I just finished The Book Thief for the second time, sitting on the back porch with tears running down my face. Once again I am absolutely stunned by the terrible beauty of this book. How anyone could read it, and still believe that war belongs in this world, is beyond me. Narrated by Death, it tells the story of a young German girl, Liesel Meminger, sent to live with foster parents in a suburb of Munich at the outset of WWII. The Book Thief is about the power of words to bring about both evil and good in the world, and how ultimately, decency and love can transcend the daily brutality of war.
The Book Thief makes me wonder -- Do ideas and words ever just find an author for themselves? I don't mean to discredit Markus Zusak in any way. I am in awe of his writing. It's only that The Book Thief stands out from all but a handful of books that I have read, and gives the impression of a story that demanded to be told in just the way that Zusak told it. (If that makes any sense.)
