Alice by Heart (Book Review)

One of the hardest things about being an obsessive musical theatre fan is how often one falls in love with a show that is functionally impossible to see (shoutout to the Tonys, which I watched yesterday. Thanks for giving me a whole slate of new shows I want to see but probably won’t). If you don’t have the money or don’t live in the right city or only found the show after it closed and there’s no widely available version, it’s highly possible to be deeply obsessed with the music of a show that you know basically nothing about. After stage managing Spring Awakening in college, my sister became a huge fan of Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater’s work. That’s how she found Alice by Heart, a show she has come to love as much as (or seemingly more than) their better-known/more successful work, and I came to it through her. Alice by Heart was relatively short-lived and, as far as I’m aware, hasn’t had much of a presence anywhere since 2019. There are certainly far fewer resources online for a new fan. Since it didn’t make Broadway, there aren’t any Tony Award or Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade performances, and the wikipedia synopsis is limited. Before reading the novelization, I’d listened to the cast recording many, many times and only had a partial idea of what was happening: I knew the thematic overtones and the relationship between Alice and Alfred… but I had no idea that the King of Hearts or Tabatha even existed. Apparently my ear isn’t discerning enough to tell voices apart. I thought Alice sung all of Tabatha’s songs (again, I didn’t know she existed); had somehow mentally divvied up all the men’s lines between Alfred, Harold/Mad Hatter, and Dodgy/Dutchess; and didn’t realize that Duchess and the Queen of Hearts were separate characters. In other words, while my enjoyment was high, my comprehension was at rock bottom. When I found out there was a novelization—written by book/lyric-writer Steven Slater no less—I was excited to finally fill in the gaps.

What’s it about?

When Alice, a girl on the cusp of adulthood, finds herself bunkered underground during the London Blitz, she attempts to make sense of the tragedies unfurling around her through her favorite book, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The bombings and the lockdown are traumatizing, but Alice’s main heartbreak and priority is her friend Alfred, who has been quarantined away from the others with tuberculosis.

What’d I think?

The Secret Book of Flora Lea (Mini Book Review)

I was forced once again to read a historical fiction novel for book club. The Secret Book of Flora Lea by Patti Callahan Henry is not the sort of novel I would naturally pick up on my own, and after the last few book club picks I’ve set my expectations quite low. Still, I figured that nothing could be as depressing as the last book I read, which was about female infanticide, and that a story about stories was bound to interest me more than one about motherhood in a labor camp. 

What’s it about?

Hazel and her younger sister Flora were sent from London out to the countryside during Operation Pied Piper. There, Hazel tells Flora stories of a secret world called Whisperwood to help her forget the horrors of the outside world. Between Whisperwood and their loving hosts, the girls are able to have a relatively idyllic summer… until Flora disappears. Focused on the war, the world determines that Flora drowned and moves on, but twenty years later Hazel stumbles across an American novel about Whisperwood. If Whisperwood is still out there, does that mean Flora is too? 

What’d I think?

⭐⭐

Rating: 2 out of 5.

I didn’t hate The Secret Book of Flora Lea, and I did have a good time at book club. Most of my group enjoyed the book, and we had a really good discussion about storytelling and creative ownership. A lot of The Secret Book of Flora Lea is about asking the question ‘who owns a story?’ Hazel is extremely jealous about Whisperwood, to the point that she gets angry if Flora so much as mentions it to anyone else; when the story crosses the ocean and finds its way to Peggy, she—not knowing its origins—expands it and makes it her own with her own effort and creativity. To whom, then, does the story belong? Hazel, who thought of it first? Flora, for whom it was written? Peggy, the one who took it from a formless idea to something more? Can a story really belong to anyone?

Anyone else remember “Mr. Linden’s Library?” My middle school creative writing teacher gave it to us as a writing prompt. Basically, it is a picture from a children’s book The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg that shows a sleeping girl next to a book with vines growing out of it. As far as I can tell, it’s a common enough writing prompt, and the fact that Hazel’s last name is “Linden” made me wonder if Patti Callahan Smith had been inspired by it.

The discussion of story ownership was by far my favorite part of The Secret Book of Flora Lea, in large part because I didn’t particularly like the book. Oh, it’s fine. It’s even mildly entertaining. The problem with it is that it takes itself too seriously and is a bit too repetitive.

Every couple of months I get on my literary fiction soapbox and complain about it until I get distracted and move on. If you don’t feel like listening to the soapbox rant, maybe jump onto a different review. For some reason, I was less inspired to review The Secret Book of Flora Lea as an individual book and more inspired to lament genre more broadly.

