I am certain I had looked at All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr on the shelves at Barnes & Noble for years without really considering purchasing a copy. Last fall, I when I saw promotional videos for the forthcoming Netflix mini-series of the same name, I was intrigued to find out more about the premise of the story and was impressed with the casting of a blind woman to play a blind character. The plot sounded so interesting that, shirking my usual skepticism of modern fiction, I added the title to my Christmas list and was excited to receive the book.

A brief rant: My perception of popular fiction geared toward adults is that it’s too often full of gratuitously-written stories of horrific acts against humanity and/or of smut (neither of which I care to fill my headspace). I rarely hear people share about “good” books anymore—a problem which has inspired my own desire to write & publish fiction. I feel strongly that authors can acknowledge the grit and grime of a world that is definitely broken without normalizing (or in many cases celebrating) negative life choices born of desperation. I earnestly believe that light will always pierce through darkness and that good will always conquer evil. That doesn’t mean that I naïvely think that justice is always served in life or that any of us will live “happily ever after,” but I do think there is love, grace and mercy to be found for all and that humankind is inherently good. Thus, was I so very pleased to find Anthony Doerr weave glimmers of such light through the characters of All the Light We Cannot See.

This historical fiction novel, which purportedly took a decade to write, leaves no details behind. From carefully constructed descriptions of everything from war uniforms to snail shells, radio programs to the sensation of reading Braille, Doerr created a beautifully-written world that felt very tactile and very fragile. As the story oscillated between character storylines which didn’t intersect until the last one hundred pages (out of a lengthy 530), I was captivated by the narrative and truly mesmerized by the depth of the characters. In this story, Doerr authentically demonstrated that people who are known to have done horrible things are capable of genuine kindness and that “good” people sometimes do questionable things without intending harm toward anyone.

Irrefutably, there were countless atrocities committed on both sides of World War II, and plenty of actions that fell into the murky grayness of morality. Through his expert character development, Doerr effectively told of the resiliency of humanity in its natural goal to survive amid chaos and uncertainty. As I anxiously flipped the pages, I wrestled alongside Werner, Marie-Laure, Jutta, Etienne, Volkheimer and von Rumpel as they all evolved—some into unlikely heroes, others into cracked shells of “what you could be.” And although all but one of the primary characters had less than desirable moments, I could empathize or at the very least, sympathize, with their underlying motivations.

To be human is to be complicated. To live is to be worthy of life. To receive selfless love requires of the soul to pay that kindness forward. These are the visually imperceptible philosophical “lights” I found in Doerr’s novel. All the Light We Cannot See was not just an interesting read to pass the time; it was a good book—one that I anticipate reading again and again. But for now, I can’t wait to watch the mini-series adaptation!

This book may be for you if you also like: World War II-era stories; historical fiction; Paris; Saint-Malo; France, in general; Germany; stories of redemption & resilience; “watching” characters grow up; unlikely friendships; familial bonds; survival stories; learning about the experiences of people who are blind; Jules Verne; Erik Larson books; presumably Anthony Doerr’s other titles; European travel.

Buy the book: https://bookshop.org/a/109412/9781501173219
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SDG