Sacha's Reviews > The Book Thief

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
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Jan 13, 10

Read in January, 2010

** spoiler alert ** Classified as Children's Literature, but I wouldn't give this to a kid to read.

Liesel Meminger, Max, Hans and Rosa, Rudy, Ilsa
The Standover Man, The Word Shaker: both by the man with feathers for hair (sometimes sticks)

Even when things were good, we were reminded of troubles to come so that there was a sense of dread permeating the book. Appropriate I guess as the narrator is Death.

p 215: It was then that he also took the opportunity to say he was sorry that the Hubermann's son had not come home. In response, Papa told him that such things were out of their control. "After all," he said, "you should know yourself - a young man is still a boy, and a boy sometimes has the right to be stubborn."
They left it at that.

p 243: Mystery bores me. It chores me.

p 335: By the time I was finished, the sky was yellow, like burning newspaper. If I looked closely, I could see the words, reporting headlines, commentating on the progress of the war and so forth. How I'd have loved to pull it all down, to screw up the newspaper sky and toss it away. My arms ached and I couldn't afford to burn my fingers. There was still so much work to be done.

p 358 (not because the writing alone is so fine, but because it captures something of the story): At times, in that basement, she woke up tasting the sound of the accordion in her hears. She could feel the sweet burn of champagne on her tongue.
Sometimes she sat against the wall, longing for the warm finger of paint to wander just once more down the side of her nose, or to watch the sandpaper texture of her papa's hands.
If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter and bread with only the scent of jam spread out on top of it.
It was the best time of her life.

p 385 - 6 (Holtzapfel): Her wrinkles were like slander. Her voice was akin to a beating with a stick... Constructed of 50 year old wire, she stood on the front step...

p 422: Steam was rising weirdly from his clothes. His hangover was visible. It heaved itself to his shoulders and sat there like a bag of wet cement.
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