52 Books in 52 Weeks: Book 12

I am week behind on my reading... I thought I would get caught up during my long weekend trip to Atlanta, but I did more resting {and visiting} than reading.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak takes place in Nazi-dominated Germany during WW2. Death plays the role of narrator in this unforgettable story about a young German girl, Liesel, whose family hides a Jewish man in their basement. During the course of the book, Liesel learns the power of words and the terrible burden of loss.

Some favorite passages:

The Germans loved to burn things. Shops, synagogues, Reichstags, houses, personal items, slain people, and of course, books.

When a Jew shows up at your place of residence in the early hours of morning, in the very birthplace of Nazism, you're likely to experience extreme levels of discomfort. Anxiety, disbelief, paranoia. Each plays its part, and each leads to a sneaking suspicion that a less than heavenly consequence awaits. The fear is shiny. Ruthless in the eyes.

The surprising point is that despite this iridescent fear glowing as it did in the dark, they somehow resisted the urge for hysteria.

Life had altered in the wildest possible way, but it was imperative that they act as if nothing had happened. Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it 24 hours a day. That was the business of hiding a Jew.

They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thing, incessantly. "Get it done. Get it done." So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.

It's probably fair to say that in all the years of Hitler's reign, no person was able to serve the Fuhrer as loyally as me {death}... I have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing I envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.