I think the words that would most certainly describe the
book for me would be: devastatingly beautiful.
The author has narrated the story of young girl in the times
of war in Germany—a child who grows up watching the death of her brother,
abandonment from her mother and restarting of another life at Himmel Street,
only to be torn apart again by the death of the people who she has loved more
than herself.
Despite the story being narrated by Death itself, the novel
is never suffocating with the fear of the inevitable—the death, unlike many of
the other wartime books that constantly grip the reader with a constant, uneasy
suffocating vibe. Rather, it tells a tale of small acts of happiness—of playing
accordion, of rolling cigarettes, of playing soccer in muddy Himmel Street, of
friendship and book-thievery, of calling Saumensch
and Saukerl to your loved ones,
of the wagers of getting kiss for a reward, of secrets of hiding Jews and
unveiling it to your best friend on the branch of a tree; of growing up and understanding
your emotions and the moment of accepting that your best friend may also be
your lover.
The Book Thief is a story of veiled, unspoken expressions
that Leisel has for her foster parents, Hans and Rosa Hubberman; her best
friend, Rudy Steinner; the secret of Hubberman household, Max; and Ilsa Hermann—her
savior and Frau Holtzapfel—who would listen to her reading.
It is a novel that almost had me crying when Leisel saw the
corpses of her Papa and Mama. But it turned almost black when Leisel saw Rudy,
lying lifeless. Leisel was late, too late to express her feelings for her best
friend, her next-door neighbor, her partner-in-crime and her lover.
It’s a book that one would want to read again—at least once,
in one’s life time.
