This book confirmed that I really don't care about the Holocaust Jews anymore. I kind of already knew that, and I wouldn't have read this at all except it was highly recommended by a friend, but my lukewarm reaction to this book solidifies that impression. The Book Thief was a much more refreshing take on WWII, although really, this war is just not a subject I care to read about anymore. (I got worn out of it in middle school and high school.) 
 The parallel story about Julia in 2002 increasingly annoyed me. I just really didn't get why she cared so much. I can see not wanting to live in the apartment, but her obsession about finding Sarah seemed way over the top to me. That probably says more about me than this book, though. I just don't think I'm the right audience.