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My Sister's Keeper: A Novel (Wsp Readers Club) Paperback – February 1, 2005
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Jodi Picoult is widely acclaimed for her keen insights into the hearts and minds of real people. Now she tells the emotionally powerful story of a family torn apart by conflicting needs and a passionate love that triumphs over human weakness.
Anna is not sick, but she might as well be. By age thirteen, she has undergone countless surgeries, transfusions, and shots so that her older sister, Kate, can somehow fight the leukemia that has plagued her since childhood. The product of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, Anna was conceived as a bone marrow match for Kate—a life and a role that she has never challenged...until now. Like most teenagers, Anna is beginning to question who she truly is. But unlike most teenagers, she has always been defined in terms of her sister—and so Anna makes a decision that for most would be unthinkable, a decision that will tear her family apart and have perhaps fatal consequences for the sister she loves.
My Sister’s Keeper examines what it means to be a good parent, a good sister, a good person. Is it morally correct to do whatever it takes to save a child’s life, even if that means infringing upon the rights of another? Is it worth trying to discover who you really are, if that quest makes you like yourself less? Should you follow your own heart, or let others lead you? Once again, in My Sister’s Keeper, Jodi Picoult tackles a controversial real-life subject with grace, wisdom, and sensitivity.
- Print length448 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Publication dateFebruary 1, 2005
- Dimensions5.31 x 1 x 8.25 inches
- ISBN-100743454537
- ISBN-13978-0743454537
- Lexile measure770L
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Editorial Reviews
Review
People (Critic's Choice) [Second Glance] is a fast-paced, densely layered exploration of love, the pull of family and the power of both to transcend time.
Publishers Weekly (Starred Review) A spellbinding suspense novel.
USA Today Picoult's characters are so compelling that the reader hopes this won't be the last time we meet.
Washington Post Picoult has become a master -- almost a clairvoyant -- at targeting hot issues and writing highly readable page-turners about them....
The Boston Globe Picoult writes with a fine touch, a sharp eye for detail, and a firm grasp of the delicacy and complexity of human relationships.
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One: Anna
When I was little, the great mystery to me wasn't how babies were made, butwhy. The mechanics I understood -- my older brother Jesse had filled me in -- although at the time I was sure he'd heard half of it wrong. Other kids my age were busy looking up the wordspenis and vagina in the classroom dictionary when the teacher had her back turned, but I paid attention to different details. Like why some mothers only had one child, while other families seemed to multiply before your eyes. Or how the new girl in school, Sedona, told anyone who'd listen that she was named for the place where her parents were vacationing when they made her ("Good thing they weren't staying in Jersey City," my father used to say).
Now that I am thirteen, these distinctions are only more complicated: the eighth-grader who dropped out of school because shegot into trouble; a neighbor who got herself pregnant in the hopes it would keep her husband from filing for divorce. I'm telling you, if aliens landed on earth today and took a good hard look at why babies get born, they'd conclude that most people have children by accident, or because they drink too much on a certain night, or because birth control isn't one hundred percent, or for a thousand other reasons that really aren't very flattering.
On the other hand, I was born for a very specific purpose. I wasn't the result of a cheap bottle of wine or a full moon or the heat of the moment. I was born because a scientist managed to hook up my mother's eggs and my father's sperm to create a specific combination of precious genetic material. In fact, when Jesse told me how babies get made and I, the great disbeliever, decided to ask my parents the truth, I got more than I bargained for. They sat me down and told me all the usual stuff, of course -- but they also explained that they chose little embryonic me, specifically, because I could save my sister, Kate. "We loved you even more," my mother made sure to say, "because we knew what exactly we were getting."
It made me wonder, though, what would have happened if Kate had been healthy. Chances are, I'd still be floating up in Heaven or wherever, waiting to be attached to a body to spend some time on Earth. Certainly I would not be part of this family. See, unlike the rest of the free world, I didn't get here by accident. And if your parents have you for a reason, then that reason better exist. Because once it's gone, so are you.
