There’s one more notable thing that happened while I was in Boston. Be forewarned, it’s a little self-congratulatory:
I read a book. A story. And I feel the better for it. So much so, that I am moved to say something. The story made me feel, think, wonder, and yes, sometimes gulp hard. Like doctors do frequently. Plus, the best part: it taught me something about an important time in the history of mankind.
Maybe this is why The Book Thief touched my heart. I told Staci and Will, after finishing, “I feel a fuller person for having read that story.”
I’m no book reviewer. Bear with me. Set in Nazi Germany, Leisel, a pre-teen girl, loses her brother, is abandoned by her mother and takes up in a small town in the outskirts of Munich with foster parents, Hans and Rosa. The story then winds through the difficult times there between 1939-1942. Central to the story are humans, the best of, and the worst of, books, the power of words and of course, death—the narrator, who at that time was quite busy.
Many may not have read this award-winning story because of its label as a young adult novel. I’m glad my family convinced me to look past the ‘young’ label.
My life as a doctor involves working with humans, not just their hearts. We are complicated. The Book Thief confirms this while it teaches, and matter-of-factually tells us a story that stirs in some hope with the despair of the time.
I like hope. I like learning from mistakes. I loved The Book Thief.
Gosh. I should read more stories, and less journals.