Beemouse Laboratories

Last night I finished reading “I Am the Messenger” by Markus Zusak. I can’t remember who turned me on to it, but I’m so glad I read it.

It’s an intense book, and different, with a surprise ending. I was able to empathize deeply with the main character, and I cried in parts. At first the ending pissed me off, but I felt like at least I “got” it and it was a good message. Then I realized it had gone over my head. It’s the most “meta” children’s book I’ve ever read. I’m sure I’ll continue thinking about it for a long time. (Also, it has the most swearing and the most sex. Kid’s books have gotten way better since I was in school.)

Here’s a sample of the drama and dialogue (and don’t worry, it doesn’t give anything away):

The sun hits its head on the horizon, and I fasten my hand to the gun. My finger’s on the trigger. Sweat slides down my face.
“Please,” he pleads. He bends forward in a half breakdown. He feels like he’ll die if he falls completely. A disturbing kind of sobering takes hold of him. “I’m sorry, I’m so— I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”
“Stop what?”
He hurries his words. “You know…”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“I’ll stop forcing her when I get–”
“Forcing?”
“Okay–raping.”
“Better. Continue.”
“I’ll stop doing it, I promise.”
“How in God’s name can I rely on your word?”
“You can.”
“That isn’t the answer I’m looking for. You’d get naught for that in an essay,” and I dig the gun in a little harder. “Answer the question!”
“Because if I do, you’ll kill me.”
“I’m killing you now!” I’m feverish again, coated in sweat and what I’m doing, struggling to believe it. “Put your hands on your head.” He does it. “Walk closer to the edge.” He does it. “Now how do you feel? Think before you answer. A lot depends on whether you’re right or wrong.”
“I feel like my wife does every night when I come home.”
“Scared out of your mind?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
I follow him over to the edge, aim the gun, and make sure.
The trigger sweats across my finger.
My shoulders ache.
Breathe, I remind myself, Breathe.
A moment of peace shatters me and I pull the trigger. The noise of it burns through my ears, and just like the day of the bank robbery, the gun now feels warm and soft in my hand.