Review: The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak

    The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak 

Genre: Historical FictionReviewer: K.F. Breene   Amazon   |  iTunes               It is 1939. Nazi Germany. The country is holding its breath. Death has never been busier, and will become busier still.

Liesel Meminger is a foster girl living outside of Munich, who scratches out a meager existence for herself by stealing when she encounters something she can’t resist–books. With the help of her accordion-playing foster father, she learns to read and shares her stolen books with her neighbors during bombing raids as well as with the Jewish man hidden in her basement.

In superbly crafted writing that burns with intensity, award-winning author Markus Zusak, author of I Am the Messenger, has given us one of the most enduring stories of our time.      I just finished this book last night and I am still in such a profound haze I don’t really have the shape of it, yet.  Firstly, I heard about this book from a friend. She is a well-read friend, smart and snarky, and doesn’t bother finishing books she doesn’t like. Just like me, basically. She mentioned that this book stuck with her. Really good. I should read it. The book is popular right now, which usually happens when a movie comes out, and while that never makes an impression on me, it does make an impression on booksellers. I was able to snatch this baby up on sale. Why not, right? Everyone seems to like it, my friend recommended it—sure, I’ll give it a read.
Well…I read it.
The Book Thief is about a little girl in Nazi Germany. And unlike many of its peers, this book doesn’t focus on the plight of the Jews, the army, or other singular issues I’ve come to expect. Instead, the scope of this book is broad, many factors of this time and place influencing this little girl’s life. We see how “normal” Germans lived, day-to-day, and their many struggles. We see those who were pushed into the Nazi party out of fear or necessity, those who jumped in, and those just trying to stay alive. This book encompasses so many facets of that era, so beautifully, that you can’t help sliding in and letting it wrap you up in the story.
Another thing to note: this story was told by Death. And that made it all the more interesting.
 A few things I loved about this book.
 1. The writing.

Marcus Zusak weaved words through the pages in such a beautiful way. Unique descriptions lent a certain feel to the events. I often critize writing, since I am so used to revising my own, but I had no complaints. Literally not one. For me, that is huge.

2. The characters.

They were real. The loud-mouthed, abusive-worded mother who would welcome in a Jew and sacrifice her food, her family, and her safety to keep the man alive. The kind and caring father, who had faults and problems in plenty, but who you constantly rooted for as he made tiny small stands against the Nazi party, in his own way. The shop owner, who demanded a Hiel Hilter upon entry, but turned out was just as afraid as everyone else—I could go on. Each character is woven into the story beautifully, all with moments of pride, all with moments of weakness, and all very real.

3. The compassion.

It was everywhere. Even unlikely people showed moments of great kindness. Big or small, the goodness in humanity flowered, and really lent to that profound wonder I’m still glowing from.

4. The portrayal of realistic, horrible events.

Because it was Nazi Germany, and those obviously existed. Dead bodies, bomb raids, masticated Jews marching through the town—we know these events happened, but told through the eyes of a teenage child…lends a certain feel. Then, teamed with the little specs of compassion, and the small victories in the characters’ lives, and the little perversions of the Nazi way of thinking—it’s hard to explain. You get so sucked in… It’s hard to explain.

Some say its harder to write a glowing review than a ranting one—that there are just more things to say with a terrible book than a great one. I’d have to disagree. A terrible book does aggravate me, sure, but I let it go so quickly. I never get invested. I never really let it seep into me and take root. A bad review would be mostly superficial, which is why I don’t bother.
But a great book—you can see the length of this review, and I want to keep going. I want to talk about this soft warmth I have from the intricacies of the story. Or the peaceful buzz of reading. Or the ability to put it down and carry on my day, but the desire to continue thinking about it. I want to research that time period a little more. I even want to write a few essays, to really dig down, and explore this book more thoroughly.
I don’t give many five star ratings. Not many at all. I am extremely critical, and demand the story be top-notch, the writing top-notch, my enjoyment high, and just…a little something extra. Not many five-star books, for me, exist.
My rating: 5 star