Skyler Hall                12/9/13

Topic: The accordion in Markus Zuask's The Book Thief

Explanation

In Markus Zusak's The Book Thief he uses the word accordion as symbolism. Hans is a World War I veteran who received the accordion from his deceased friend, Erik Vandenberg. When Liesel first arrives at Hans and Rosa's house Liesel wouldn't comply to Rosa's demands. It was Hans who had comforted Liesel by playing the accordion. Liesel had then obeyed Hans and slowly opened up. So Markus Zusak uses the accordion as symbolism for hope and comfort for Liesel. Again he uses the accordion to symbolize strength of family as Rosa holds on to the accordion every night while Hans was gone at war. Lastly, he uses the accordion to symbolize a hope of life for Max. Max uses the accordion to help him keep thinking that he would survive through the Holocaust. 

"Some days Papa told her to get back into bed and wait a minute, and he would return with his accordion and play for her. Liesel would sit up and hum, her cold toes clenched with excitement. No one had ever given her music before. She would grin herself stupid, watching the lines drawing themselves down his face and the soft metal of his eyes..." (27)

"Papa’s bread and jam would be half eaten on his plate, curled into the shape of bite marks, and the music would look Liesel in the face. I know it sounds strange, but that’s how it felt to her. Papa’s right hand strolled the tooth-colored keys. His left hit the buttons. (She especially loved to see him hit the silver, sparkled button—the C major.) The accordion’s scratched yet shiny black exterior came back and forth as his arms squeezed the dusty bellows, making it suck in the air and throw it back out." (28)

"In the kitchen on those mornings, Papa made the accordion live. I guess it makes sense, when you really think about it." (28)

"The only anxiety Papa brought her was the fact that he was constantly leaving. Many evenings, he would walk into the living room (which doubled as the Hubermanns’ bedroom), pull the accordion from the old cupboard, and squeeze past in the kitchen to the front door." (29) 

“A few more words?”
He was definite. “Enough. When you wake up, I’ll play accordion for you.” “Thanks, Papa.”
“Good night.” A quiet, one-syllable laugh. “Good night, Saumensch.” “Good night, Papa.” (46) 

"For nearly an hour, she remained, spread out under the kitchen table, till Papa came home and played the accordion. Only then did she sit up and start to recover." (67)

"Melt it did, though, but somewhere in each of them, that snowman was still upright. It must have been the last thing they saw that Christmas Eve when they finally fell asleep. There was an accordion in their ears, a snowman in their eyes, and for Liesel, there was the thought of Max’s last words before she left him by the fire." (214)

"Whenever they had a break, to eat or drink, he would play the accordion, and it was this that Liesel remembered best. Each morning, while Papa pushed or dragged the paint cart, Liesel carried the instrument. “Better that we leave the paint behind,” Hans told her, “than ever forget the music.” (242) 

"Many times, she wanted to ask her papa if he might teach her to play, but somehow, something always stopped her. Perhaps an unknown intuition told her that she would never be able to play it like Hans Hubermann. Surely, not even the world’s greatest accordionists could compare." (243)

"She didn’t dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging on to her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside her. This, it said, is your accordion." (258) 

"On his third night at home, he played the accordion in the kitchen. A promise was a promise. There was music, soup, and jokes, and the laughter of a fourteen-year-old girl." (337)

 "Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes." (353)

"And I can promise you something, because it was a thing I saw many years later—a vision in the book thief herself—that as she knelt next to Hans Hubermann, she watched him stand and play the accordion." (360) 

"And I can promise you something, because it was a thing I saw many years later—a vision in the book thief herself—that as she knelt next to Hans Hubermann, she watched him stand and play the accordion." (66)  

"As days turned into weeks, there was now, if nothing else, a beleaguered acceptance of what had transpired—all the result of war, a promise keeper, and one piano accordion. Also, in the space of just over half a year, the Hubermanns had lost a son and gained a replacement of epically dangerous proportions." (142) 

"Again, Himmel Street was a trail of people, and again, Papa left his accordion. Rosa reminded him to take it, but he refused. “I didn’t take it last time,” he explained, “and we lived.” War clearly blurred the distinction between logic and superstition." (257)

"He holds her. To say something, to say anything ,
he speaks over her shoulder. “Could you look after my accordion, Liesel? I decided not to take it.” (287)

"It took longer than she expected for her eyes to adjust, and when they did, there was no denying the fact that Rosa Hubermann was sitting on the edge of the bed with her husband’s accordion tied to her chest. Her fingers hovered above the keys. She did not move. She didn’t even appear to be breathing." (290) 

"The accordion remained strapped to her chest. When she bowed her head, it sank to her lap. Liesel watched. She knew that for the next few days, Mama would be walking around with the imprint of an accordion on her body." (290) 

"She returned to bed and fell asleep to the vision of Mama and the silent music. Later, when she woke up from her usual dream and crept again to the hallway, Rosa was still there, as was the accordion." (290)

"Eventually, when Liesel returned to bed, the image of Rosa Hubermann and the accordion would not leave her. The book thief ’s eyes remained open. She waited for the suffocation of sleep." (290)

"One afternoon, she lifted the accordion from its case and polished it with a rag. Only once, just before she put it away, did she take the step that Mama could not. She placed her finger on one of the keys and softly pumped the bellows. Rosa had been right. It only made the room feel emptier." (296) 

"She’d completed three more reading sessions with a devastated woman. On many nights, she’d watched Rosa sit with the accordion and pray with her chin on top of the bellows." (321)