The Book Tower

The other evening, my daughter picked up the copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak that I’d left on the kitchen table. I’ve found myself leaving it everywhere, it’s one of those books you can’t help carrying around with you. After examining the cover she asked me two questions. “What’s this book about?” and “who is the skeleton on the cover?”

Well, The Book Thief is about a little girl in Nazi Germany called Liesel. She is seperated from her mother and is fostered by a family who hide a young Jewish man in their basement, but more of him later. Liesel has a habit of stealing books, and stories – stolen, invented, overheard and untold – are at the centre of this novel. It’s about rash decisions, discovery, loss and the power and limitation of words…

Oh, and the skeleton represents Death, who narrates the whole story. So how do you really explain the horrors of Nazi Germany, a book that’s centred around them and – to boot – one that’s narrated by Death to a young child? The Second World War and the Holocaust are subjects that I try to revisit periodically with my daughter. I find it strange that many of her age group have never even heard of Adolf Hitler. What do you tell them ? How far do you go? But I’m going off topic. What was more difficult for me was explaining why I wanted to read a book – a story – about it all. And what makes what Death has to say so interesting?

I found The Book Thief difficult to get into. Partly because I wasn’t sure of the age group it’s aimed at. I suspect it is for quite a young audience, although this ceased to matter as I became accustomed to the style of the writing. The prose is written very simply but this becomes an asset to the unfolding story, especially as the length is nearly 600 pages. The other reason I was uncomfortable as first was the presence of the Death character, which in some reviews has been criticised. This all-knowing and ironic voice is irritating at first, but again it reveals itself as necessary to the power of the book as it gets going.

Zusak’s embodiment of Death does indeed know exactly what is going to happen; who is going to die and in what circumstances, how stories unfold, the winners and the losers. If you can imagine the events of The Book Thief being catalogued on a set of cards, it’s the great skill of how the cards that are dealt to you that makes the book work. Little teasers are laid in front of the reader in periodic bullet lists, which, although infuriating at first, you do get used to.

The power of words is brought home in several of the book’s scenes, but most effectively it’s with the Jewish fugitive Max Vandenburg’s relationship with Mein Kampf. When he is first introduced to us, ironic circumstances mean that a copy of the book helps to provide his key to escape. Later, in Liesel’s basement, he symbolically paints out Hitler’s words to write his own story on the fresh, clean pages.

Words provide comfort and torment to all in The Book Thief. At times, Max is little more than a ghostly figure in his basement retreat and can only utter a pitiful “sorry” or “thank you”. Similarly, when conscripted into the German army, Liesel’s foster father can barely compose a letter home. But words ease others through their tragedy; Liesel reads her stolen words to others as they shelter in an air raid, she also discovers and reads Max’s hidden notebook when he has gone.

Disappointingly, I was allowed to overcongratulate myself on my discovery of The Book Thief‘s themes before Zusak began to over-egg the pudding. In the closing chapters, he really makes sure that the reader knows that this is a book about words and what they can and cannot do, unfortunately spoiling some of the book’s subtlety. But there are other subtle sketches throughout, such as Liesel’s relationship with her foster father and her fondness for him, and with the mayor’s wife, whose library provides rich pickings for a book thief.

I’d wouldn’t quite rate The Book Thief up there alongside my other favourite recent anti-war novels Birdsong and Atonement, but I might tempt by daughter to pick it up properly in four or five years time. I hope she reads it.