The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
My rating: 4/5 cats
i meant to write a review for this months ago, when i actually read it. now this poor book is sitting on my virtual shelves, unreviewed, unspouted-about. and i have been feeling very guilty about it because every book deserves a half-hour’s written thoughts about it.
but honestly. this book.
at this point, i believe anyone who has an interest in it has already read it, right? i was one of the last people in the world to get on board. and it’s like, how would you review a chocolate chip cookie? everyone already likes chocolate chip cookies, and me saying “i like them because they taste good” isn’t going to sway any young minds.
but this book does taste good.
so i will leave it at that: “good book”
but now i would like to address the issue of crying. everybody cries at this book (except tommy, who thought it was “boring”.) i really wanted to read this because i wanted to cry at a book. (this was before marchetta came into my life, and now i have a go-to author when i need to release some tear-pressure) and both tom and greg cried at this book, so i thought since tom is soulless and greg – well, you probably know greg: likes the MMA, curses in his YA book reviews, cries at kids’ books?? yeah. so but tom fuller has never cried in his life, has he?? except for this book. and i don’t get it. yeah, it’s sad, obviously. the subject matter is sad. but everything that is going to happen is not only subtly foreshadowed, it is telegraphed. in black and white on like the first page. so someone explain the boo-hoos to me because while i found it abstractly sad, i never felt the urge to cry, not even once. and i was worried about what kind of a monster this made me until marchetta came along and made me cry like a toddler on fire.
this is less a book review (surprise!) and more a “tell me why this is such a cryfest for everyone but me, please…”
discuss.
