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As Aschenbach watches Tadzio at the beach, he observes the young boy look upon a loud Russian family with undisguised hostility and irritation. In his reflections, Aschenbach compares Tadzio, in a simile, to a god:
But he was exhilarated and shaken at the same time—in a word, he was in bliss. Through this childish fanaticism directed against that totally good-natured segment of life, what had been as inexpressive as a god was placed within a human relationship; a precious artefact of nature, which had served only as a feast for the eyes, now appeared worthy of a deeper rapport; and the figure of the adolescent, already significant for its beauty, was now set off against a background that made it possible to take him seriously beyond his years.
Aschenbach is, at first, surprised to see Tadzio's aggressive expression, as the boy usually appears polite and mild-mannered. He feels simultaneously "exhilarated and shaken" to see this "childish fanaticism directed against that totally good-natured segment of life," concluding that Tadzio, previously "as inexpressive as a god," was now "placed within a human relationship." Previously, Aschenbach had looked upon Tadzio as if he were a sculpture of a young god, regarding him as remote, cold, and inhuman. When he sees the boy's transparent annoyance, however, he looks upon him, for the first time, as a human coexisting among other humans.
Rather than breaking the spell of Aschenbach's obsession, Aschenbach now feels that Tadzio is "worthy of an even deeper rapport," as he combines, for Aschenbach, both human and godlike traits. Throughout the novel, Aschenbach tends to treat Tadzio more as an ideal than an actual child, perceiving him through the lens of Ancient Greek art and mythology.

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Common Core-aligned