All the Light We Cannot See: A Review

Once again, I do not want this blog to become a “mommy” blog. I order for that to happen, I’ve had to gain a few hobbies that do not include “mommy” preparation things. I’ve tried to become more serious about reading this year and have had a bit of success. BTW, reading isn’t a real hobby. I mean, reading is a skill. I guess how much time devoted to reading is what makes it hobby-worthy. I say this mostly because I hate people who are like “Oh, I’m cultured, I read.” Great. So do a million other people in the world, including pre-schoolers. Anyways, here are a few books I’ve had in my queue that are either finished, half-finished, or no where near but worth mentioning: An Exorcist Tells His Story, Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession, and Those Who Saw Her: Apparitions of Mary. I recommend all of these books to anyone interested. If you’d like to know more about any of them, let me know and I’ll expound upon them sometime.

However, let’s focus. I wanted to write about a book I just finished last week, one night at about midnight (cause you know, pregnancy gives you insomnia). All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr is a novel that stands as an example of what modern novel writing can be. That modern novel writing need not be pornographic, overly emotional, or completely devoid of actual artistic intergrity in order for it to be interesting and a best-seller. The novel follows two children from the beginning to the end and aftermath of World War II in Europe, one a blind French girl and the other a young German orphan. I know, it already sounds cheesy and not worth your time. Please don’t make that mistake like I almost did.

The lives of the children, their interests and maturity only shine brighter against the dank background of Europe during the second World War. Doerr utilizes the historical backdrop as he should, a means of developing character and story, rather than an easy way to gain unearned sympathy for characters growing up with injustice swirling all around them. The development of Marie Laure stands above the development of other characters. Perhaps it’s because, as a blind character, Doerr is forced into the infamous “show, don’t tell” mode of writing. But show isn’t enough of a word for what Doerr does with Marie’s world, he creates. He creates a magnificent life of detail and wonder, forcing me to remind myself throughout the novel that the world she lives it is completely created through touch, smell, taste, and emotion.

“We all come into existence as a single cell, smaller than a speck of dust. Much smaller. Divide. Multiply. Add and subtract. Matter changes hands, atoms flow in and out, molecules pivot, proteins stitch together, mitochondria send out their oxidative dictates; we begin as a microscopic electrical swarm. The lungs the brain the heart. Forty weeks later, six trillion cells get crushed in the vise of our mother’s birth canal and we howl. Then the world starts in on us.”

Alongside Marie’s development, Doerr introduces Werner, a German orphan being raised by a French nun during the Third Reich. Werner’s life develops in a more troubling way than Marie’s. He begins with the same innocent sense of wonder, directed specifically towards discovering the world through science and engineering. His sister Jutta stands as a representation of this innocence and wonder, being extremely important to Werner as a younger child, but slowly slipping away as he becomes more enveloped by Nazis Germany growing around him. So as not to enter any spoilers, I won’t detail more of Werner’s story other than saying that he is a truly tragic character. At the end of the novel, I was left thinking that had Werner been stronger, had he been braver, had he been a little bit more like Marie, his life would’ve developed differently.

The novel does fall flat at times. Jutta is never given an opportunity to express her emotions concerning Werner and the war around her. Doerr deals with her in an almost unemphatic way. Only one episode of her terror in the war makes it into the novel and this episode only left me wanting to know more of her experience. There’s also the flat the typical, flat Nazi character who enters and leaves the novel mostly to add suspense and danger to a situation that’s already emotionally terrifying.

Overall, though, Doerr’s parallel characters react to an unfair world in ways that force the reader to examine the moral consequences of indecision or the “go with the flow” mentality that abounds in times when real heroes are needed the most. The novel’s characters will haunt your dreams and bring your own morally gray areas to the forefront. The vivid wartime illustrations juxtaposed against the delicate familial relations show both the worst of mankind and what amazing things can happen when people love.