Good Night, Irene (Book Rant)

I’m going to be honest: I hated Good Night, Irene by Luis Alberto Urrea. If you want to read a positive or balanced review of it, you’ll have to find that elsewhere. 

What’s it about?

Based on the experiences of the author’s mother’s real service as a ‘Donut Dolly’ during World War II, Good Night, Irene follows two women who leave home to join a little-known unit of the Red Cross. Tasked with raising morale in the troops, Irene and Dorothy drive their clubmobile Rapid City from the front lines to the officers clubs to smile and flirt with the men while serving donuts and coffee. 

Why didn’t I like it?

⭐

Rating: 0.5 out of 5.

Long story short, it’s boring and doesn’t have much of a plot.

I’m not typically a tough reviewer. I’m not stingy with four- and five-star reviews, and I always feel genuinely bad when I give something a low rating, particularly when a lot of people seem to love it. Did I miss something? At least some of my complaints are matters of taste. Historical fiction is absolutely not one of my go-to genres, and I’ve read enough WWII fiction in the last few months that I’m fairly over it. That being said, I do think that most of my critiques are legitimate and that I’m not being overly, overly mean.

Or maybe I am. Very close to the start of the novel, Irene plays a game of Solitaire and there’s some narration about the joker cards. The game of Solitaire does not use jokers. I’m usually the last person on earth to catch that sort of error, and that near immediate mistake didn’t exactly prime me to be optimistic (or charitable).

I don’t want to be unrepentantly negative, so I will say this: Urrea dedicated this novel to his mother Phyllis, who was a real-life Donut Dolly. Phyllis and her real-life clubmobile companions—including Jill, whom Urrea interviewed extensively for this project—make repeated cameos. This is very cute, and in these moments I could feel the love and respect Urrea has for her. 

That doesn’t make up for the book’s many, many other flaws, though. First and foremost, as I said above, is how boring it is. I read this for book club, and while I was the only one who hated the book, I was not the only one who found it painfully slow, particularly at the beginning. Most of the others in the group felt that it picked up about halfway/two-thirds of the way through; for me it absolutely did not, but even so… the halfway point is far, far too late for the book to draw attention. I famously refuse to DNF books, but I was sorely tempted. If I’m falling asleep every few pages, don’t care about there characters, and have found no plot to speak of, what exactly am I reading to the end for? I only finished for book club, but it took me so long to get through it that I truly thought this was going to be literally the first time in my life that I didn’t finish a book club pick. I did, but barely. There is nothing propulsive about Good Night, Irene, no ‘what happens next?’ The few questions I did have never got addressed, and I wasn’t alone in feeling that the book simply lacks plot. It reads more as a collection of disconnected scenes from the war than as a cohesive narrative. 

I truly think that this would have been better if Urrea hadn’t written a novel and had instead helped Jill shape her memories into a collection of essays. True stories, especially if written as a collection of anecdotes, don’t all have to build on each other the same way a novel does. In its current form, Good Night, Irene has a lot of scenes that don’t serve any clear purpose. Why, for instance, do Dorothy and Irene choose to put on cringey fake French accents for an afternoon? Generously I could say they’re trying to break the monotony or that the pressure of the war is breaking them, but I’m not truly convinced there’s evidence in the text to support it. Lots of scenes seem constructed to carry a single joke, most of which weren’t actually funny to me. 

It doesn’t help that I couldn’t care less about either of the women. Some of my book club companions did like them, but for my money they’re both just empty stereotypes. Irene is a girly girl and Dorothy is a tomboy. Irene had a physically abusive fiancé and Dorothy’s brother died in the war, which is what drove them to serve. Beyond that, there’s very little to them. Worse, they very much give off men-writing-women energy. Physical descriptions are squeezed in early, at very weird times, and neither woman is at all bothered by the gross behavior they receive at the hands of the GIs.

Did Urrea not realize that even the most patriotic woman might occasionally, at least once, tire of the pawing and the flirting and the pet names? Every once in a while one of them will say “don’t call me Dolly” but it’s played like an inside joke (and the girls don’t seem to have any problem being called “doll”). 

There are even moments that sound less like they were written by a human man and more like they were written by an alien educated by a man who had never met a woman before: in one scene Irene “sensed their male presence in her general radar way, and turned to admire the abdomen of the tall one” and a few sentences later Dorothy’s boyfriend “trotted to them and crawled in Dorothy’s lap. ‘Hello, hot mama,’ he growled.” I cringed very hard. In fact, I texted my mom in I’m about to quit this book despair.

Luis Alberto Urrea is a bestselling author who has won writing awards! How? He wrote the phrase “She did a minor swoon.” How am I supposed to take any of it seriously?

