London calling

The story so far, Part I

April 2016 was the two year anniversary for my husband at his work. As the challenge of learning and working in a new environment was wearing off, I sensed he was getting restless for the next thing. When we moved to the greater Boston area, we had decided that we would try to stay put till the kids went off to college. So he did the next best thing. He pursued an opportunity to work with the same company, in a different city, which turned out to be London, England! When we discussed this, another move albeit a temporary one, it took me two days to go from "Are you sure we should do this now? The kids are just settling in. It is going to be hard to come back to 8th grade for our son." to "Oh man, I cannot wait!"  

Our 8 year old daughter mirrored her brother's shocked reaction but changed it to a a hesitant "I want to go, but I will miss my friends. That is why I want to stay". However, my son was inconsolable. Given our history of moving every two years, he refused to believe that this was a short term assignment, a one year 'sabbatical'. We explained, cajoled, consoled threatened and ignored him for the next  48 hours. In the middle of the morning on the third day, my sweet 11 year old, texted me from his school bus, "I am ok to go to London, Mom".  And that was it. All four of us were going to be spending a whole year - July 2016 to July 2017 - in London! The possibilities, as they say, were endless.

Weeks of paperwork and trans-Atlantic calls followed. After the much-awaited assignemnt letter detailing the 'ex-pat package' was received, the priority was to enroll the children in a school. An exhaustive Google search revealed that admissions to local state schools (equivalent to public schools in the US that our kids were used to) in UK are done the fall of the previous year. I searched for schools in highly rated Local Authorities around central London as we were hoping for a city life experience for this year. I learnt about over-subscribing, wait lists, free schools and discussions on  Mumsnet.com forums about families moving into cities like Westminster, Kensington and Chelsea and paying exorbitant rents only to find out that their kids were bussed to schools in other areas. We did not want to take this chance and it was now clear that the kids will not be schooled in the local British system. We followed the path most expats take and decided to look through the International schools. The adage 'Seek and ye shall find' was probably coined with a divine conotation, but it is truest in the context of the modern day wonder of Internet. A few week's worth of searching and re-searching followed by telephonic conversations with always helpful directors and deans of admissions, followed by two days of intense personal meetings at the short listed schools and our children were enrolled in the school we liked, ACS in Cobham.

Now the kids were really excited. It was June and school work was getting wrapped up here and they were busy planning end of the year activities and parties. I had to answer questions like "Will I be able to learn badminton from a real teacher there?"(as opposed to mom)," Can I join the cricket team?", "Do they teach Shakespeare?",  "Will we have a big house?", "Can I take the bus?",  "Can I take the train by myself?",  "Will they have horse riding lessons? In the school?"

I was starting to wonder if they would be ready to come back after just one year.

This was going to be the year of travel and adventure for us. We had to remind ourselves that we had not won the lottery or struck gold and our travel plans would have to fit similar limitations in budget and time off  from work any other year. But the idea of being at the doorstep of an entire continent just brought out the Christoper Columbus in us and soon we had a must-visit list of countries. Using the school's holiday calendar and the work days off, we soon had weeks and weekends marked in a cheery pink with the intended destinations. Visa appointments for a UK work permit and a quick house hunting trip followed. Family was notified and the tickets were booked.  July 24 2016 was picked as the start date of our year of adventure. 

The day arrived hot and bright. The suitcases were packed and whatever did not fit in them had already been shipped. We were ready....London, here we come.

All the Light You Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

   

 It is difficult to assign a title to a story in a way that it conveys the essence of the story and touches its core. Anthony Doerr has succeeded in overcoming this difficulty, brilliantly. All the Light We Cannot See is a story about the physical absence of light - in case of its blind protagonist Marie-Laure LeBlanc - as well as a metaphorical absence – in case of the other protagonist, an orphan German boy, Werner Pfennig. Growing up on opposite sides of history, these two young people bring alive the sweeping tragedy of the Second World War and the horrible events in  Germany, Russia and France. Their lives play out independent of each other yet destiny brings them together at a crucial juncture, both of their lives and that of the War. This parable is sweeping yet intimate, panoramic yet microscopic. Told in two voices in alternating chapters, this is not an example that a novice writer might follow in terms of the theory of writing. The edicts of point of view, structure, character arc, scene-sequel etc are upended in favor of short chapters and shorter paragraphs and sentences that convey just enough information for the reader to make up his mind. Doerr appeals to all of the reader’s senses except the sight in scenes where Marie Laure's point of view is expressed and uses detailed, scientific enquiry when the story features Werner. The pace is crisp and the language, exquisite. The story gallops through the final years of the War yet finds time to languish in little alleyways and nooks and corners long enough to engulf the reader and transport them into its core. There is a surreal, almost magical nature to the entire story. If it were to be made on screen, it would be made in a sepia tone, with bright flashes of color in between to jolt the viewer out of their lassitude.  

The writer’s tone feels apologetic, at times, as if he is sad to tell you a story which may make you cry in the end. But he holds your hand the entire way and does not rush you; letting you enjoy the melancholy or ecstasy by your own timetable.  The secondary characters are  well-developed; everything and everyone is in the story for a reason. I would have liked it even more, if it was slightly shorter. The last three or four chapters felt extraneous, as if Doerr was having so much fun with his characters that he did not want to let them go. And I for one, do not blame him.