Writer of the Month
Pulitzer Prize-winning short-story and novel author Anthony Doerr was born on October 27, 1973, in Cleveland, Ohio. He attended the University School, an all-boys private primary school, and graduated in 1991. He acquired secondary education at Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine, and graduated in 1995. He continued with postgraduate studies and earned an MFA from Bowling Green State University.
Doerr has lived and worked internationally, including in Africa and New Zealand. His first collection of short stories, The Shell Collector, was published in 2002, and take place there. His second b0ok of short stories, Memory Wall, was published in 2010. Doerr's first novel, About Grace, was published in 2004. It depicts the story of a young man with the power to manipulate reality to reflect his dreams, resulting in his self-destruction. His second novel, All the Light We Cannot See, was published in 2014 and won Doerr the Pulitzer Prize for fiction. It tells the story of the Parisian Marie-Laure and Werner, from a mining town in Germany. Set against the background of a raging WWII and an ideological battle as well as physical, the story highlights the best in human capabilities and is a meditation on love. The prose within is rich and profound, with decadent, romantic images. What distinguishes these images, however, is their description from the perspective of the blind Marie-Laure, who knows her father's love, his expansive museum, and eventually, Werner.
"She has no memories of her mother but imagines her as white, a soundless brilliance. Her father radiates a thousand colors, opal, strawberry red, deep russet, wild green; a smell like oil and metal, the feel of a lock tumbler sliding home, the sound of his key rings chiming as he walks. He is an olive green when he talks to a department head, an escalating series of oranges when he speaks to Mademoiselle Fleury from the greenhouses, a bright red when he tries to cook. He glows sapphire when he sits over his workbench in the evenings, humming almost inaudibly as he works, the tip of his cigarette gleaming a prismatic blue."
All the Light We Cannot See, 2014
The Stuffed Bear
by Sebastian Rosa
As I hold him in my hands, it's almost as if time moves backwards. The baby blue felt still feels fresh and soft even though it's become hard with a greenish tint. His little plastic eyes feel glossy and just move despite being scratched and rough. A small stitched smile with its string coming loose is still firm and delicate when I see it. The ribbon tied around his neck slowly coming apart stays tightly around his neck. Even his two-foot stature still towers over me as it did when we first met in June of 2002.