i was surprised to see some of the reviews posted here about the books thief, but then i realised it is all about how you read it, and of course, who you are. i was tired of books that were written prettily, full of ornate language yes, and wonderful prose that poured out little metaphors and cute similies, but they all blended into one, they were barely distinguishable. i walked into waterstones, alone one sunday morning, and i was only drawn to the book because their was a brightly cloured stand erected for it to sit on, after scanning the blurb i made a snap decision to buy it, because something felt right. the sheer heaviness of the book intrigued me, literally as well as metaphorically, yet the issue of ww2, the holocaust, is one i have seen done well a thousand times. but none have done it, i believe, with the same sheer bluntness yet beauty as the book thief does, the book manages to be incredibly to the point, so open yet the phrasing, the writing so different to anything i have ever seen before. my memories of the book are slightly blurred, it has been a while since i visited liesel and her books, but a few moments have entrenched themselves in my memory- the snow and her first book, the colours of the sky, the library, papa and his accordion, and the falling ashes like snowflakes that make my eyes prick and my skin ripple with emotion still. the author i believe is not purposefully trying to be overly clever, i just think this style of writing is just so different, the short phrases and sentences, the odd facts, they just make the picture the author is painting a more vivid one. so, if you love books,if you love books about loving books, then please, i ask you, buy the book thief, and let it steal you.