Here it is almost midnight and I am just now thinking of writing.
I’ve spent most of the day reading one of the loveliest and most heartbreaking novels that I’ve ever read. I’m taking a little rest right now even though I have only the epilogue left, I had to stop reading because of the tears – I couldn’t continue reading because I couldn’t see, and the darn tears wouldn’t stop. Tears are dry now. I have a leftover headache, though.
The book is The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, published in 2007. I don’t know how I missed this one, but I only just learned about it as I was searching for books set in World War II.
It’s been a while since a book has affected me like this.
It takes place during Hitler’s rise to power. It’s a story of a young girl growing up in the outskirts of soon to be war-torn Munich…
I felt like I was there – the characters are so beautifully drawn by the author I could almost smell the dirty clothes they wore, taste the horrible soup, and feel the pain of the young boy, Rudy, who desperately wanted just one kiss from the protagonist, Leisel. The characters a full and rich and I will probably never forget them.
The narrator of the story is the character, Death. There’s a running commentary from Death. It’s particularly chilling when Death talks about the six million souls he had to carry out of life during the war.
I hope you’ll have a chance to pick it up. You won’t be sorry. Every word is glorious.