I found Markus Zusak's
The Book Thief absolutely wonderful—as close to I-couldn't-put-it-down as I ever get. Narrated by Death,
The Book Thief tells the story of 11-to-16-year-old Liesel Meminger and her experiences in Germany during World War II. I smiled frequently, laughed occasionally and was crying real tears at its conclusion. I dog-eared many pages and know I'll quote and comment on the ending passage, but, before I do so, let me check the other marked passages.
1) Death frequently comments on the human, as well as the Liesel, condition.
The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip—the relative you cringe to kiss.
I think her (Liesel's) mother knew this quite well. She wasn't delivering her children to the higher echelons of Munich, but a foster home had apparently been found, and if nothing else, the new family could at least feed the girl and boy a little better, and educate them properly. (page 25)
And so the story of Liesel in Germany in World War II begins. Typing the sentence, I know that I could not right now reread
The Book Thief. I know what will happen in the story, and that knowledge would make reading it too painful. Someday, however, I may read it again. It is a book I will keep.
2) As Liesel is drawn to watch a book burning, Death comments, "I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that's where they begin. Their great skill is their capacity to escalate." (page 109) You better believe it. Death camps. Iraq. Kenya.
3) Liesel is, of course, the book thief. But she has her problem under control, as is shown when she turns down a book a woman offers to give her. "If there was one thing about Liesel Meminger, her thieving was not gratuitous. She only stole books on what she felt was a need-to-have basis. Currently, she had enough." (page 146)
4) Death picks up a youthful soul. The writer expresses Death's thoughts with an interesting turn of phrase. "The last thing I wanted was to look down at the stranded face of my teenager. A pretty girl. Her whole death was now ahead of her." (page 337)
5) Liesel urges Papa to take his accordion with him as they go to hide in a bomb shelter during an air raid. He refuses. "'I didn't take it last time,' he explained, 'and we survived.' War clearly blurred the distinction between logic and superstition." (page 380) As do many other stressful events.
6) "Certainly war meant dying, but it always shifted the ground beneath a person's feet when it was someone who had once lived and breathed in close proximity." (page 457) I've been spared that moment for the most part, but I do remember how I felt when I heard that a Hiram graduate whom I knew only slightly had been killed in Vietnam. He had "hired" me to proof and edit a term paper he had written. How unimportant his concern about that paper seemed when I heard of his death. I can only imagine how the ground must shift when the victim is someone truly close. Or maybe I can't imagine it. That's even scarier.
7) A young man's brother is killed in battle. He says, "Why do I want to live? I shouldn't want to, but I do." (page 467) And later he hangs "himself for wanting to live." (page 503) I can't imagine the pain. Or I won't imagine the pain.
8) Death concludes the book when he collects Liesel's soul after she has lived a long life.
I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race—that rarely do I simple estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.
None of these things, however, came out of my mouth.
All I was able to do was turn to Liesel Meminger and tell her the only truth I know. I said it to the book thief and I say it now to you.
******A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR******
I am haunted by humans. (page 550)
And, finally, to wrap things up:
******A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR REVIEWER******
I am haunted by this book.
Thank you, Mellowlicious.
