All the Light We Cannot See, by Anthony Doerr
Not to be dramatic, but I believe language was invented so that Anthony Doerr could write All The Light We Cannot See. This book is astonishing. I cannot remember the last time I read a novel where I savored every sentence like I did this one. Just utterly captivating, start to finish; it instantly became one of my favorites of all time. Top three for sure. Forget fiction writing classes. Just read this, again and again. Perfectly cinematic, can't wait for the screen adaptation (though I have some notes about casting).
What to even say. I loved the bite-sized chapters, some as short as a few paragraphs. I loved, loved, loved the characters. And talk about the most masterful, inspiring use of language imaginable. Powerful, surprising verb choices (I am a nerd who thinks about these things). Characterization of persons, places, and things that manages to be both simple and clean and wondrously multidimensional. Scene-setting language that makes me excited to write, excited about the possibilities of expression. Doerr says so much in so little. Just look:
One February morning, the cadets are roused from their beds at 2 AM and driven out into the glitter. In the center of the quadrangle, torches burn. Keg-chested Bastian waddles out with his bar legs showing beneath his coat.
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Breton spring, and a great onslaught of damp invades the coast. Fog on the sea, fog in the streets, fog in the mind. Madame Manec gets sick. When Marie-Laure holds her hand over Madame's chest, heat seems to steam up out of her sternum as though she cooks from the inside. Her breathing devolves into trains of oceanic coughs.
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The entire procession slogs past at little more than walking speed. Both lanes are clogged--everyone staggers west, away. A woman bicycles wearing dozens of costume necklaces. A man tows a leather armchair on a handcart, a black kitten cleaning itself on the center cushion. Women push baby carriages crammed with china, birdcages, crystalware. A man in a tuxedo walks along calling, "For the love of God, let me through," though no one steps aside, and he moves no more quickly than anyone else.
Questions I'd Torment My Class With, If I Had A Class to Torment
How are both Werner and Marie-Laure themselves like "Sea of Flames" diamonds, forged through powerful, irresistible outside forces--through the crucibles of their own personal hells?
Speaking of--what do you think happened to the Sea of Flames?
The themes of light and sound. How both can be carried far and wide, how the experience of them can be shared by individuals hundreds of miles away. How they tie Werner and Marie-Laure together.
Fate vs free will. To what degree (if any) is the tragedy of Werner's life his own fault?
Learning vs. unlearning. How Werner must unlearn the values of his childhood in order to fulfil his place in the Wehrmacht. How the engineering skills he teaches himself ironically serve this end. How Marie-Laure must "unlearn" life as a sighted person and learn an entirely new way of navigating the world.
Explore the significance of the sea, and all the creatures contained within. Marie-Laure's mollusks and whelks and snails. 20,000 leagues under the sea. Werner's fascination with the ocean. And of course, the Sea of Flames.
How is Marie-Laure like her beloved snails, and how is Werner like his beloved radios?
Words!
corsair: a pirate ship; a privateer, especially one operating along the southern coast of the Mediterranean in the 16th–18th centuries
lintel: a horizontal support of timber, stone, concrete, or steel across the top of a door or window
ordnance: mounted guns; artillery
extirpate: to destroy completely; wipe out; to pull up by the root; to cut out by surgery
flak (as in war): antiaircraft fire
internecine: destructive to both sides in a conflict.