Pawnshops may be full of junk, but they're also a breeding ground for stories, if you ask me, not that you did. What happened to make a person trade in the Never Before Worn Diamond Solitaire? Who needed money so badly they'd sell a teddy bear missing an eye? As I walk up to the counter, I wonder if someone will look at the locket I'm about to give up, and ask these same questions.
The man at the cash register has a nose the shape of a turnip, and eyes sunk so deep I can't imagine how he sees well enough to go about his business. "Need something?" he asks.
It's all I can do to not turn around and walk out the door, pretend I've come in by mistake. The only thing that keeps me steady is knowing I am not the first person to stand in front of this counter holding the one item in the world I never thought I'd part with.
"I have something to sell," I tell him.
"Am I supposed to guess what it is?"
"Oh." Swallowing, I pull the locket out of the pocket of my jeans. The heart falls on the glass counter in a pool of its own chain. "It's
fourteen-karat gold," I pitch. "Hardly ever worn." This is a lie; until this morning, I haven't taken it off in seven years. My father gave it to me when I was six after the bone marrow harvest, because he said anyone who was giving her sister such a major present deserved one of her own. Seeing it there, on the counter, my neck feels shivery and naked.
The owner puts a loop up to his eye, which makes it seem almost normal size. "I'll give you twenty."
"Dollars?"
"No, pesos. What did you think?"
"It's worth five times that!" I'm guessing.
The owner shrugs. "I'm not the one who needs the money."
I pick up the locket, resigned to sealing the deal, and the strangest thing happens -- my hand, it just clamps shut like the Jaws of Life. My face goes red with the effort to peel apart my fingers. It takes what seems like an hour for that locket to spill into the owner's outstretched palm. His eyes stay on my face, softer now. "Tell them you lost it," he offers, advice tossed in for free.
If Mr. Webster had decided to put the word freak in his dictionary,Anna Fitzgerald would be the best definition he could give. It's more than just the way I look: refugee-skinny with absolutely no chest to speak of, hair the color of dirt, connect-the-dot freckles on my cheeks that, let me tell you, do not fade with lemon juice or sunscreen or even, sadly, sandpaper. No, God was obviously in some kind of mood on my birthday, because he added to this fabulous physical combination the bigger picture -- the household into which I was born.
My parents tried to make things normal, but that's a relative term. The truth is, I was never really a kid. To be honest, neither were Kate and Jesse. I guess maybe my brother had his moment in the sun for the four years he was alive before Kate got diagnosed, but ever since then, we've been too busy looking over our shoulders to run headlong into growing up. You know how most little kids think they're like cartoon characters -- if an anvil drops on their heads they can peel themselves off the sidewalk and keep going? Well, I never once believed that. How could I, when we practically set a place for Death at the dinner table?
Kate has acute promyelocytic leukemia. Actually, that's not quite true -- right now she doesn't have it, but it's hibernating under her skin like a bear, until it decides to roar again. She was diagnosed when she was two; she's sixteen now. Molecular relapse and granulocyte and portacath -- these words are part of my vocabulary, even though I'll never find them on any SAT. I'm an allogeneic donor -- a perfect sibling match. When Kate needs leukocytes or stem cells or bone marrow to fool her body into thinking it's healthy, I'm the one who provides them. Nearly every time Kate's hospitalized, I wind up there, too.
None of which means anything, except that you shouldn't believe what you hear about me, least of all that which I tell you myself.
As I am coming up the stairs, my mother comes out of her room wearing another ball gown. "Ah," she says, turning her back to me. "Just the girl I wanted to see."
I zip it up and watch her twirl. My mother could be beautiful, if she were parachuted into someone else's life. She has long dark hair and the fine collarbones of a princess, but the corners of her mouth turn down, like she's swallowed bitter news. She doesn't have much free time, since a calendar is something that can change drastically if my sister develops a bruise or a nosebleed, but what she does have she spends at Bluefly.com, ordering ridiculously fancy evening dresses for places she is never going to go. "What do you think?" she asks.
The gown is all the colors of a sunset, and made out of material that swishes when she moves. It's strapless, what a star might wear sashaying down a red carpet -- totally not the dress code for a suburban house in Upper Darby, RI. My mother twists her hair into a knot and holds it in place. On her bed are three other dresses -- one slinky and black, one bugle-beaded, one that seems impossibly small. "You look..."
