Review of The Book Thief
My friend Donna sent this book to me for my birthday (and if you are experiencing deja vu, I hate to break it to you, but paranormal phenomena do not exist. "But, you said Donna sent you Oryx and Crake for your birthday. Hence our light-hearted 'Hey, deja vu!' which you totally ruined by missing the point. Way to go, ya loser. Also, she sent you two books? Wow. What kind of materialistic capitalist pig needs to receive two books for his birthday?" To which I say: Donna didn't send me two books. She sent four. I'm American and my existential crisis hasn't yet progressed to the point where I realize I can't fill the hole in my life with things. So there. Also, who's reviewing this book, anyway? Sit down. "But I'm you," says the voice in my head, the voice of the deja vu heckler. "You share joint custody of this Goodreads account with your paranoid schizophrenia. Remember?" Only when I stop taking my meds.)
I gave this book five stars because I can't give it six. Would it be crazy to downgrade every other book I've rated by one star and let this book stand alone at five stars? Yes, because that would be a lot of work and I will be busy staring in paranoid silence at the pile of books on my nightstand that threatens every night to topple over and kill me in my sleep. Sure, I could place the books back in their bookcases where they belong, but my time in the military taught me that there is something inherently evil in doing things that make sense, so I avoid it wherever possible. Like this "book review." Two paragraphs in, and I haven't said anything about the book. "You are doing a bang up job!" Sit down. Shut up.
The writing style reminded me of quilts. The author wrote the story as a series of patches of varying sizes that he stitched together, much like a quilt made from different sized blocks. Like a good quilt, the story flows seamlessly from patch to patch. This technique makes the narrator seem like he is telling a story that has affected him deeply and that it is difficult for him to tell it. When the reader realizes who the narrator is, (which is never a secret and should happen early) the narrative becomes all the more powerful because of the patchwork style.
As strong as the narrative technique is, the story comes alive because the characters are living people who happen to have been conceived in the imagination of a gifted storyteller. Whenever Liesel and her family fled to a bomb shelter, I felt their anxiety over the person they had to leave behind. When Liesel's foster mother cursed her out, I grew into the understanding that her foster mother loved her, the same as Liesel did. When Liesel's friend Rudy was looking to break into houses to alleviate his anger at the Nazis for sending his father to war, I felt his anger and wanted to join him. When Liesel took a great risk in talking to someone she cared about, and was whipped by a German soldier because that someone happened to be a Jew, I understood this book's most beautiful truth: we are only at our best when we aren't seeking revenge, but helping the people we love thrive, regardless of the cost. My understanding of this wasn't simply intellectual. The story is too good for that. It hit me in the heart like a sledgehammer, and by the end of the book I was crying a little.
I'm not fond of telling people what to do (which is probably why my stint as a drill sergeant didn't go over so well) but if I could make others read this book, I would. A little thing like free will shouldn't interfere with experiencing this remarkable book. I don't care how many nags upbraid me for threatening to force people to read a book set against the backdrop of Nazi oppression. There are things more important than your sanctimony and my inability to grasp irony. The lessons this book offers should be among them.
I gave this book five stars because I can't give it six. Would it be crazy to downgrade every other book I've rated by one star and let this book stand alone at five stars? Yes, because that would be a lot of work and I will be busy staring in paranoid silence at the pile of books on my nightstand that threatens every night to topple over and kill me in my sleep. Sure, I could place the books back in their bookcases where they belong, but my time in the military taught me that there is something inherently evil in doing things that make sense, so I avoid it wherever possible. Like this "book review." Two paragraphs in, and I haven't said anything about the book. "You are doing a bang up job!" Sit down. Shut up.
The writing style reminded me of quilts. The author wrote the story as a series of patches of varying sizes that he stitched together, much like a quilt made from different sized blocks. Like a good quilt, the story flows seamlessly from patch to patch. This technique makes the narrator seem like he is telling a story that has affected him deeply and that it is difficult for him to tell it. When the reader realizes who the narrator is, (which is never a secret and should happen early) the narrative becomes all the more powerful because of the patchwork style.
As strong as the narrative technique is, the story comes alive because the characters are living people who happen to have been conceived in the imagination of a gifted storyteller. Whenever Liesel and her family fled to a bomb shelter, I felt their anxiety over the person they had to leave behind. When Liesel's foster mother cursed her out, I grew into the understanding that her foster mother loved her, the same as Liesel did. When Liesel's friend Rudy was looking to break into houses to alleviate his anger at the Nazis for sending his father to war, I felt his anger and wanted to join him. When Liesel took a great risk in talking to someone she cared about, and was whipped by a German soldier because that someone happened to be a Jew, I understood this book's most beautiful truth: we are only at our best when we aren't seeking revenge, but helping the people we love thrive, regardless of the cost. My understanding of this wasn't simply intellectual. The story is too good for that. It hit me in the heart like a sledgehammer, and by the end of the book I was crying a little.
I'm not fond of telling people what to do (which is probably why my stint as a drill sergeant didn't go over so well) but if I could make others read this book, I would. A little thing like free will shouldn't interfere with experiencing this remarkable book. I don't care how many nags upbraid me for threatening to force people to read a book set against the backdrop of Nazi oppression. There are things more important than your sanctimony and my inability to grasp irony. The lessons this book offers should be among them.