I don’t review books much. But I have to review The Book Thief, by Marcus Zusak.
Stop reading my review right now and go get this book. I got it from the library and I have just put it on my Amazon wishlist. I hardly ever reread books, but I will reread this one.
Why are you still reading my review?
I guess, since you’re still here, I’ll finish my review.
The story told is of Liesel Meminger, who must go live with a foster family in a small town outside of Munich in the days of der Fuhrer and WWII. At its heart, the book is a coming-of-age story, so it will appeal to nearly anyone.
And that’s all the story I will tell you.
Zusak’s narrator is Death himself, and it is a very male voice, by the way. I have no problem with that.
Parts of this book were so transcendantly smooth, so devastatingly perfect, that I am sure Zusak sweated over those parts for hours. And the other parts ain’t bad.
Poetic, tragic, haunting, lyrical, allegorical, stunning, and deeply moving.
The characters are lovely and round. Full of life, vigor, flaws and beautiful humanity.
Here is a quote: “He tasted like regret in the shadows of trees and in the glow of the anarchist’s suit collection.”
Zusak’s writing is so unusual that it is, I think, deliberately alienating at times. He wants the reader to stop and think about the image he just painted. He uses very strange metaphors. I loved them.
And amongst the characters, story, lyricism and all else, Zusak has a lot to say about humanity, love, courage, friendship, family, literature, words, fear, bitterness and more. He says it with power and authority.
That is all. Read the book.