. Some people said they only wanted to see what the artist intended. Others didn’t care at all what the artist intended and just wanted to see what they saw, to experience the piece for themselves. And, of course, there were some in the middle.
I think it’s similar with literature. When we’re lucky enough to have access to authors’ discussions of their work, we can find out what they intended to convey, and we can better understand where they are coming from. But if we see things in the work that they didn’t put there on purpose, or even that they claim are not there? Well, that’s okay, too. Unless you’re reading a book for an English class and have to give the expected answer, who really cares what symbolism you see? It’s all about how a book affects you, what it makes you think about, what meaning it carries for you. If I were an author, I think I’d find it endlessly fascinating to hear about symbolism readers found in my books that I didn’t even know was there.
I don’t spend much time actively looking for symbols in the books I read for pleasure, but I did so much literary analysis in college that I automatically bring that way of thinking with me, and I think that comes through in my reviews. When I come across characters named Bits and Ash in a book that is essentially about a family falling apart, you can bet dollars to donuts that I’m going to think about what their names mean and why the author chose them. I figure those things are there for a reason, and understanding them adds depth to my reading experience.
But that’s not always the case. If not for a recent Weekly Geeks activity, I’d never have known that Eugenia means “aristocrat,” and I can’t say that my reading of The Help suffered for not knowing that.
Do books always carry the symbolism English teachers think they carry? Well, I guess that depends. It depends on who you are, on why you’re reading, and on what you’re hoping to see. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, but sometimes it’s something more. And it all depends on your perspective.
I read this book for the Book Awards Challenge, and since I feel like I was basically the last person on the planet to read it, I’ll forego the formal review and just share a few thoughts.
It’s just a small story really, about among other things: a girl, some words, an accordionist, some fanatical Germans, a Jewish fist-fighter, and quite a lot of thievery. . . .
Set during World War II in Germany, Markus Zusak’s groundbreaking new novel is the story of Liesel Meminger, a foster girl living outside of Munich. Liesel scratches out a meager existence for herself by stealing when she encounters something she can’t resist–books. With the help of her accordion-playing foster father, she learns to read and shares her stolen books with her neighbors during bombing raids as well as with the Jewish man hidden in her basement before he is marched to Dachau.
This is an unforgettable story about the ability of books to feed the soul.
What I Liked
Despite the fact that I’ve successfully avoided reading full reviews of this book for the last couple years, I knew quite a bit about it going in, and I was still pleasantly surprised. I loved that the Zusak chose to have Death narrate the story rather than using a generic third-person narrator. Because Death is not human, he can comment on the human condition from an outsider’s perspective. Those bits of insight were some of my favorite pieces of the story. I also loved that Death was able to provide a sort of meta-perspective on Liesel’s experiences. She might be too young to understand that words, the very things that are saving her life, are also the the things that give power to the Fuhrer, but Death gets it, and he’s not shy about discussing it.
I would have liked to see a bit more of the conversation about rhetoric and the use of language and propaganda in Nazi Germany….then again, that would have made this a heavier, more mature novel and would have quickly propelled it out of the YA category, so I understand why it isn’t there.
Zusak’s writing is vividly descriptive, and he brings his characters to life by revealing their strengths, weaknesses, quirks, and secret hopes. I didn’t feel that any of the characters, even those that existed primarily in the background, were flat or one-dimensional. I could picture their faces, hear their voices, and feel their struggles. Zusak’s great success in this book is in bringing a story about humanity and the resilience of the human spirit to one of the darkest moments in world history.
I also really enjoyed seeing how Liesel’s relationships with her adoptive parents and her best friend Rudy Steiner developed. She is a young girl, not quite ten years old, when the story begins, and as she finds herself in extraordinary circumstances, she grows into a 13-year-old young woman who learns how to think and behave ethically, even when it is not easy or accepted. This is a fantastic book for starting discussions about morality and ethical behavior with young people and adults alike.
And it is very, very emotionally affecting.
What I Didn’t Like
To put it bluntly, Death isn’t very subtle. As a narrator, I mean. Instead of foreshadowing or hinting at events to come, he flat out tells us what’s going to happen—who’s going to die, how it will occur, how many books Liesel will steal, etc.—and like Softdrink, I would have liked a bit more complexity. Now, I get it that this book is written for younger people, people who may not necessarily be familiar with the Holocaust and who, because they are younger, may also need their stories to be more straight-forward. Death’s narration is probably spot-on for the YA audience (though I wouldn’t really know, since I hardly ever read YA novels), but really, a little more of the element of surprise couldn’t hurt.
