by Anthony Doerr
I'm scared to look back and see why some people I admire didn't like this book. Don't count me among them.
Sometimes the writing was provokingly beautiful. Sometimes he used words in unfamiliar ways that didn't make sense but I'll forgive him--so many other times he used words that made me see and feel it all: the grit of coal mining, the crash of war, and the squishy aliveness of small sea creatures.
In scope, story, and drama, I think he created a masterpiece--neither too much nor too little. Of course I wanted more, but sometimes you can't have it any more than the real people he imagined could have it. War sucks. A lot. Always will, any where and for any reason.
The narrator of the audiobook was a genius with a charming gift for (or rigorous training in) accents. I always knew who was speaking--or thinking--and never had to said for the 'he said'.
I see it won a Pulitzer prize. As a teenager I undertook a task to read all of the Pulitzer prize novels for literature. I didn't make it very far, but I guess I'm one book closer now.
Aside: I've not yet found an explanation for the tin can thingy. Author's mistake?
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