‘You are going to die’: A Review of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
Jocelyn Howarth
Though I can count on only one hand how many times I’ve read this book, there is no doubt that it is one of the best novels I have ever read, and is one I will be recommending for the rest of my life.
While there is no shortage of books that centre around the events and aftermath of World War Two, The Book Thief takes place in what we would call enemy territory, a small fictional German town that goes by the name of Molching.
It, rather unusually, follows the life of nine-year-old Liesel Meminger, a refugee whose parents were taken to concentration camps and whose younger brother died from, who now lives with a foster family on Himmel Street. While the war rages on around them and the Nazi regime infiltrates Molching, Liesel and her neighbours display astounding acts of bravery, and proves that the mere presence of hope is a stronger resistance than many people believe. There are no battle scenes, no training montages, no trenches or tanks or artillery, only a street named after Heaven and its ordinary yet remarkable inhabitants. Also, it’s narrated by Death.
I first read this book when I was young, a little older than Liesel is herself at the beginning of the narrative, and while it was a drastic departure from the Young Adult fiction I was accustomed to, it was perhaps the most relatable and realistic protagonist I had ever encountered.
It was also devastating. I will not pretend that this is a happy read with a fulfilling, wholly positive ending. You’ll have your heart ripped from your chest, but I promise you’ll enjoy it – as much as you can enjoy that sensation, anyway.
Liesel is young and naïve, just like every other nine-year-old, and is inevitably unaware of the implications of the war that is tearing Europe apart. When she discovers her love of reading, she does whatever she can to get new books. At first, this means saving up money to buy them. Then it means breaking into the town mayor’s library, unknowingly aided by the sympathetic mayor’s wife, where endless words are at her disposal. And, eventually, it means stealing from the base of bonfires, where piles and piles of books not fitting the Nazi regime are burned. Liesel snatches books with singed edges, still smoking, from the edge of the smouldering mass, tucks them into her shirt and burns her own skin for the sake of keeping it.
Her love of reading is what resonated most with me. I, as a lover of books my whole life, admired her determination, her courage to enter spaces she knew she was not welcome in, to spare stories which had been condemned to erasure. As a result, I realised how lucky I was to have access to any book I wanted, the freedom to learn whatever took my fancy, to read about revolutions and identity and cultures, to form my own opinion on what is good and what is bad, and to realise that nothing is ever that simple. In Hitler’s Germany, The Book Thief would have been in the bonfire.
Stealing books is Liesel’s act of rebellion, even if she doesn’t realise it. But she is not the only character who commits illegal, heroic acts. Her friend, Rudy Steiner, a bold yet kind boy who is hopelessly in love with Liesel from the moment he meets her, a fierce supporter of her theft, and cares very deeply about his family.
He acts on impulse and is forced to understand the consequences of his actions: his idol is Jesse Owens, the black American Olympic champion who won four gold medals at the 1936 Berlin games and disputed Hitler’s Aryan race propaganda, and Rudy is scolded by his father for admiring Owens – ‘you shouldn’t want to be black people or Jewish people or anyone who is… not us’. Rudy naturally does not fit in to the Hitler Youth which he is forced to join, and though he does not understand the scope of his actions, the deeper implications of supporting a black man.
The Book Thief is filled with painfully human characters, constantly toeing of the line between their personal morals and their fear of the Nazi party. With hindsight, it’s easy for us today to claim we never would have participated, would have protested openly and burned the Nazi flag in the town square. Zusak confronts this idea and delivers the harsh reality: to keep yourself and your loved ones alive, you would conform, however reluctantly.
But this is not the end of his point. He explores the complexities of living under such a regime, of battling between what is right and what is safe. Hans Hubermann, Liesel’s loving and patient foster father, paints over anti-Semitic graffiti on homes belonging to Jewish families, he hides Max, a Jewish man, in his basement for a year, he resists joining the Nazi party for as long as possible, yet eventually purchases Mein Kampf in an attempt to gain their favour and reduce the scrutiny on himself and his family. Though it is evident to Liesel, to the reader, and to the inhabitants of Himmel Street, that Hans is against the Nazi regime, even he has to submit to a degree. If this were a story of a revolution, a plot reminiscent of Hugo’s Les Misérables, where the tragically fated barricade boys die for their cause, then Hans would undoubtably have been at the forefront of that rebellion. But this is not that type of story. This is a painfully realistic representation of ordinary people in a dangerous time. That is not to say, however, that the inhabitants are wholly submissive.
We have already touched on Liesel and Rudy’s acts of rebellion. The pair are quite the double act, vibrant and scrappy and unflinchingly loyal to one another, wrestling with the persistent propaganda of the Hitler Youth and their own, inherently less bigoted, perspectives. Their innocence is uplifting yet tragic, a poignant reflection of a child’s lack of bias, Zusak’s message clear: hate is taught, not inherent.
But it is not only the young characters we have an insight to. The adults of Himmel Street are just as complex, though their resistance is significantly more conscious and intentional than Liesel and Rudy’s. Hans is the most prominent example. As previously mentioned, he resists joining the Nazi Party for as long as possible until it becomes dangerous, he covers cruel messages painted on walls, and, most significantly, hides a young Jewish man in his basement.
This creates a new level of tension to the plot; the risk of prosecution was always present, but often kept in the background while Liesel navigated the challenges of being a child. With the arrival of Max, who is the son of a man Hans fought with in the First World War, the risk skyrockets and the tension grows as they try their best to keep him alive and undiscovered, and yet amidst the danger, Liesel still manages to form a friendship with Max based on, unsurprisingly, her love of books.
Hans is just one of many characters in The Book Thief who displays realistic yet heart-warming examples of humanity in the darkest of times. The vulnerability of the characters, the terror of their lives, the relationships they form with each other, are all accompanied by Death himself, our unapologetic narrator.
Death wastes no time reminding the reader that he is 'going to die’, and re-announces his presence in the moments that are most peaceful. In doing so, Zusak keeps the reader grounded in the experiences of Himmel Street’s inhabitants, that, while they steal books and argue with Hitler Youth leaders and harbour fugitives in their basements, the war rages around them, always close, always threatening, inescapable and seemingly inevitable. From the beginning, Zusak draws connections between Death seeing Liesel, Liesel seeing death, the colours of those deaths, and the Nazi regime. Death is honest but not unkind, admiring the light in humanity as we, the readers, are encouraged to do.
Zusak takes a dark time in history, a time of hatred and bigotry and devastating war, and reminds us of the power we hold as individuals as well as a collective - an important message. The writing is simple, concise, each word intentional and impactful, and the message timeless. I followed it as easily at twenty-one as I did at twelve, and the emotion it evokes cannot be attributed to timing or location, only the words and the story it tells.
No matter where I am, what I am doing, who I am with, The Book Thief will remain poignant and dear to me, which is what makes it a five-star read. If you long for a book of hope, vulnerability, characters to love, and perseverance in darkness, I would place this book in your hands along with a packet of tissues (you’ll thank me).
