January 11th, 5:30 AM.
I just finished reading the novel recommended by a friend, “All the Light We Cannot See” (by Anthony Doerr, Hayakawa epi Bunko). As I mentioned in my diary before, it’s a paperback as thick as a slice of Texas toast, and I had absolutely no confidence that I could finish it. I started reading with zero prior knowledge or even a summary, yet I ended up devouring all 700 pages in one go. For me, this is quite an extraordinary feat.
After finishing every last page, I close the book, gaze at the cover, and after fully feeling its physical mass, I let out a long, deep breath, letting my thoughts drift into the landscapes within the story. “I’m so glad I read this…” I feel it from the bottom of my heart. Ten seconds later, it hits me: *So this is what they call the afterglow of a great book!*
The story is set in France during World War II, as the German invasion looms. It follows the lives of two people: Marie-Laure, a blind girl living in Paris, and Werner, an orphan raised in Germany with a brilliant talent for science. The narrative weaves back and forth between their paths.
Freedom being stripped away by war; the beauty of science and how it is perverted into a technology for killing; the kindness and betrayal of people in the depths of despair; the casual violence scattered on the roadsides; resistance and hope; radio waves; music… everything was packed into these pages.
The entire novel is composed of a series of short fragments, ranging from one to ten pages. Even for those who say, “I’m not confident about reading long novels!” it’s likely an easy read. Moreover, the way each fragment ends is so incredibly sharp it makes you shiver. “Can writing really be this cool?” I found myself reading on, completely enchanted by the prose.
Since it is a story of war, it is inevitably tragic and heavy. However, as you follow the protagonists’ lives, the book is also filled with thrilling and suspenseful entertainment: a foreign radio broadcast heard secretly as a child; the whereabouts of a “cursed” giant diamond in a Parisian museum and the Nazi officer pursuing it (his portrayal is terrifying); life at a Spartan Hitler Youth school trying to survive with a friend; and the secret maneuvers of women trying to resist in a German-occupied city.
And since all these threads converge into the title “All the Light We Cannot See,” the final stretch was just… overwhelming!
While I was making my way through this book, Trump invaded Venezuela and abducted the President and his wife, and declared that Mexico would be the next target for military force. Israel, which was supposed to be under a ceasefire, carried out airstrikes on the Gaza Strip again (for the countless time). It was revealed that the Japanese government had purchased 241 billion yen worth of Israeli-made weapons (thus, we have become complicit in genocide. It’s the worst). Anti-government protests expanded across Iran, the internet was cut off, and judicial authorities declared that protesters are “enemies of God” deserving of the death penalty.
In the real world, the “worst” is being updated every single day, as if there were no bottom. In the novel, the town of Saint-Malo, where the protagonist fled from Paris, is also gradually occupied by the Nazis. Everything that was once taken for granted is stolen, one by one.
“Madame, is it that we’re like ostriches, sticking our heads in the sand when danger approaches? Or is it they who are the ostriches?”
“Maybe everyone is an ostrich,” she whispers. (Translated from p. 236 of the Japanese edition)
In reality, the idea that “an ostrich hides only its head in the sand to pretend nothing is happening when it senses danger” is just a myth. Perhaps humans are the only ones who actually do that (the Ostrich Effect).
I feel like we have to pull our heads out of the sand now—before it’s too late for everything. That’s what I’m thinking.
Until I finished this novel, I refrained from looking up things like Saint-Malo, where the story is set. I wanted to build the images in my head using only the information within the book. Now, I think I’ll watch the screen adaptation. I want to see how much it differs from the scenery I saw in my mind while reading, and how they translated the original work into film. I’m looking forward to experiencing it that way.
Since Anthony Doerr’s new work “Cloud Cuckoo Land” has just been translated into Japanese, I’d like to read that too. I also found the Q&A on Anthony Doerr’s official website, and it was somehow very moving.