Even if I hadn’t seen the name on the cover of this book, there is no universe in which I could believe Good Night, Irene was written by a woman. It’s maybe not the overexaggeratedly sexed-up writing that is so maligned online, but there is something distinctly masculine about the lack of understanding about how women occupy the world, not just in the minor moments (Urrea apparently thinks that merely brushing curly hair can make it straight) but in the major ones as well. You’re telling me that Irene was repeatedly beaten by her fiancé and it’s just the inciting incident? After Irene joins the Red Cross her past abuse is never brought up again except in passing to explain why she’s there. Aside from prompting her to leave, being beaten evidently did not change Irene at all. Neither she nor Dorothy ever feels any discomfort about being constantly surrounded by armed men who haven’t seen a woman in weeks or months and who they are being asked to flirt with constantly. I’m sorry, but that would be terrifying. They receive letters that say things like I saw you for one minute six months ago and still fantasize about you or you probably don’t remember me but you gave me a donut once and I’d like to marry you after the war and they’re charmed by it. There’s not even a passing thought about this. Irene and Dorothy walk through the world—and the war—with a confidence that they’ll be untouched that is absolutely incomprehensible.

That goes double for the actual war stuff. The stated purpose of this book is to bring awareness to this under-appreciated and little-known group of war heroes, but in actuality I don’t think the Donut Dollies come across as particularly heroic here. In theory, I understand how their presence would boost morale, but Good Night, Irene makes them come across as frivolous and pampered. We’re told that they go to the front lines, but the one time they actually do experience the horrors of war upfront they’re sent overseas for an all-expenses paid beach vacation (and their boyfriends are free to just drop by). We’re told they’re sent to boost morale for the suffering GIs, but after seeing the GIs being released from a concentration camp, Patton himself apologizes to them and says he never should have sent them to see those men. When their clubmobile is shot, Irene and Dorothy’s instinctive first response is not to be afraid. It’s to be offended. They pretty much feel that they’re invincible, and why not? They’re immediately promoted to officers so that they’re treated more nicely. They apparently have an inexhaustible source of coffee and donuts, and seem to get the red carpet rolled out at every hotel stop. You wouldn’t know there was a such thing as food shortages or rationing to read this book, because the women at least are always being treated to expensive alcohol. 

It just feels disingenuous to say you’re writing about women’s heroism in war and then to actually write about how the women got to go on sexy vacations, get pampered with gifts of chocolate and champagne, and prove their heroism by (spoiler) adopting a baby.

It’s not a sexist book, but it certainly doesn’t feel nearly as empowering as I expected it to, or as I assume Urrea meant it to. And just don’t get me started on the cheesy death fakeouts or the fact that the love interest is unironically called “The Handyman.”

What’s the verdict?

If you liked this book, more power to you. I barely made it through. I literally fell asleep on it more than one time (and not reading late at night; I didn’t do that with this book, because I’d rather just go to sleep intentionally) and truly thought it was going going to break my decade-long no-DNFs streak. Generally speaking, I think books should have plots, and if they don’t they definitely need to have at least one compelling character with some sort of development. Good Night, Irene does not. The best I can say about it is that I now know about the Donut Dollies, which I didn’t before, and Urrea dedicated this to his mother and her WWII heroism and that’s cute. Beyond that… Good Night, Irene is—at least for me—absolutely without anything to recommend it. 

What’s next?

As far as WWII fiction goes, I highly recommend The Book Thief by Markus Zusak and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Borrows. The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah and All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr are also good. It’s not fiction, but The Monuments Men by Robert Edsel and Bret Witter may also be a good choice. I haven’t read it, but one of my fellow book clubbers enthusiastically recommended it.

For historical fiction with compelling female characters, try The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett, Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo, A Clash of Steel by CB Lee, Hour of the Witch by Chris Bohjalian, The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid, Kindred by Octavia Butler, Miss Benson’s Beetle by Rachel Joyce, or Burn by Patrick Ness. You’ll notice that not all those writers are women. Sure, women have a leg-up writing female characters, but that doesn’t mean no one else can do it well. Luis Alberto Urrea just didn’t with Good Night, Irene. 

And finally a recommendation that has nothing to do specifically with Good Night, Irene but which deserves a shout-out anyway: The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orzcy, published in 1903, is often considered a predecessor to the masked superhero stories we know so well nowadays. It takes place during the Reign of Terror and tells the story of an enigmatic hero smuggling French aristocrats to safety, the agent determined to stop him, and a woman caught in the middle with an impossible choice in front of her. It’s wonderful, and doesn’t get read enough. If schools taught The Scarlet Pimpernel, more kids would grow up loving classic literature.  

