Anthony Doerr crafted a beautiful tale of being plucked from the familiar and dropped into a situation that evolves into something terrifying in All the Light We Cannot See. I loved his fresh sight on the familiar setting of WWII. Marie Laure's blindness and faithful guardianship of a mythical curse, as well as the methodical and insightful way Werner could unriddle a broken radio and see the humanity (or lack thereof) around him, made the reader see with all of their senses. Such lovely, yummy turns of phrases. I could have quoted the whole thing.
Page 218: The sky drops silver threads of sleet. Gray houses run in converging lines to the horizon, bunched as if to fend off a cold.
Page 437: It seems to Werner that in the space between whatever has happened already and whatever is to come hovers an invisible borderland, the known on one side and the unknown on the other.
