Book Review: The Book Thief

Author: Markus Zusak

Pages: 550

Year Published: 2006

 Rating: The world...

"The notes were born on her breath, and they died at her lips."

 

By her brother's graveside, Liesel Meminger's life is changed when she picks up a single object, partially hidden in the snow. It is The Grave Digger's Handbook, left there by accident, and it is her first act of book thievery. So begins a love affair with books and words, as Liesel, with the help of her accordion-playing foster father, learns to read. Soon she is stealing books from Nazi book-burnings, the mayor's wife's library, wherever there are books to be found. But these are dangerous times. When Liesel's foster family hides a Jew in their basement, Liesel's world is both opened up and closed down. In superbly crafted writing that burns with intensity, award-winning author Markus Zusak has given us one of the most enduring stories of our time.

I finished this book with my back propped against a pillow, my legs resting on my bed. I finished this book with a sweater draped over my chest, and my hair in a ponytail. I finished this book to the cracklings of the heating, the whistling of the wind. I finished this book surrounded by darkness but bathed in light. I finished this book and did not know what to do next.

I didn't even cry. I didn't, but I could feel the tears inside of me, stuck yet traveling across my body, slowly and with morose. And I don't know, maybe I'm exaggerating my emotions, but I'm not. This book, this modest book with freshly worn edges and a few wrinkled pages has taught me so much. It has taught me, shown me, softened me and strengthened me.

The writing was wispy. It was intriguing, anguishing and lovely. The characters had a sort of breath in them. They were whole and complete and I didn't want to leave them when the book ended. Death was a fair narrator. He wasn't sappy or over-emotional or non-emotional. Death was Death and there is high respect in that.

And gosh, Liesel and Rudy. Rudy and Liesel. Perhaps the greatest love story that has ever lived. Their journey was naive and ignorant, painful and beautiful. Yet their story wasn't what made the book. It was apart of the book. And that's what made me love it even more.

How do I write a conclusion to this book review, when I know that I am basically admitting to myself that this book has ended? But in one way, I'm glad it has ended. I'm glad it has ended with no excess, no desperation.

I'm glad to have read this book, The Book Thief.

Here's to many more re-readings.