I hesitate to put name anywhere near the same frame of reference as this book, but there’s a reason. When I read it, or should I say, immersed myself in it, I learned an indelible lesson in what happens when great writers exercise their craft. It was the kind of experience that had me shaking my head as I read and reread one elegant sentence after another. I could rewrite a sentence twenty times and not achieve that same kind of lyricism. And the thing with Doerr, unlike some other writers, was that the lyricism didn’t get in the way of the narrative. It seemed effortless, flowing past like a picturesque stream as it carried the story along.
I’ve never been a big fan of historical fiction. I don’t know why. But this book changed that. And when I came across the story of Mathews, Va. families and the role of the merchant marine as unsung heroes in an eventual Allied victory, I was inspired by All The Light We Cannot See to write a novel I knew would never be its equal, but hoped might be at least be a worthy imitation.
Beyond the lyricism of Doerr’s writing was the way he subtly meshed the fates of disparate characters. I’ve not done so in my novel with the same artistry as Doerr. Then again, as much as I’ve admired the plot device and tried to emulate it, neither am I waiting for my new novel to win a Pulitzer Prize.
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