Tired. The word bubbles right under my lips.
My mother goes perfectly still, and I wonder if I've said it without meaning to. She holds up a hand, shushing me, her ear cocked to the open doorway. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Kate."
"I didn't hear anything."
But she doesn't take my word for it, because when it comes to Kate she doesn't take anybody's word for it. She marches upstairs and opens up our bedroom door to find my sister hysterical on her bed, and just like that the world collapses again. My father, a closet astronomer, has tried to explain black holes to me, how they are so heavy they absorb everything, even light, right into their center. Moments like this are the same kind of vacuum; no matter what you cling to, you wind up being sucked in.
"Kate!" My mother sinks down to the floor, that stupid skirt a cloud around her. "Kate, honey, what hurts?"
Kate hugs a pillow to her stomach, and tears keep streaming down her face. Her pale hair is stuck to her face in damp streaks; her breathing's too tight. I stand frozen in the doorway of my own room, waiting for instructions:Call Daddy. Call 911. Call Dr. Chance. My mother goes so far as to shake a better explanation out of Kate. "It's Preston," she sobs. "He's leaving Serena for good."
That's when we notice the TV. On the screen, a blond hottie gives a longing look to a woman crying almost as hard as my sister, and then he slams the door. "But what hurts?" my mother asks, certain there has to be more to it than this.
"Oh my God," Kate says, sniffling. "Do you have any idea how much Serena and Preston have been through? Do you?"
That fist inside me relaxes, now that I know it's all right. Normal, in our house, is like a blanket too short for a bed -- sometimes it covers you just fine, and other times it leaves you cold and shaking; and worst of all, you never know which of the two it's going to be. I sit down on the end of Kate's bed. Although I'm only thirteen, I'm taller than her and every now and then people mistakenly assume I'm the older sister. At different times this summer she has been crazy for Callahan, Wyatt, and Liam, the male leads on this soap. Now, I guess, it's all about Preston. "There was the kidnapping scare," I volunteer. I actually followed that story line; Kate made me tape the show during her dialysis sessions.
"And the time she almost married his twin by mistake," Kate adds.
"Don't forget when he died in the boat accident. For two months, anyway." My mother joins the conversation, and I remember that she used to watch this soap, too, sitting with Kate in the hospital.
For the first time, Kate seems to notice my mother's outfit. "What are youwearing?"
"Oh. Something I'm sending back." She stands up in front of me so that I can undo her zipper. This mail-order compulsion, for any other mother, would be a wake-up call for therapy; for my mom, it would probably be considered a healthy break. I wonder if it's putting on someone else's skin for a while that she likes so much, or if it's the option of being able to send back a circumstance that just doesn't suit you. She looks at Kate, hard. "You're sure nothing hurts?"
After my mother leaves, Kate sinks a little. That's the only way to describe it -- how fast color drains from her face, how she disappears against the pillows. As she gets sicker, she fades a little more, until I am afraid one day I will wake up and not be able to see her at all. "Move," Kate orders. "You're blocking the picture."
So I go to sit on my own bed. "It's only the coming attractions."
"Well, if I die tonight I want to know what I'm missing."
I fluff my pillows up under my head. Kate, as usual, has swapped so that she has all the funchy ones that don't feel like rocks under your neck. She's supposed to deserve this, because she's three years older than me or because she's sick or because the moon is in Aquarius -- there's always a reason. I squint at the television, wishing I could flip through the stations, knowing I don't have a prayer. "Preston looks like he's made out of plastic."
"Then why did I hear you whispering his name last night into your pillow?"
"Shut up," I say.
"You shut up." Then Kate smiles at me. "He probably is gay, though. Quite a waste, considering the Fitzgerald sisters are -- " Wincing, she breaks off mid-sentence, and I roll toward her.
"Kate?"
She rubs her lower back. "It's nothing."
It's her kidneys. "Want me to get Mom?"
"Not yet." She reaches between our beds, which are just far apart enough for us to touch each other if we both try. I hold out my hand, too. When we were little we'd make this bridge and try to see how many Barbies we could get to balance on it.
