I am reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and it has the most beautiful words I've read in such a long time! It is a work of fiction told from the perspective of Death, so it is very unique in that sense, but the power of the words just blows me away sometimes.
This is a Jew in Nazi Germany, waiting for a friend to find out about a potential safe house: He had eaten only the foul taste of his own hungry breath for what felt like weeks, and still, nothing.
And the account of his father's death in WWI years earlier: Erik Vandenburg would later be found in several pieces on a grassy hill. His eyes were open and his wedding ring was stolen. I shoveled up his soul with the rest of them and we drifted away. The horizon was the color of milk. Cold and fresh. Poured out among the bodies.
The whole book isn't quite so dark and heavy, but it is all very moving, and I feel like every chance I get to read from it is a chance to sink into words.
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