A jewel. A perfect fairy-tale. 
 What makes it perfect? 
 Let's start from the name: Keturah. I don't know why but I think it is beautiful. I don't know many names which I find so... amazing and almost "not from this world". 
 Next, the character of Lord Death - what a great idea and how ideal used. 
 A love story: marvelous, deep. When you truly love? 
 You find that when he speaks, the most ordinary words become poetry. When he stands close to you, your life becomes a song, a praise. When he touches you, your smallest talents become gold; the most ordinary love breaks your heart with their beauty. 
 The atmosphere of the fairy-tale. Martine Leavitt wrote like she would have been making a tapestry, like she would have been singing us this story. 
 And first of all, there is so big wisdom, a deep understanding of life and death, of human being. It isn't Disney story. It is something which takes your heart and breath, which tells you things you haven't thought earlier. It is a surprise what a simple fairy-tale can makes you. 
 The plot isn't much complicated (someone could say it is very predictable and typical in many events) but it is a book which is hard to forget about, even if you try. Because how to forget the words like: 
 We hid in our hovels, pretending the forest was not all around us, though it sang while the ax gnawed at its edges. 
 "They think my realm is far away. Would they sleep at night if they knew how close I was? Would they sing so roundly by the fire if they knew I was waiting in their cold beds? Would they be so glad of the harvest if they knew I rested in their root cellar? It is not I who am the coward." 
 "If untimely death came only to those who deserved that fate, Keturah, where would choice be? No one would do good for its own sake, but only to avoid an early demise. No one would speak out against evil because of his own courageous soul, but only to live another day. The right to choose is man's great gift, but one thing is not his to choose--the time and means of death." 
 "There is no hell, John Temsland. Each man, when he dies, sees the landscape of his own soul."