I’m going to preface this review with the fact that I first read this when I was 13, and at the time, thought very positively of this novel. However, over a decade later, as a grown adult with better critical thinking skills, I’ve come to realize it’s no better than the rightfully-criticized Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, serving to further distance the Holocaust narrative from the voices of actual survivors and put it in the hands of those who have little to no connection to it. Looking at this as an adult, it functions essentially as inspiration porn for people who weren’t effected by the Holocaust, or to soothe the guilt of those whose families were complicit in it.