“The Book Thief” by Markus Zusak

Oh my goodness. Zusak, a bit of an Australian prodigy, has surpassed his impressive earlier works with a true masterpiece. A tale of World War II Germany, narrated by Death, the story reads like a haiku. In a book that is very much about words, every phrase here seems specifically chosen and crafted. Told in a series of snapshots, young Liesel (the aforementioned book thief) is just a normal kid in an extraordinary time. We watch her play soccer in the street and eat ration food night after night. She befriends the other pre-teens in her poverty-stricken neighborhood and is remarkably resilient despite the many setbacks that cross her path. The politics of Nazi Germany are present, they drive the events of the novel, but they are not the point. Abandoning one of the first rules of authorship, Markus Zusak has his narrator reveal the fate of everyone in the book, even jumping ahead to cover some of the climax right from the beginning. The end is also not the point. As Death makes it clear, we all die. Perhaps the point is the journey. From a literary standpoint, Zusak tends to flip things on their heads and comes up with brilliant ways of revealing the commonplace as something miraculous. The choice to have Death narrate this tale provides emotional distance but also allows the readers to experience a rather inevitable story with a fresh perspective. It packs a heck of a punch. These 550 pages read quickly, but I would suggest taking the time to read reflectively. Eat these words slowly, so as to absorb all their richness.