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357 pages, Paperback
First published January 10, 2002
“My full name’s Ed Kennedy. I’m nineteen. I’m an underage cabdriver. I’m typical of many of the young men you see in this suburban outpost of the city—not a whole lot of prospects or possibility. That aside, I read more books than I should, and I’m decidedly crap at sex and doing my taxes. Nice to meet you.”
Sometimes people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are.
“Of course you’re real—like any thought or any story. It’s real when you’re in it.”
“I’m fine, Marv,” I tell him. “Just thinking of some things.”
“That’ll kill you,” he warns. “You’re better off not thinking at all.”
Nothing really ends at the end. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.
“While the rest of this town sleeps, I’m doing its dirty laundry.”
“You’re chosen.”
“Well, that’s comforting!”
I wish I could hold up that knife and tear open the world. I’d slice it open and climb through to the next one.
My heart applauds inside my ears, first like a roaring crowd, then slows and slows until it’s a solitary person, clapping with unbridled sarcasm.
Clap. Clap.
Clap.
Well done, Ed.
Well given up.
We shake hands and walk in our different directions.
At the end of the road, just before I go around the corner, I turn one last time to see the lights.
Me: *to readers* Hello and welcome to the next section where we will be analysing the characters Zusak has created and moulded in Messenger, discussing their themes and relationships. First up is our protagonist Ed, and he...well, I believe he can introduce himself better than I possibly could. *turns to ed*
Me: So, Edward, would you mind telling the readers a little about yourself?
Ed: My full name’s Ed Kennedy.
Me: That’t...that’s it?
Ed: Not Edward, Edmund, Edwin. Just Ed. Sheer mediocrity feels nice for a change.
Me:
Me: OK?
Me:
Me: Maybe just say a little more about yourself? You aren’t giving me enough to work with here, kid.
Ed: Oh wait you were asking about me? Sorry I kinda stopped listening the moment you said Edward cause I first had to establish the basics haha we good?
Me: *facepalms* Ugh it’s fine Ed.
Ed: Awesome! *grins*
*cue awkward silence*
Me:
Ed:
Me: No rush, we will patiently await your earliest convenience.
Ed: What? *is still grinning*
Me: You were supposed to introduce yourself??
Ed: Oh oh okay! Well, I’m nineteen. I’m an underage cabdriver. I’m typical of many of the young men you see in this suburban outpost of the city—not a whole lot of prospects or possibility. That aside, I read more books than I should, and I’m decidedly crap at sex and doing my taxes. Nice to meet you.
Me: *face palms* you know I said a little, right? I’m sure we didn’t need to know some of that.
Ed: My pleasure. *the silly grin is still on btw*
Me:
Me: Well, marvelo—
Ed: —AUDREY HEPBURN.
Me: WTF.
Ed: Oh I can’t let you say that word cause, well, then I’d shoot you with this gun. *pulls out a gun and yes, you guessed right, he is still grinning*
Me: WTF WHERE DID YOU GET THAT PUT THAT DOWN PUT THAT DOWN RIGHT NOW.
Ed: OK OK FINE. *surrenders gun and puts hands in the air*
Me: *sighs*
Me: Moving on.
Me: *to readers again* As you can see, the MC is a contradictory, oblivious, absurd cinnamon roll—
Ed: —and so witty he has judges itching and wishing to put him on trial, yes I do.
Me:
Me: Thank you for your contribution Ed but that’s the last time you interrupt me so please kindly shut up.
Ed: Why so rude. *mutters sth intelligible*
Me: As I was saying, in his faceted, tangible, and conflicted characters, each with their own internal struggles, the author Markus Zus—
Ed: —OMG WAIT IS THAT THE GUY W—
Me: *frustrated* Yes he is and you might be cute and hilarious, but don’t spoil it and I’m talking so you will zip it or I will zip you.
Ed: *sits back, chastised*
Me: Good. *turns back to audience* Zusak builds dreams and failures, personalities and bonds—from friendship, brotherhood, and motherhood, to budding romance and aged romance and dying love, none of it paper-thin and all of it bearing innocent and picturesque depth. My favourites however were, as usual, the ones with an all-consuming air of tragedy around them; such as Milla the old—
Ed: Oh I love that woman, she—
Me: OUT. OUT. OUT NOW. *grips him by the collar and drags him to the cross at the top of the screen* YOU DONUT I AM SO DONE WITH YOU.
Ed: *stumbles along, hands shielding his head from the anticipated blow yours truly is half tempted to give him but won’t because dammit he’s too adorable* OK OK I’M GOING no need to get all violent now, is there?
Me: Look who’s talking! Did you enjoy holding that gun to the guy’s head and pulling the trigger? How about beating up that Rose kid?? *to the readers, smiling very kindly while wrestling with Ed* Please continue on to the next section while I clean the place a little and throw out this...vermin. *discreetly pushes Ed out the window*
Ed: *lands butt-first, making a series of disgruntled noises*
Me: *shoots audience an accusing look, hair gone wild and skirts all twisted up* What’re you still doing here?? Shoo. *presses enter and shoots readers to the next line*
“You are the epitome of ordinariness, Ed.” He looks at me seriously. “And if a guy like you can stand up and do what you did for all those people, well, maybe everyone can. Maybe everyone can live beyond what they’re capable of.” He becomes intense now. Emotional. This is everything. “Maybe even I can.”
“Why me?” I ask God.
God says nothing.
I laugh and the stars watch.
It’s good to be alive.
"Taxi driver. Local loser. Cornerstone of mediocrity. Sexual midget. Pathetic card-player. And now weird-shit magnet on top of it.
Admit it.
It's not a bad list I'm building up."
"Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are."
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It's not a big thing, but I guess it's true--big things are often just small things that are noticed.
Sometimes people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are.
Her voice is so sweet it’s almost ridiculous. It’s like strawberry-flavored or something, that voice.
The sentence lands between us like a ball with no air in it.
My heart applauds inside my ears, first like a roaring crowd, then slows and slows until it’s a solitary person, clapping with unbridled sarcasm.
I also fear that nothing really ends at the end. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.
My voice is like a rumor. I’m not quite sure if it came out or not or if it’s true.
“Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.”
"Sometimes people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are."
“My full name’s Ed Kennedy. I’m nineteen. I’m an underage cabdriver. I’m typical of many of the young men you see in this suburban outpost of the city—not a whole lot of prospects or possibility. That aside, I read more books than I should, and I’m decidedly crap at sex and doing my taxes. Nice to meet you.”
"And if a guy like you can stand up and do what you did for all those people, well, maybe everyone can. Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.".