Miss Benson’s Beetle (Book Review)

As a general rule, I don’t give a book to someone unless I have read it myself and can personally vouch for it. I broke that rule with Miss Benson’s Beetle by Rachel Joyce because I had read so many phenomenal reviews. Repeatedly, I saw it praised as one of best recent historical fiction novels and as a wonderful story of female friendship. When I saw it compared to The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows I knew it had to be something special. Guernsey is an excellent book (and movie!) and it has the distinction of being something my mom, my grandmother, and I could all bond over. Despite being very similar people in almost every other regard, the three of us tend to read quite different books. I bought Miss Benson’s Beetle for my mom for her birthday, and she thought her mom would like it as well, so we got another copy for her. They both loved it (whew!) and I read it last.

What’s it about?

Margery Benson has had a lifelong obsession with beetles, and specifically a golden beetle that has not yet officially been discovered. Since childhood, Miss Benson planned to eventually travel to New Caledonia and find the beetle, but life got in the way. One day, though, a solidly middle-aged Miss Benson, who has spent years being under-appreciated and mocked in a job that she dislikes, reaches her breaking point and decides that it’s now or never. She hires an assistant to help her in her travels and ends up with Enid Pretty, a young and attractive woman who is exactly the opposite of what Miss Benson thought she needed.

What’d I think?

B/⭐⭐⭐

I can absolutely see why Guernsey is a common comp title for Miss Benson’s Beetle. Both are female-driven novels that see a dissatisfied woman take the reins in her own life against the backdrop of a post-WWII world. They both focus on ordinary people trying to go on despite the drastic ways their world has shifted. It might be because I don’t read a lot of historical fiction, but I’ve read very few novels about the period after WWII. There’re a ton of novels about WWII. Believe me, I know. I set up a table at Barnes & Noble that’s supposedly historical fiction but it’s actually 95% WWII fiction with a few novels set during the Revolutionary War or shortly afterward to shake things up. WWII is a very popular era for fiction, and why not? There was a lot going on, and there’s conflict and tension present in the era even before the author adds anything. I have absolutely nothing against WWII fiction—The Book Thief, one of my all-time favorite novels, is set during WWII—but the era Miss Benson’s Beetle is set it is just as rife with potential storylines.

That’s one of the things best done in this novel, the post-war atmosphere. The nationalist strain in the British people living in New Caledonia, Margery’s origin story vis-à-vis her father and brothers, and the PTSD displayed by Mundic—the primary antagonist—create a very specific tenor.

Despite the very serious underpinnings of the novel, the overall impression is that this is a fun, kooky romp. This is very much the story of unlikely friends. Miss Benson is older, more practical, less spontaneous. Enid is the opposite: loud, flirtatious, prone to whimsy. It’s obvious that they’ll become close friends by the end because that’s how these types of stories always go, but it is still heartwarming. I always like friendship stories and Margery and Enid are quite wholesome, and while there are other things going on, the majority of Miss Benson’s Beetle is about the two women supporting each other’s dreams. Enid in particular is the sort of person anyone would want as a friend, because even at her absolute worst moments she fiercely believes in Margery, encourages her to live her dream, and does everything she can to help her do so. It takes Margery a little longer to get there, but Enid is resolute from the jump.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (Book Review)

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows is one of my mom’s favorites, and since I read it long enough ago that I have absolutely no memory of it, I figured I would give it another shot. Since the movie recently came out, it seemed like a good time for it.

What’s it about?

Writer Juliet Ashton, who became popular by writing humorously and irreverently during WWII, is looking for her next project. The war is over, and people are gradually starting to heal. In a twist of fate, an old book of Juliet’s—which had her name and address written inside—finds its way into the hands of Dawsey Adams, a man who lives on the island Guernsey, which was occupied by the Germans during the war. Through Dawsey, Juliet connects with the literary society of Guernsey, and the members write to her about their experiences during the war, including conception of their group when one Elizabeth McKenna invented it to save them from the punishment of breaking curfew. As Juliet’s acquaintance with the society increases, she finds the subject of her next book as well as a group of individuals with whom she falls in love.

What’d I think?

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society is an epistolary novel. This is not one of my favorite styles, though this novel does a pretty good job with it. Often, the epistolary style makes it hard to keep track of who is who. It also often reduces the action of the story to recollection and after-the-fact retelling. The former is not a problem with this novel, as Shaffer and Barrows do a good job indicating who has written each letter and distinguishing the voices. It is, however, true that the story feels a little passive at times. It still isn’t my favorite style, but it works pretty well for this novel. By the time I hit the midpoint, I was in the swing of it. At times, though, I wished I could see events play out in real time or see interactions between characters rather than just the report of them, but overall it didn’t affect my enjoyment.

