The Book Thief, Markus Zusak

“Do you still play the accordion?”

I stole this book. It was a Christmas gift for my sister. Before she could nail it down to a shelf, I had it in my book-snatching hands as soon as I closed Alice Munro. I’ve wanted to read this book for a very long time, and I’m not sure why it kept getting past over for other titles.

If you’ve followed this blog faithfully, you’ve already read two reviews of this book. (From Marina and from Syndey.) I invite you to click on either of those links to learn a bit more about what this book was about (but I suppose Marina didn’t want to go into it much either).

I’m not much interested to go into plot here either. The striking thing about this read for me was the reminder of the power of story. My family could call me to supper as many times as they wanted, but what they did not realize was that I was in Germany as the bombs fell, watching Liesel write in the basement as Death lifted souls from Himmel Street. One’s own soul cannot shift so easily between both realities.

The-Book-Thief

Books Read: 18

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