My New Lloyd Dobler

(Now before you say anything, I realize that the "In Your Eyes" desperation boom box serenade has gotten so overplayed as to become sickening and it's not everyone's favorite movie, but I saw it at just the right age for it to make a huge impression on me. Lloyd Dobler became one of my inspirations. Not because of the love story, but because Lloyd's only real ambition in life was to be a genuinely decent human being. "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or . . . process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed, you know, as a career I don't want to do that." He was all about affecting the lives of those he touched. That's what Diane saw in him--he made her laugh and helped her learn to connect with people. I wanted to be able to connect with people like Lloyd.)

So I recently finished reading I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak and am still feeling good from it. It's probably the most authentically feel-good read I've encountered, in fact. Nothing manipulative, shallow, or cheesy about this one, it just makes you feel good and want to do good.

My full names'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.

Ed Kennedy drives his cab and plays cards with his three best friends. That's about it for his life. Then one day he somehow manages to react and becomes something of a hero during a bungled bank robbery. Soon after, he recieves a playing card in the mail--the Ace of Diamonds--with three addresses and times written it. Eventually Ed goes to the addresses at the given times and realizes he's supposed to do something for the people he finds. Exactly what is up to Ed to figure out. Sometimes it's obvious and sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's simple and easy, sometimes it's the hardest thing he's ever done. When he hesitates too long a couple of thugs show up at his door and rough him up a bit to keep him motivated. After he finishes the first ace another one shows up. It becomes Ed's task in life to find ways to help these people, and in doing so realizes he's helping himself.

I'd read a couple of other Zusak books previously and enjoyed them, but liked this one all the more for having listened to it. I can imagine an Australian narrator in my head, but since it's not who I am it lacked a little something. Having the book read by an Australian actor made it that much better, especially since Marc Aden Gray does an excellent job of bringing Zusak's authentically written voice to life. I recommend going that route.

If you don't trust my recommendation, try her. Or for another description try here.

Here, I'll even get you started:

The gunman is useless.
I know it.
He knows it.
The whole bank knows it.
Even my best mate, Marvin, knows it, and he's more useless than the gunman.
The worst part about the whole thing is that Marv's car is standing outside in a fifteen-minute parking zone. We're all facedown on the floor, and the car's only got a few minutes left on it.
"I wish this bloke'd hurry up," I mention.
"I know," Marv whispers back. "This is outrageous." His voice rises from the depths of the floor. "I'll be getting a fine because of this useless bastard. I can't afford another fine, Ed."
"The car's not even worth it."
"What?"
Marv looks over at me now. I can sense he's getting uptight. Offended. If there's one thing Marv doesn't tolerate, it's somone putting shit on his car. He repeats the question.
"What did you say, Ed?"
"I said," I whisper, "it isn't even worth the fine, Marv."
"Look," he says, "I'll take a lot of things, Ed, but . . . "
I tune out of what he's saying because, quite frankly, once Marv gets going about his car, it's downright pain-in-the-arse material. He goes on and on, like a kid, and he's just turned twenty, for Jesus' sake.
He goes on for another minute or so, until I have to cut him off.
"Marv," I point out, "the car's an embarrassment, okay? It doesn't even have a hand brake--it's sitting out there with two bricks behind the back wheels." I'm trying to keep my voice as quiet as possible. "Half the time you don't even bother locking it. You're probably hoping someone'll flog it so you can collect the insurance."
"It isn't insured."
"Exactly."
"NRMA said it wasn't worth it."
"It's understandable."
That's when the gunman turns around and shouts, "Who's talkin' back there?"
Marv doesn't care. He's worked up about the car.
"You don't complain when I give you a lift to work, Ed, you miserable upstart."
"Upstart? What the hell's an upstart?"
"I said shut up back there!" the gunman shouts again.
"Hurry up then!" Marv roars back at him. He's in no mood now. No mood at all.
He's facedown on the floor of the bank.
The bank's being robbed.
It's abnormally hot for spring.
The air-conditioning's broken down.
His car's just been insulted.
Old Marv's at the end of his tether, or his wit's end. Whatever you want to call it--he's got the shits something terrible. . . .