All the Light We Cannot See
Two Cans
by Anthony, Doerr,Marie-Laure awakens in a cellar, disoriented and sweating, with a miniature house pressed against her chest. Unsure whether it’s dawn or if the war has ended, she debates venturing outside but fears encountering German soldiers. Her thoughts oscillate between hope—imagining liberation or her uncle Etienne’s return—and dread, picturing him dead or tormented by hallucinations. Despite her resolve to ration food, hunger overcomes her, and she finishes the stale bread, leaving her with nothing but her dwindling patience and the confines of the cellar to occupy her mind.
While exploring the cellar, Marie-Laure discovers two forgotten cans, a small but significant find amid scarcity. She speculates about their contents, yearning for Madame Manec’s preserved peaches, a memory tied to comfort and joy. The cans become symbols of hope, yet she tempers her expectations, aware that disappointment could deepen her despair. She tucks them into her coat pockets, clings to her cane, and tries to distract herself from her physical discomfort, embodying resilience in the face of uncertainty.
A flashback to her childhood with her father at the Panthéon resurfaces, where he explained Foucault’s pendulum as proof of the earth’s rotation. Marie-Laure recalls the pendulum’s ceaseless motion, a metaphor for time’s relentless passage beyond human lives. This memory contrasts sharply with her present stagnation, trapped in the cellar, yet it also underscores the persistence of life and natural laws, even amid war’s chaos.
In the cellar’s oppressive silence, Marie-Laure imagines hearing the pendulum’s inexorable swing, its “inhuman truth” etching into the floor. The chapter captures her isolation, fear, and fleeting hope, juxtaposing her fragile humanity against the immutable forces of time and war. The two cans and the pendulum serve as poignant symbols—one representing survival’s small mercies, the other the vast, indifferent universe—anchoring her in a moment of profound vulnerability and introspection.
FAQs
1. What internal conflict does Marie-Laure face regarding the trapdoor, and what does this reveal about her circumstances?
Answer:
Marie-Laure experiences a tense internal debate about whether to exit through the trapdoor or remain hidden. On one hand, she hopes the war might be over and imagines liberators in the streets (“volunteers, gendarmes, Americans”). On the other, she fears German soldiers might still control the city and execute civilians indiscriminately. This conflict reveals her precarious situation—isolated, blind, and vulnerable—where hope and terror coexist. Her decision to wait reflects both trauma from wartime experiences and loyalty to her uncle Etienne, whom she imagines might be trying to reach her.2. How does the discovery of the two cans serve as both a practical and symbolic moment in the chapter?
Answer:
Practically, the two cans represent unexpected sustenance in a nearly empty kitchen, offering Marie-Laure physical nourishment (“peas? beans? corn”) and emotional comfort through memories of Madame Manec’s peach preserves. Symbolically, they embody hope amid deprivation—the “small miracles” suggest resilience and hidden blessings in war’s bleakness. The cans also highlight irony: Etienne’s oversight becomes Marie-Laure’s salvation, mirroring how war disrupts normal systems of care. Her careful speculation about their contents shows how scarcity heightens appreciation for simple resources.3. Analyze the significance of Marie-Laure’s memory of Foucault’s pendulum. How does this recollection connect to her current reality?
Answer:
The pendulum memory serves as a metaphor for persistence amid chaos. Just as the pendulum continues swinging regardless of human observation (“after she had forgotten about it… and died”), time and war proceed inexorably around Marie-Laure. The imagery of the pendulum’s “inhuman truth” grooving the floor mirrors war’s relentless impact on civilians. For Marie-Laure, the memory bridges past stability (learning with her father) and present uncertainty, emphasizing how trauma reshapes perception—she now “hears” the pendulum’s constancy as a counterpoint to her fragile, transient survival.4. What details in the chapter emphasize Marie-Laure’s sensory experience of the world, and why is this significant?
Answer:
The text highlights Marie-Laure’s reliance on non-visual senses: she identifies objects by touch (“rolled rug… hollow filled with wood shavings”), sound (“shakes [the cans]… no clues”), and smell (“skunked Beaujolais,” imagined peaches). This sensory focus immerses readers in her blindness while underscoring her adaptability. For instance, she distinguishes mouse habitats from canned goods through tactile and olfactory cues. Such details make her vulnerability palpable (e.g., not knowing if it’s dawn) while celebrating her resourcefulness—like using taste to gauge bread’s staleness or recalling the peaches’ “sticky” sweetness as emotional sustenance.
Quotes
1. “She should go up through the trapdoor and walk out the front door onto the rue Vauborel. But what if Germany has held the city? What if Germans are right now marching from house to house, shooting whomever they please?”
This quote captures Marie-Laure’s paralyzing uncertainty and fear as she weighs survival against potential danger. It exemplifies the psychological tension of living under occupation, where liberation and threat feel equally possible.
2. “Two small miracles. Full cans! Hardly any food remains in the entire kitchen… but down here in the cellar, two heavy cans.”
This moment of discovery represents both hope and desperation in wartime. The cans become symbolic objects that carry the weight of survival and memory (later connected to Madame Manec’s peaches).
3. “But to raise one’s hopes is to risk their falling further. Peas. Or beans. These would be more than welcome.”
A profound meditation on the emotional calculus of survival, showing how Marie-Laure must temper her expectations to endure deprivation. The simple longing for basic food underscores the war’s brutal reality.
4. “Foucault’s pendulum would never stop. It would keep swinging… after she had forgotten about it, and lived her entire life, and died.”
This memory of her father’s lesson becomes a powerful metaphor for time’s relentless passage amid human fragility. The pendulum’s eternal motion contrasts sharply with Marie-Laure’s precarious present.
5. “Now it is as if she can hear the pendulum in the air in front of her: that huge golden bob… Grooving and regrooving its inhuman truth into the floor.”
The chapter’s closing image beautifully merges memory with present anxiety, suggesting how time both transcends and imprints itself on human experience. The “inhuman truth” speaks to war’s indifference to individual suffering.