Though a countless number of books find their home on my shelves, there is one that pulls me back time after time. It has become a ritual to read it at least once a year, and I'm on at least my sixth physical copy of it, be it from time and wear or gifting it to someone special. The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. The first time I picked up this book was about a year after it was published, though I'm sure ten years old was a bit younger than the audience was intended to be. From the first page, that first faithful day in 2006, I was absolutely hooked. The brilliance of Zusak's prose, the intensity of the situations involved, and the heaviness of the book's realities have always held a special place in my heart. "First the colors. Then, the humans. That's usually how I see things. Or at least, how I try." These words have stuck in my soul, a mantra of the narrator in its own rite and a perfect tone set for the rest of the novel. The formatting of Death's narration leads a gorgeous flow, something just beyond human in the sense that we are seen as an "other", yet not in a negative sense. We are a wonder, something to be studied, much like the colors that Death finds itself enjoying in every situation. Much like the opening line, the ending has followed me through these past sixteen years as well, a reality set heavily in my heart and mind in the same way that the story of Liesel Meminger has settled upon Death. But this, dear reader, I will leave in your capable hands to find. His narration awaits you with eager, open arms.