The Book Thief Stole My Heart

I am so close to the finishing line with my book now that I can taste it (it tastes like Hobnobs ... well I had them today).  At present I am working with my editor (Mother) to make it is as polished as it can be and it's amazing what a fresh pair of eyes can see. While working like a madman during the day editing my book so I can self-publish it ASAP, by night, I have been reading 50 pages a day of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak and finished it earlier on today.

I went into this book not really relishing the idea because:

1. It's relatively big (I have an irrational fear of big books - until I start reading them then my life is over until I have finished said book).
2. I knew it would probably make me cry.
3. I knew I would probably cry until my heart had no more tears to give.
4. Then, when I had finished crying, I would cry again.
5. My eyes would be sore from all the crying and I would cry again because of it.
6. It's about the war and the (many, many) evils of Hitler. As I am getting older, I am finding it harder to read about what happened to all those poor people who couldn't just be themselves.
7. Everyone loves this book and I am always wary of anything overhyped as I am usually disappointed.

Well, I loved it. I really did. I loved the language. I loved (ADORED) the characters. I loved the subtle humour that came through. I loved that it was narrated by Death and I loved that The Book Thief's protagonist was a child - I find adolescent characters the most fascinating as their observations on life are normally the most honest and their actions are the purest. Plus, Liesel reminded me of a mixture of Scout Finch & Lyra Belacqua who come from two books/series that I love.

There are some books where you want to talk about them after and say ‘Oh there was this wonderful quote/line and … what was it again? Something about …’ and the memory is gone. This book was packed with such quotes/lines. Like countless books before this, I haven’t learned my lesson and can’t remember any of them. Damn.

I cried. A LOT. I still can’t believe Hitler, and everything he did, is an actual part of history. I don’t understand, I really don’t. If you are as scared as me to read sad books, ignore your instincts and read it because I think it's important to do so. It can be bought on Amazon (here).

I better stop now because anyone who comes across this blog post (that isn’t my mother - who coincidentally has read it) will have probably read it already. Back to editing!

Until next time.