Tyler Reads to Page 9 of The Book Thief

The speaker introduces the book "The Book Thief" by Marcus Zuzak with prologue, incorporating humor and different voices. The story, narrated by Death, explores themes of mortality, distraction, and surviving in World War II Germany. Death describes encountering the book thief, a girl, beside a railway line where a corpse is found, leading to a series of events involving guards, the girl, and Death's observation. Death's unique perspective and dark humor set the tone for the narrative, promising an intriguing and emotional story. Today, I will be reading The Book Thief by Marcus Zuzak, illustrations by Trudy White, which you can clearly see because this is totally not just an audio medium, prologue, a mountain range of rubble in which our narrator introduces himself, the colors, and the book thief. Chapter 1, Death and Chocolate. Oh wait, no, this is just a prologue, excuse me. We're going to do an audio book format where I just confuse people by having little asides and hopefully I can do different enough voices that the asides aren't just confusing, they can also be funny. Let's see. So, this section is called Death and Chocolate. 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 all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable, agreeable, laughable, and that's only the days. 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. Oh, 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. I will carry you gently away. Well, you see, I skipped a sentence there, reader. Yeah, you can tell because I'm not using my reading voice. I go back into Tyler voice, which is an accent that he was not born with. No one's born with an accent. We don't just develop them. Where were we? 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 screen 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 that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying? Personally, I like a 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. None of them quite the same. And a sky to slowly suck on. Takes the edge off the stress. It helps me relax. A small theory. People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends. To me, it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-stacked blues, murky darknesses. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them. As I've been alluding to, my one saving grace is distraction. It keeps me sane. It helps me cope, considering the length of time I've been performing this job. The trouble is, who could ever replace me? Who could step in while I take a break in your stock, standard, resort-style vacation destination, whether it be tropical or of the ski-trip variety? The answer, of course, is nobody. Which has prompted me to make a conscious, deliberate decision to make distraction my vacation. Needless to say, I vacation in increments. In colors. Still, it's possible that you might be asking, why does he even need a vacation? What does he need distraction from? Which brings me to my next point. It's the leftover humans. The survivors. They're the ones I can't stand to look at. Although, on many occasions, I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them. But now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs. Which in turn brings me to the subject I am telling you about tonight, or today, or whatever the hour in color. It's the story of one of those perpetual survivors, an expert at being left behind. It's just a small story, really, about, among other things, a girl. Some words. An accordionist. Some fanatical Germans. A Jewish fistfighter. And quite a lot of thievery. I saw the book thief three times. Section two. Beside the railway line. First up is something white. Of the blinding kind. Some of you are most likely thinking that white is not really a color and all of that tired sort of nonsense. Well, I'm here to tell you that it is. White is, without question, a color. And personally, I don't think you want to argue with me. A reassuring announcement. Please, be calm. Despite that previous threat. I am all bluster. I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result. Yes, it was white. It felt as though the whole globe was dressed in snow. Like if it pulled it on, the way you pull on a sweater. Next to the train line, footprints were sucking, sucking, sucking and sunken. I just swallowed the N. Whoops. You swallow something that doesn't have an N. Next to the train line, footprints were sunken to their shins. That's a novice tongue twister if I've ever seen it. Sunken to their shins. Trees were blankets of ice. As you might expect, someone had died. They couldn't just leave him on the ground. For now, it wasn't such a problem. But very soon, the track ahead would be cleared and the train would need to move on. There were two guards. There was one mother and her daughter. One corpse. The mother, the girl, and the corpse remained stubborn and silent. Well, what else do you want me to do? The guards were tall and short. The tall one always spoke first, though he was not in charge. He looked at the smaller, rounder one. The one with the juicy red face. Well, was the response. We can't just leave him like this, can we? The tall one was losing patience. Why not? And the smaller one damn near exploded. He looked up at the tall one's shin and cried, Sphinx, you fool! Are you stupid? The abhorrence on his cheeks was growing thicker by the moment. His skin widened. Come on, he said, traipsing over the snow. We'll carry all three of them back on if we have to. We'll notify the next stop. As for me, I had already made the most elementary of mistakes. I can't explain to you the severity of my self-disappointment. Originally, I'd done everything right. I studied the blinding white snow sky who stood at the window of the moving train. I practically inhaled it. But still, I wavered. I buckled. I became interested. When the girl curiosity got the better of me, I resigned myself to stay as long as my schedule allowed, and I watched. Twenty-three minutes later, when the train was stopped, I climbed out with them. A small soul was in my arms. I stood a little to the right. The dynamic train guard below made their way back to the mother, the girl, and the small male corpse. I clearly remembered that my breath was loud that day. I'm surprised the guards didn't notice me as they walked by. The world was sagging now, under the weight of all that snow. Perhaps ten meters to my left, the pale, empty-stomached girl was standing, frost-stricken. Her mouth jittered. Her cold arms were folded. Tears were frozen to the book thief's face. Yep, that's eleven minutes. I will be continuing this shortly. I'm going to use this little cord bag as a nice bookmark. But, I had a little fun with that. I hope you did, too. Where's the stop button?