Anyway - this was probably not the book to finish reading on the morning after Thanksgiving, alone on my couch with a stabbing pain in my belly potentially caused by a (self-diagnosed) swollen lymph node. Oh the tears, they did fall. It was not quite as ridiculous as Little Bee, but I guess what did I expect from a book about the Holocaust?
The schtick of this book is that Death is the narrator, which I will give bonus points for, as it is both clever and very appropriate for the subject matter - even though I found it to be kind of a tedious bit after awhile.
The characters in this book are so wonderful and they are that way because this duder, Mr. Zusak, has a way with the descriptors, let me tell you. I love the little phrases that so accurately depict things. It makes me want to study people and write about them.
There are a lot of design decisions that were made that I could have lived without, but there's a part in the middle that involves pictures that I want. I want framed prints of it in my house (if that wasn't so morbid and strange). They are all so simple and just perfect.
It was strange, if you asked me if I liked it while I was reading, I would have probably just shrugged and said, "meh," but it kept me reading. I don't know if its that I did not want it to end, due to my premonitions of what would happen, or if it really had just gotten under my skin and taken hold of me.
Now that its over, I cannot imagine reading it again, but I know that eventually would want to just revisit the pictures and descriptions of all these people who make it what it is.