I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn’t already know? I wanted to explain that I am costantly overestimating and underestimating the human race – that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words so damning and brilliant.
- The Book Thief, Markus Zusak, last page.
For a $5 book I picked out of the bargain pile, this is an incredibly good read. It is narrated by Death (no hood, no scythe), who happens to have a heart.
Another one about WWII. What is it about it that keeps people writing about it, 70 years later?
Essentially, it is about the power of words, for better or worse. It is also about the irreconciliable polarities that exist side by side in us (i.e. cruelty & kindness). And that’s interesting to me. There’s nothing quite like having someone else tell us what we’re like.
I like it. Maybe you’ll want to read it too 
***
I’m taking a little break over at the other blog. I’m experiencing an episode of blogging fatigue and its starting to show.
It’ll be over soon enough. Time moves much faster online anyway.
In the meantime, I try to read as many books as I can. Sometimes I just want to read for a living, but I can’t think of why anyone will pay me for such a pleasure.