Lady Sybil plays Elizabeth in the movie

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society tells two stories. One is of Juliet working on her novel and meeting the people of Guernsey. The other is the story of Elizabeth during the war. Personally, I prefer Juliet’s. War stories aren’t my thing, and the fact that it is so centered around Elizabeth is disappointing; there are some really fun characters in Guernsey, but Elizabeth’s narrative is so focused on Elizabeth that the other characters blend into the background until Juliet arrives. There’s nothing wrong with Elizabeth–she is your traditional spunky lives-live-with-gusto girl, which is fine–but I don’t think that she’s interesting enough to totally pull off the amount of narrative focus on her. I like her fine, but prefer some of the other characters.

Book Club: The Book Thief

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is legitimately one of the best books I’ve ever read. If you’d rather read a glowing, non-spoilery review, go here. If you’re here for discussion, read on.

1. The Book Thief is notable for its unique narration. Discuss Death’s POV and how it impacts your reading of Liesel’s story. What kind of a narrator is Death? Does Zusak’s Death behave in the ways you would expect an incarnation of Death to act? Discuss the casual breaking of the fourth wall, the occasional asides with extra information and commentary, and the reflection on what death is. Consider the following passages:
   1. “I urge you—don’t be afraid. I’m nothing if not fair.” (3)
   2. “I am all bluster— I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.” (6)
   3. “(By the way—I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.” (75)
   4. “I do not carry a sickle or scythe. I only wear a hooded black robe when it’s cold. And I don’t’ have those skull-like facial features you seem to enjoy pinning on me from a distance. You want to know what I truly look like? I’ll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue” (307).
   5. “I’ve seen so many young men over the years who think they’re running at other young men. They are not. They’re running at me.” (174-175)
   6. “They say that war is death’s best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thing, incessantly: ‘Get it done, get it done.’ So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.” (309)
   7. “I say His name in a futile attempt to understand. ‘But it’s not your job to understand.’ That’s me who answers. God never says anything. You think you’re the only one he never answers?” (350)
2. Discuss in more detail Death’s direct address to the audience and its personal responses to the people in Liesel’s story. Did you find that your emotional responses tended to match Death’s? How did the constant presence of death prepare you for the mass carnage at the end of the novel? Were you prepared? Did Death’s spoiling of the final scenes ruin the surprise or build your anticipation? Why do you think Zusak chose to reveal the events of his climax so far in advance (ie. The first commentary on Rudy’s death comes on page 241; he does not die until page 531)? Why do you think that Death chose to focus specifically on Rudy’s death in the pages leading up to the bombing, rather than Hans’ or Rosa’s? Did knowing Rudy would die make you more confident about Hans and Rosa’s survival? Why do you think Death offered so many scenarios that might have changed certain’ outcomes (ie. pg. 411: “If he’d intervened it might have changed everything. […] And just maybe, [Rudy] would have lived.”).
   1. Discuss: “Of course, I’m being rude. I’m spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don’t have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It’s the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me. There are so many things to think of. There is so much story” (243)
3. Liesel is known as “the book thief,” and the nickname also serves as the book’s title. Why is Liesel’s thievery important enough for this place of honor? Discuss the role of books and words in the novel as a whole. How do words change Liesel’s life? By facilitating her relationships with Hans, Max, and Ilsa? By drawing Death to her story? In the face of death and war, how powerful are words? Discuss the fact that Liesel’s life is literally saved by her writing. Is it significant that Liesel was essentially illiterate at the beginning of the novel when she started stealing the books? Also consider the fact that Hitler was able to rise to power because of his skill as a speaker, rather than through any physical advantage. Discuss the following quotes:
   1. In his story The Work Shaker, Max writes: “Yes, the Führer decided that he would rule the world with words. ‘I will never fire a gun,’ he devised. ‘I will not have to.’ Still, he was not rash. Let’s allow him at least that much. He was not a stupid man at all. His first plan of attack was to plant the words in as many areas of his homeland as possible. He planted them day and night, and cultivated them. He watched them grow, until eventually great forests of words had risen throughout Germany… It was a nation of farmed thoughts” (445).
      1. In what ways are controlled thoughts dangerous? Is it more dangerous to control someone’s thoughts/words or to control their actions/bodies? Discuss the book burning in the novel. Why do regimes like the Nazis have to police books? Why and how are words dangerous?
