I have only one regret when it comes to Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See: that I waited all this time to read it when I’ve had the book since 2015. I received this book as part of a book club from my first job, but I was too overwhelmed learning about clients and portfolios and all to read the book. And then I came up with more excuses through the years: the book was too long; the story seemed too sad (this was not false), and I didn’t want to feel sad at the moment. Whatever possessed me to finally pick it up this month is probably the biggest blessing the bookish me could have received in a while.
The book is set during the rise of Nazism through the German occupation of France, and it alternates points of views between Marie-Laure, who grew up solving puzzles that her locksmith father made for her and reading books that her father could procure for her (she’s particularly attached to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea), and Werner, who grew up taking care of his younger sister Jutta at an orphanage and tinkering with radios and listening to broadcasts about science. I grew incredibly attached to all of the characters, especially Werner and Etienne. Although they had a different energy from the usual hero types, they didn’t go unnoticed.
And the story itself, wow. It breaks my heart to think about how everyone’s stories unfolded. It’s the kind of story that will gently take your heart, tickle it a bit, and then crush and tear it into tiny little pieces because that’s just how life is. The story is set during the war, after all. How could I have even been tricked into thinking that it could end happily? No, I am making excuses; I was not misled by the story, but I was hoping against all hope that it would end well. Hope is dangerous. So many emotions.