The Book Thief

I finished The Book Thief last night, the latest book club selection (in part because I was already reading it.) Dave kept looking at me funny over the top of his laptop as I sniffled through the final part. (This is fiction, right? he kept asking.) I knew (mostly) what was coming because Death is the narrator and his foreshadowing isn't very subtle but still...just a sweet, sad, simple story.

It's technically juvenile fiction and while it doesn't quite reach Harry Potter-crossover heights, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I appreciate books that have unconventional ways of telling the story, post-modern narrative structures, or that play with the words on the page. This had that, along with plucky heroes and heroines, love, devotion, rebellion in Nazi Germany, and beautiful descriptions of ugly life.

Plus, Death as the narrator! He finds humor in the ways some people get theirs in the end. And he's not an unlikeable character. You actually feel for this overworked soul-gatherer as he describes the sky "the color of Jews" in 1942.

Now, however, I'm without a new book because our library books were due today and I couldn't renew my next read because there's a hold on it. So I'm going to re-read a favorite or try to make it to the bookstore before we leave and pick up A Thousand Splendid Suns. Except I've already spent the book budget this month on Rebekah. I'll be reading Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus for the next 9 days.