It took me about 200 pages to get comfortable with Zusak’s style. At first, I found it painfully and tediously artsy, like reading a never-ending poem in free-verse. The multitude of clumsy kennings grated on my nerves, as did the overly-studied randomness. However, there were some powerful parts and near the end, I admit, I cried. I felt angry because I do not like sad stories, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that a story about a German orphan girl and a Jewish fugitive during WWII, narrated by Death, was more of a roller-coaster of emotions than a carousel of merriment.