You're KILLING Me, Death!

The Book Thief

by Markus Zusak 
p. 2006
  

I found this hardcover laying on a shelf amongst some youth fantasy novels left behind by the college-aged son of a family I was pet-sitting for last month. Though I had brought my own reading material with me, I gave it a pass for Zusak’s premiere novel, which was too alluring to ignore. I’d had it recommended to me before—by more than one source—and the opportunity to read it would run out with the end of my pet-sitting gig, so I gave it a go. I’m sure the title and the subject of stealing probably added to the compulsion to bump this book up a few places on my list; I loved it so much I’m a little surprised I didn’t steal it myself...

Though it was nearly 600 pages and I am a notoriously slow reader, I zipped through The Book Thief in just three days, unable to put the thing down, even with a slobbering, codependent Bernese Mountain Dog depositing a gooey mixture of drool and fur on my lap 24/7. The choppy, almost stream-of-consciousness style made this quick read possible. The Book Thief isn’t just well-crafted prose; it is routinely broken up with little vignettes, well-placed side stories, and revealing lists that tell a story that is much bigger than its young protagonist.

Though the story revolves around our preteen German heroine, Liesel Meminger, and her predilection towards reading and thievery in World War II-era Molching, it is narrated, in fact, by Death himself, whose interactions with Liesel are limited to a couple stray incidents until he discovers her autobiography revealing the full story. Death, matter of fact and omniscient though strangely compassionate and sympathetic, claims to not understand the art of storytelling (though if you ask me, he did a pretty good job this time around), and often indulges in deviations. This is non-linear storytelling at its finest, as Death unabashedly tells us the endings to many threads, yet still manages to hold your attention enough to see how it all turns out.

For much of the novel, Liesel is a frightened young girl, confused by the world around her, yet, in that way only children can be, strangely wise and observant. Abandoned by her mother (who is largely hinted to be a Communist sympathizer), and bereft of her younger brother by a tragedy, Liesel is sent to live with foster parents, Hans Hubermann, a sympathetic and kindly accordion player, and his strict, no-nonsense wife Rosa, with whom Liesel clashes initially. Other characters revolve in and out of Liesel’s life on the poverty-stricken Himmel Street—Rudy Steiner, the boy next door, Frau Holtzapfel, the severe old maid down the street with two sons in the war, Ilsa Hermann, the sad, timid mayor’s wife who allows Liesel access to her vast library, and Max Vandenburg, the Jewish ex-fist-fighter, secreted away in the Hubermann’s basement at the height of Nazi terror. Everyone has a story and everyone’s story is told, though not always in a straightforward manner. Each one is touched by Liesel and vice versa.

I don’t want to spoil the ending because this book is worth every minute a reader would spend on it. But I will say that Death is nothing if not upfront about the way things are, and even knowing that you may still be surprised. All I can tell you is that when I reached the final fifty pages of this book I was a complete and utter wreck. I had to stop every few sentences to wipe my eyes I was bawling so hard. I often let myself be carried away by the emotion in stories, but books get me far less often than film or television and yet I cried harder at this book than I have in a long time. It is easy to label this book as a young adult book and overlook it, but don’t be fooled by the age of the protagonist or the denomination this book may be aimed at; it is an appropriate and moving story for anyone over the age of 12 who can emotionally stomach such heavy material.

And really, what more should you expect from a book narrated by Death?