Markus Zusak
Some books just grab you and refuse to let you go. Compelling from its first four lines, which establish the book's unconventional narrator at once and segway immediately into one of the narrative's many insightful asides, The Book Thief is thoroughly haunting through its final fatal cadence. Zusak, in choosing Death to narrate this tale of survival and hope in the midst of Hitler's Germany, has made a bold decision that pays off in every conceivable way as the novel winds its way through the majority of Germany's war years. More on him later, as he makes the novel and seals its brilliance. Zusak tackles a lot of heavy and difficult themes throughout The Book Thief, not least of which is death, but he carries off the novel splendidly without beating any of these themes to death and allowing them to work their way through the novel and its characters slowly and subtly until, by the end, the reader is simply changed. The novel sneaks up on readers, who can never be sure what to expect as moments of genuine childish humor (the novel's protagonist is introduced at age 9) mix with pure sadness and then into a dark, not quite cynical humor that is as profound as the novel's most emtionally draining moments. Zusak pulls off the incredible within this book, writing a book about Nazi Germany with normal characters, exploring the depths of human depravity without resorting to unnecessary gore or shock value and presenting the era in a way that seems, amongst the deluge of literature about this period, fresh. This book approaches Nazi Germany from an entirely different perspective than most and, in doing so, more effectively probes that era than just about any work of standard 1940s-evoking fare.
The perspective? By and large, the novel owes its groove and tone to its narrator, a murky representation of Death. Personified yet unquestionably supernatural, Death is by turns caustically sarcastic and lovingly tender. He cracks jokes throughout the novel that can only be laughed at with a twinge of guilt, but his descriptions of soul-collecting (he carries the souls of children gently in his arms) are genuinely moving. His affection for Liesel, the novel's lively protagonist and eponymous budding criminal, rivals the depths of human love felt by and for her throughout her childhood. His insights throughout are by turns hilarious and deeply profound: you laugh, but then you think and, more often than not, realize that it's true. Zusak uses Death to view our obsession with this monster from an outside perspective and the results are time and again astonishing. From the general dry narrative style, with its many sudden switchbacks, to his amusingly titled asides (which include everything from elaborations on a vague preceding description to a mock scoreboard), Death is one of the most appropriate narrators I have ever come across in a book. Though he seems like an obvious choice for one of the darkest periods in human history, Zusak does not make him a monster. Instead, as he himself clarifies, he is merely a result.
Death is a presence throughout the novel as he was particularly in this time and place in history but this does not eclipse the ultimate humanity of The Book Thief; indeed, Death's notes of sad regret color the novel and give it more emotional depth than an omniscient narrator or other first-person narrator probably could have. Death lends an exceptional emotional weight to this book and give sit power on every page, shifting rapidly between elation, fear, hope, sadness, loss, and love but without producing whiplash for the reader. The Book Thief handles itself delicately while dropping bombshells literal and through literary devices and there are profound moments on each and every page as Zusak explores the magic and mystery of words themselves. The book, ultimately, parallels reality in its mood. Who, after all, has not had an elated joy turn quickly to a sobering melancholy? And to think that all of this says little about the characters who populate Zusak's Germany, from the fanatic Frau Diller to the compassionate Hans Hubermann, they come alive on each and every page in this novel that more fully evokes the truth of human experience than I previously thought possible in a novel about such a turbulent and easily simplified historical moment.
The Book Thief is simply astonishing on every single page.
Grade: A
The perspective? By and large, the novel owes its groove and tone to its narrator, a murky representation of Death. Personified yet unquestionably supernatural, Death is by turns caustically sarcastic and lovingly tender. He cracks jokes throughout the novel that can only be laughed at with a twinge of guilt, but his descriptions of soul-collecting (he carries the souls of children gently in his arms) are genuinely moving. His affection for Liesel, the novel's lively protagonist and eponymous budding criminal, rivals the depths of human love felt by and for her throughout her childhood. His insights throughout are by turns hilarious and deeply profound: you laugh, but then you think and, more often than not, realize that it's true. Zusak uses Death to view our obsession with this monster from an outside perspective and the results are time and again astonishing. From the general dry narrative style, with its many sudden switchbacks, to his amusingly titled asides (which include everything from elaborations on a vague preceding description to a mock scoreboard), Death is one of the most appropriate narrators I have ever come across in a book. Though he seems like an obvious choice for one of the darkest periods in human history, Zusak does not make him a monster. Instead, as he himself clarifies, he is merely a result.
Death is a presence throughout the novel as he was particularly in this time and place in history but this does not eclipse the ultimate humanity of The Book Thief; indeed, Death's notes of sad regret color the novel and give it more emotional depth than an omniscient narrator or other first-person narrator probably could have. Death lends an exceptional emotional weight to this book and give sit power on every page, shifting rapidly between elation, fear, hope, sadness, loss, and love but without producing whiplash for the reader. The Book Thief handles itself delicately while dropping bombshells literal and through literary devices and there are profound moments on each and every page as Zusak explores the magic and mystery of words themselves. The book, ultimately, parallels reality in its mood. Who, after all, has not had an elated joy turn quickly to a sobering melancholy? And to think that all of this says little about the characters who populate Zusak's Germany, from the fanatic Frau Diller to the compassionate Hans Hubermann, they come alive on each and every page in this novel that more fully evokes the truth of human experience than I previously thought possible in a novel about such a turbulent and easily simplified historical moment.
The Book Thief is simply astonishing on every single page.
Grade: A
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