   2. “The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn’t be any of this. Without words, the Führer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or worldly tricks to make us feel better. What good were the words? She said it audibly now, to the orange-lit room. ‘What good are the words?’” (521).
   3. The last line that Liesel writes in her story, which is emphasized by Death in an aside, is “I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right” (528).
4. What does the novel have to say about human nature? As a nonhuman entity, Death reflects periodically on humanity from the outside, often entranced, often repelled, and often confused. Death remarks that “I’m always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both” (491). In what ways does death bring out the best (or the worst) in the characters who die? What about the ones who survive? Based on Death’s remarks, which is more horrible: to die or to survive? Consider Death’s need to distract itself from survivors: “… now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs” (5). Discuss the way that death affects survivors like Liesel, Ilsa Hermann, and Frau Holtzapfel. Consider Death’s assessment after the Himmel St. bombing: “There was no recovery from what had happened. That would take decades; it would take a long life” (546). Consider Max’s guilt after he leaves his family in order to be hidden: “Living was living. The price was guilt and shame” (208).
   1. War causes many contradictions. Death, as quoted above, has a hard time understanding how humans can be “both.” Discuss the moral contradictions in the novel. How can a Nazi be “kindly” and “chirpy?” (343). How can a kind action, like giving bread to the starving Jews, be a terrible mistake? How can kind men like Hans Hubermann and Alex Steiner be members of the Nazi party? How can childhood cruelty be considered “appropriate” and “require[d]?” (53). Consider the moral quandary of Alex Steiner: He is a Nazi despite not hating Jews or anyone else and “Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out” (60). When the Germans are hiding in terror during the air raid, Death ponders: “Did they deserve any better, these people? How many had actively persecuted others, high on the scent of Hitler’s gaze, repeating his sentences, his paragraphs, his opus? Was Rosa Hubermann responsible? The hider of a Jew? Or Hans? Did they all deserve to die? The children? The answer to each of these questions interests me very much, though I cannot allow them to seduce me” (375-376). Who deserves a fate like the one that ultimately befalls the citizens of Himmel St.? What does it mean to be good? What does it mean to be bad? At what point can a line be drawn?
   2. Discuss the last line of the novel: “***A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR*** I am haunted by humans” (550). Why did Zusak choose this for the final line? Why is Death haunted by humans, and what does he mean by that? Why is this an appropriate note to leave a novel like The Book Thief on?
5. Discuss Hans Hubermann as a character. He is described as someone who is “able to appear as merely part of the background, even if he was standing at the front of a line. He was always just there. Not noticeable. Not important or particularly valuable. The frustration of that appearance, as you can imagine, was its complete misleadence, let’s say. There most definitely was value in him, and it did not go unnoticed by Liesel Meminger” (34). In what ways is this an apt description of Hans? Why does Liesel warm so immediately to Hans? What motivates Hans? Discuss the times he cheated death, his skill as a painter, the flaws that enhance his accordion playing, and his immediate agreement to take Max in. Be sure to discuss Hans’ moments of harshness as well as those of his gentleness, such as when he slapped Liesel to keep her from announcing her hatred of Hitler and when he frightened Liesel to ensure she kept Max a secret (116, 204).
6. Discuss Rudy Steiner as a character. What is his relationship with Liesel? How did they become friends? Discuss his growth from a young thief to a giver of bread: “How things had changed, from fruit stealer to bread giver. His blond hair, although darkening, was like a candle. She heard his stomach growl—and he was giving people bread” (440). Discuss the romantic undertone to Rudy and Liesel’s mostly innocent relationship; when did Rudy begin to see Liesel that way? When did Liesel begin to see Rudy that way? Consider the kiss that Rudy is always asking for but which Liesel does not give him until after his death. Why do you think Zusak chose Rudy’s death to emphasize? Discuss Death’s regret over Rudy (pg. 241: “He didn’t deserve to die the way he did”) and his urging Liesel to kiss him while she had the chance (pg. 454: “Kiss him, Liesel, kiss him”). At the end, Death says of Rudy, “He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry” (531). Why does Rudy affect Death in ways that others don’t? Also be sure to discuss the Jesse Owens Incident, Rudy’s extraordinary intelligence and athleticism that caught the attention of the Nazi higher-ups, and his childish insolence and feud with his Hitler Youth teacher.
