The Book Thieves

Part 1: The Traveling Thief

I planned the heist for days. It would be an easy score - no problem. When the time came, I stepped out of the condo and walked across the parking lot - a used book crooked beneath my armpit. My mind wandered to the mockingbird serenading my silent steps. The bird's playlist pulsed from one song to the next, finally landing on the caws of a crow. Sinister. 

Still, I walked forward, grabbing the clasp of the gate, entering the pool amidst a clanging and abrupt closure of metal. I looked over my shoulder, feeling like a juicy orange in a raisin factory. I didn't belong there. 

I entered the women's bathroom and closed the door. No one had seen me - I was sure of it. Normally, the pool was teaming with grey hairs, lounging on chairs like bacon in a frying pan. But not that day. The cold weather was on my side. I felt emboldened. 

 I relaxed, taking off my sunglasses and scanning the book rack. The little library - with a toilet seat and sink - was all mine. I scanned the shelves, my shoulders drooping slightly, there was nothing but sad, faded romance novels. Dog-eared. Lonely. My heart sank. Even so, I kept looking. I knew, in the dim light, there could be something good - and the book would have to be good, really good, or I wouldn't dare touch it. (This was a bathroom after all!) 

Ironically, in the middle of the shelf, faded and well read, sat, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. I grabbed the book and replaced it with A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick. I laughed. It was like replacing a Monet with a Mondrian. No one would read such a dark and disturbing book like that here, would they? I didn't care. I left. I didn't look back. 

Part 2: The Book Thief 

After my book thievery, I fell back into a familiar routine - my part time job, reading. The fact that I found this particular book while robbing a bathroom amused me. Now, I was reading about a fictional thief- a young German girl inhabiting a dark world, our world, oddly and whimsically narrated by the Angel of Death. Disturbing. 

The dark Angel watches, as the main character, Liesel, steals her first book. But there's a problem - she can't read. Hans, her tender new foster father, teaches her, one nocturnal cigarette at a time. And just like I visited more condo bathrooms, looking for more books to steal, so does Liesel.  

 I loved the wily narrator and young Liesel, with her potty mouth - perfect for a bathroom library! Markus Zusak is so creative with words. There were lines like:

"The road was icy as it was, but Rudy put on the extra coat, barely able to contain a grin. It ran across his face like a skid."

"He had eaten only the foul taste of his own hungry breath, for what felt like weeks, and still, nothing."

"Hurry up! Arthur called out. His voice far away, as if he'd swallowed it before it exited his mouth."

A book worth stealing!

Part 3: The Thief from Jersey. 

I'm still reading The Book Thief, and learning from it, savoring the journey - slowly. It's a good book. Compelling. Thievery is still on my mind. That's why I'm naming a 3rd book thief. This thief completes today's shady trilogy. 

The next thief is a literary healer. A book whisperer. A Book Doctor. She didn't steal a book, but she left a surgical instrument inside my book, stapled it up and wheeled it away in a chair. I paid $250.00 for a critique of my query and synopsis. I didn't get either.

Our transaction played out over a one hour phone call. It was apparent right away that she hadn't bothered to read my query or synopsis before the call. What kind of doctor doesn't look over a patient's chart before starting surgery? As we talked, she penned in changes to my query and asked questions. There were long pauses and lapses. Meanwhile, a nurse was using a sponge to mop up dollars. The hour was over before it began. 

The doctor didn't even read my synopsis. Instead, I fumbled through an oration of my whole manuscript - wasting time. When I told her to stop the surgery and just read my synopsis, she said she doesn't even like synopses. I didn't like my critique. 

A book thief.