For some reason, I’ve read a lot of Holocaust-themed books in recent time than I ever have my whole life. Not that I’m fascinated with the Holocaust — it’s not a very happy theme, and it’s hardly light reading, but it does inspire stories of the greatness (or debauchery) of the human spirit.
BM friend Aloi recommended the book Night by Elie Wiesel a few months back and I was mentally kicking myself for having given up the copy on BookMooch. Sometime later, I managed to dig up a turtleback copy (ugh, but still a mass market paperback inside) in a bargain bin at Book Sale and I made up my mind to read it this year.
All the Holocaust books I’d read before could not have prepared me for Night — it was like watching the Holocaust documentary “Genocide” (which I watched in sophomore year in college, and to this day I still can’t erase the image of thousands of emaciated white bodies being dumped into wide open pits from my mind, or the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I think about it) all over again.