7. Discuss Rosa Hubermann as a character. What was your first impression of her? Did it change as you got to know her better? Why do you think Rosa favors such aggressive language? Discuss the way that Liesel (and Rudy) eventually adopts Rosa’s profanity, and the way that it morphs into a term of affection. Discuss Rosa’s immediate acceptance of Max despite the danger he poses; unlike Hans, Rosa has no connection to Max’s family. Compare and contrast Rosa with Hans. In what ways are they a good team? Discuss Rosa’s quiet moments of grief with the accordion when Hans is at war. Also consider Rosa’s relationship with Liesel. Would you consider it to be a less important relationship than the one between Liesel and Hans? Just different? Defend your response. What do you make of the fact that it is Rosa, not Hans, who first insists that Liesel use the words ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa?’
8. Max and Liesel are paralleled on several occasions, and at the end of the novel they are the only two major characters left alive. Why do you think Zusak chose to make them so similar? Consider that both fought often as children, both were separated from war-torn families and sent to live with the Hubermanns, both wrote stories about their own experiences, and both were saved by chance. They constantly come together and are separated: after Max leaves the Hubermanns’, Liesel sees him once in a parade of Jews, and the two of them eventually reunite after everyone else is dead. Discuss Max’s central position of importance in the novel despite his relatively limited amount of pagetime (he does not appear until page 138, does not enter the main story until 168, leaves on 398, and barring a small reappearance from 509-514 and a triumphant return on 548, disappears physically from the narrative). Discuss the love between Max, Liesel, and the Hubermanns. At what point do you think that Max became a part of the family rather than a burden? What benefits did Max bring to the family and vice versa?
9. Discuss the novel’s depiction of WWII and Nazi Germany. Why do you think that Zusak decided to center his novel around a young German girl who by and large is accepted by the higher powers, rather than a traditional victim of the Nazi violence? Jews (pg. 161: “anything was better than being a Jew”), Communists (Liesel’s father was taken away for being one), and black people (pg. 56: “Talk that [Jesse Owens] was subhuman because he was black and Hitler’s refusal to shake his hand were touted around the world”) are singled out for discrimination, but Liesel is none of these things. Despite this, she is still a victim of Hitler and WWII. Discuss Liesel’s upbringing; what is normal for her? Is it jarring for you to read about a protagonist whose friends and neighbors are members of the Nazi Party, who is a member of Hitler Youth, and who Heil Hitler!s on the regular? Why or why not?
10. Discuss Liesel’s relationship with the mayor’s wife. Why does Ilsa take an interest in Liesel? Why do they fall out? Why is Liesel initially more comfortable stealing books from Ilsa than accepting them as gifts? Why do you think that Ilsa left her window open intentionally for Liesel? What does she gain from the relationship? Why does Liesel allow Rudy to think that she is stealing from Ilsa rather than admit the truth of the situation? Also discuss Ilsa as an individual. What has made her the way that she is?
11. What drew Death specifically to Liesel? Is her story typical of the era, or was she particularly noteworthy for some reason? Why do you think that Liesel was able to pull Death away from the distractions it clings so desperately to?
12. Discuss the way that the narrative bounces from one character to another. Although most of the novel centers around Liesel, some chapters bounce to other characters (Max, Rudy, and Hans all have significant moments for which Liesel is not present). Why were these scenes necessary for the novel as a whole?
13. Discuss Hans’ history with Erik Vanderburg. Erik indirectly saved Hans’ life, and as a result Hans hid Max. Was this an equal trade? Was Hans obligated to help Max because of Erik? Do you think that Hans would have helped Max even if he had not been indebted to Max’s father?
14. Discuss the role of fate and chance in the novel. Hans cheated death twice; the second time is entirely coincidental: a man dislikes Hans so he kicks him out of his usual seat and ends up dying because of it. Death says, “It kills me sometimes, how people die” (464). Sometimes, events that seem like blessings (Rudy not being sent away, Hans returning home from war) eventually prove to be curses. Death says, “You save someone. You kill them. How was he supposed to know?” (547). It is impossible to tell what actions will have what responses. Discuss.
15. Discuss the community on Himmel St. What are the dynamics like? What roles do the different characters play? Discuss the group of young thieves, the persistent soccer games, and the relationships formed while on the laundry runs. Discuss how the dynamics change when everyone retreats to the basements to hide. How does Max play into all of this? How does his presence in the Hubermann household change the way that Liesel, Hans, and Rosa interact with the rest of society?