Because I’ve been hearing nothing but rave reviews of this book for the last couple years—even the New York Times said it had the potential to be “life changing”—I had very high expectations. I thought and hoped this would be an unputdownable pageturner, but I found that it lagged a bit in the middle. Not surprisingly, I usually felt the lagging when Death was filling in the details of events he had already told us were going to take place. A little extra editing could have gone a long way. This book doesn’t really need to be 550 pages.
So, what’s the verdict?
Overall, I really enjoyed The Book Thief. Is it the best book I’ve ever read? No. Did it change my life? No. But I can see how it has the capacity to make a huge impact on readers, especially younger readers who do not understand the full scope of the Holocaust. By putting several very human faces on an important and painful era in world history, Zusak transforms the Holocaust from an abstract concept into a horrible thing that people did to other people. But he also spotlights the ways in which individuals reached out, despite the threat of death, to help and save others, and he shows that one person who is willing to step out and make the right decision really can make a difference.
I am glad I finally read this book, and I know that I will recommend it to readers young and old who are looking for a new perspective on a story that has been told a thousand times. This is a beautifully and powerfully told story that I will not soon forget. And I imagine that if I had read it as a teenager, it would have opened my eyes and changed my point of view and made me fall even more in love with words. Now, I finally understand what all the hype was about, and I think this book deserves the recognition it has received.
Share with us two (2) “teaser” sentences from that page, somewhere between lines 7 and 12.
You also need to share the title of the book that you’re getting your “teaser” from … that way people can have some great book recommendations if they like the teaser you’ve given!
Please avoid spoilers!
I’ve finally gotten around to reading The Book Thief this week, and with about 150 pages left, I’m really enjoying it. Here’s a teaser from page 316.
He was the second snowman to be melting away before her eyes, only this one was different. It was a paradox.
Recently published April 14, 2009 by Touchstone (a division of Simon & Schuster)
A description from the publisher, because my words simply won’t do it justice:
Born to a thirteen-year-old in the bathroom of his family’s small apartment, Abraham Sing leton enters a world laden with the obstacles inherent in an impoverished community. In spite of the crack epidemic and the HIV crisis that ravage their neighborhood, the Singleton family — cousins, an uncle, an aunt, Abraham, and his mother — is held together by Abraham’s heroic grandmother, whose deep faith and stoic nature have always given them a sense of wholeness and hope. But when the family goes through several harrowing losses, not even his grandmother may be strong enough to lead them through.
At the center of this story is Abraham, the youngest of the Singletons. Deeply intuitive and cerebral, he is determined to thrive in a place that has destroyed the dreams of those around him. College means opportunity, yet it also means leaving behind those he loves. Abraham’s journey into adulthood will break his heart but ultimately offer the possibility of redemption.
I sat down with this book around 5pm last Tuesday evening. I planned on reading for half an hour so, then starting dinner, watching some TV, and hanging out with hubby. Two hours and nearly half of the book later, I looked up and realized that I had been completely pulled in to this first-person narrative that is so powerfully written, so honest and truthful and compelling, that I had to constantly remind myself that it was fiction. Read more
Inspired by Lisa’s recent posts about conversations with her daughter, I thought I’d share this gem from the world of being the “cool aunt and uncle” to eight nieces and nephews ranging in age from one week (really!) to 10 years. I don’t know if it’s because we’re younger or because we don’t have kids of our own to distract us or what, but these kids say great things to us.
Last night, we had just finished having dinner with hubby’s brother and his wife. We’re hanging out on the back porch, enjoying the nearly perfect weather, and watching the dog try to figure out what the sprinkler was all about. The kids were (supposed to be) upstairs getting ready for bed, when Nephew, age 7 1/2, appears on the porch wrapped in a blanket.
Nephew: Uncle Bob, can I run through the sprinkler?
Hubby: Uh, no. Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for bed? No running through the sprinkler. Maybe another day.
Nephew: Awww, but I’m naked!
(Like that’s a good way to convince us!)
And that’s just a sampling. Recently, they’ve also asked us to explain “making out,” and to prove that the Easter Bunny is real, and to look at their va-jay-jays to make sure there’s no bug bite when they really just don’t feel like going to bed yet. Yep, that happened. Compliments of Niece, age 4. The next time a child gets out of bed telling me that something hurts and follows up my questions with “Well, maybe you should look at it,” I’m running for the hills.
Or just hoping it’s a nephew asking hubby, so we can even the awkwardness score.