He is nobody. Until Uri finds him.
Uri gives him a bath, clothes, a place amongst the gang of street thieves. And Uri gives him a name and a story.
“Misha Pilsudski…” I kept saying. “Misha Pilsudski…”
But Misha is a Gypsy, not a Jew.
During the Holocaust, will the Jackboots think that’s different?
I am running. That’s the first thing I remember. Running. I carry something, my arm curled around it, hugging it to my chest. Bread, of course. Someone is chasing me. “Stop! Thief!” I run. People. Shoulders. Shoes. “Stop! Thief!”
author: Jerry Spinelli
genre: Historical Fiction
date published: september, 2005
There’s something special, something real, about Jerry Spinelli’s books. His style of writing is one of my absolute favourites. You don’t just read his books. You get inside the pages and stand on the street corner while the pickpockets run, the bombs fall, and the Jackboots march in their perfect rows. It’s not just a story. It’s your story — because you’re in it.
The characters, the plot, the setting, the details, the dialogue — all pitch perfect. I had to read the whole book in one sitting. You lived and breathed with the characters, sharing their laughter, triumph, tears and the hopelessness of their world. You start believing in bread, in running, in angels. You see why they say mothers aren’t real, and neither are oranges. Real mother’s don’t die. And, if the war ever ends and life returns to normal, you see why, if you’ve always been a homeless thief, there is no normal to return to.
It’s a sad book, sad and happy all at once. I don’t often find books that capture a world. But this one did.