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The Book Thief (Book Review)

I was excited to reread The Book Thief by Markus Zusak because I remembered it being phenomenal. Somehow, it was even better than I remembered. My mind is blown by the fact that it is a Michael L. Printz Honor Book. That means something actually beat it. Apparently other honor books from that year (2007) were John Green’s An Abundance of Katherines (which I love, though The Book Thief is better) and M.T. Anderson’s The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation Vol. 1: the Pox Party (which I absolutely hated). A book I’ve never heard of, American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang, beat them. Even though I have admittedly never read it, I have to say… I have a hard time believing it can be better than The Book Thief.

What’s it about?

Narrated by Death, The Book Thief follows Liesel Meminger, a young girl growing up in Nazi Germany. Death first catches sight of Liesel when her brother dies on their way to their foster family; it is also the night Liesel steals her first book. Even though the years of Liesel’s youth are busy for Death, he takes a particular interest in her and the other people who inhabit her story: Liesel’s Papa Hans Hubermann, the kind-eyed painter; Hans’ wife, the sharp-tongued Rosa; the mischievous and gifted young Rudy Steiner who becomes Liesel’s best friend; and Max Vandeburg, the Jewish German who hides in the Hubermanns’ basement. It is a story about war, death, words, family, love, and what it means to be human.

What makes it so great?

Honestly, everything. I’ll break it down to the main ones, though.

Death’s POV is amazing.

There’s not a misplaced word in the whole novel. Death’s POV is a masterstroke; it takes the story of an arguably unremarkable young girl and makes it much larger. It infects the whole novel—even the happy bits—with a sense of creeping doom. There’s a constant juxtaposition of the everyday with the horrors of war. The fact that Liesel and the other characters are Germans creates a very fascinating moral quandary that never goes away, a moral quandary that Death refuses to let the reader forget. It’s too easy to think of Germany as a whole as the villain of all WWII/Nazi stories, but that’s not entirely true. Death occasionally pipes up with an aside with a truth about human existence or which cuts straight to the heart of the matter, like this list exposing the heart of Rudy’s father:

THE CONTRADICTORY POLITICS OF ALEX STEINER

Point One: He was a member of the Nazi Party, but he did not hate the Jews, or anyone else for that matter.

[…]

Point Five: Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He as afraid of what might come leaking out.

Death’s POV is just so unique and beautiful. The invisible, non-human narrator has a fascinating perspective on humanity that is painfully true, and I’m very impressed that a human writer managed to create a voice that feels so other but speaks so well (and so forcefully) to the audience, sometimes directly. Liesel’s story is compelling, but Death’s commentary is what makes the novel amazing.

The writing is tight and scrupulously plotted.

The narrative is painfully aware of every tiny plot development that is to come later. There is no question whatsoever that Death (and Zusak) knows  exactly what is to come at every moment. There are novels that foreshadow skillfully, but I don’t think I have ever read another book that reads like this one. I have no idea how Zusak managed to write this book because every section of it works off of and leads into all the other sections. I struggle even to explain the seamlessness of it. The writer in me marvels at it because I have no idea where Zusak started writing.

The novel is impossible to put down despite that it spoils itself over and over. It is 550 pages long. I read it in two days. This was a reread, so none of it was a ‘must find out what happens next’ push. It is just that good. On multiple occasions, Zusak tells the reader what will happen at the end, including who dies, how it happens, and when it happens. Spoiling is called “spoiling” because it ruins the ending. People don’t like to know about surprise twists in advance, but that doesn’t matter in The Book Thief. If anything, the spoilers build suspense by mentioning how certain tragic events might have been averted, by urging characters to make different decisions, and by lamenting wasted opportunities. Death shares the audience’s pain and breaks the fourth wall on occasion to engage with the audience (another plus for me; I love meta):

Of course, I’m being rude. I’m spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don’t have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It’s the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.

There are so many things to think of.

There is so much story.

It is impossible not to love the characters.

The characters are also great. Everyone is multifaceted. Some of them—Rosa Hubermann comes to mind—have unexpected depths that aren’t immediately obvious. Others are wonderful from the moment they enter the story. It is also ridiculously easy to get emotionally invested in them. Rudy particularly hits me hard. I think you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who has read this novel (or watched the movie) and not cried over Rudy. The other characters are just as great: Hans Hubermann may be one of the most genuinely good fictional characters I’ve ever come across. Zusak treats all his characters with care, even the ones who enter the story for only a short amount of time.

Everyone

Weirdly, I think The Book Thief hit me even harder the second time. I don’t really cry when reading—I get very overinvested, but for some reason it rarely translates to actual tears—but I came as close as I ever do when I finished it (which I did on lunch break, so I returned to work with watery eyes; my coworkers were amused). Amazing characters + WWII = heartbreak.

What’s the verdict?

The Book Thief is easily one of the best books I have ever read. The writing is amazing. The emotional impact is intense. The characters are lovable. The themes are powerful. Basically… I recommend it to literally everyone.

Just be prepared to cry.

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