Lately, I have been having nightmares, where I'm cut into so many pieces that there isn't enough of me to be put back together.
My father says that a fire will burn itself out, unless you open a window and give it fuel. I suppose that's what I'm doing, when you get right down to it; but then again, my dad also says that when flames are licking at your heels you've got to break a wall or two if you want to escape. So when Kate falls asleep from her meds I take the leather binder I keep between my mattress and box spring and go into the bathroom for privacy. I know Kate's been snooping -- I rigged up a red thread between the zipper's teeth to let me know who was prying into my stuff without my permission, but even though the thread's been torn there's nothing missing inside. I turn on the water in the bathtub so it sounds like I'm in there for a reason, and sit down on the floor to count.
If you add in the twenty dollars from the pawnshop, I have $136.87. It's not going to be enough, but there's got to be a way around that. Jesse didn't have $2,900 when he bought his beat-up Jeep, and the bank gave him some kind of loan. Of course, my parents had to sign the papers, too, and I doubt they're going to be willing to do that for me, given the circumstances. I count the money a second time, just in case the bills have miraculously reproduced, but math is math and the total stays the same. And then I read the newspaper clippings.
Campbell Alexander. It's a stupid name, in my opinion. It sounds like a bar drink that costs too much, or a brokerage firm. But you can't deny the man's track record.
To reach my brother's room, you actually have to leave the house, which is exactly the way he likes it. When Jesse turned sixteen he moved into the attic over the garage -- a perfect arrangement, since he didn't want my parents to see what he was doing and my parents didn't really want to see. Blocking the stairs to his place are four snow tires, a small wall of cartons, and an oak desk tipped onto its side. Sometimes I think Jesse sets up these obstacles himself, just to make getting to him more of a challenge.
I crawl over the mess and up the stairs, which vibrate with the bass from Jesse's stereo. It takes nearly five whole minutes before he hears me knocking. "What?" he snaps, opening the door a crack.
"Can I come in?"
He thinks twice, then steps back to let me enter. The room is a sea of dirty clothes and magazines and leftover Chinese take-out cartons; it smells like the sweaty tongue of a hockey skate. The only neat spot is the shelf where Jesse keeps his special collection -- a Jaguar's silver mascot, a Mercedes symbol, a Mustang's horse -- hood ornaments that he told me he just found lying around, although I'm not dumb enough to believe him.
Don't get me wrong -- it isn't that my parents don't care about Jesse or whatever trouble he's gotten himself mixed up in. It's just that they don't really have time to care about it, because it's a problem somewhere lower on the totem pole.
Jesse ignores me, going back to whatever he was doing on the far side of the mess. My attention is caught by a Crock-Pot -- one that disappeared out of the kitchen a few months ago -- which now sits on top of Jesse's TV with a copper tube threaded out of its lid and down through a plastic milk jug filled with ice, emptying into a glass Mason jar. Jesse may be a borderline delinquent, but he's brilliant. Just as I'm about to touch the contraption, Jesse turns around. "Hey!" He fairly flies over the couch to knock my hand away. "You'll screw up the condensing coil."
"Is this what I think it is?"
A nasty grin itches over his face. "Depends on what you think it is." He jimmies out the Mason jar, so that liquid drips onto the carpet. "Have a taste."
For a still made out of spit and glue, it produces pretty potent moonshine whiskey. An inferno races so fast through my belly and legs I fall back onto the couch. "Disgusting," I gasp.
Jesse laughs and takes a swig, too, although for him it goes down easier. "So what do you want from me?"
"How do you know I want something?"
"Because no one comes up here on a social call," he says, sitting on the arm of the couch. "And if it was something about Kate, you would've already told me."
"It is about Kate. Sort of." I press the newspaper clippings into my brother's hand; they'll do a better job explaining than I ever could. He scans them, then looks me right in the eye. His are the palest shade of silver, so surprising that sometimes when he stares at you, you can completely forget what you were planning to say.
"Don't mess with the system, Anna," he says bitterly. "We've all got our scripts down pat. Kate plays the Martyr. I'm the Lost Cause. And you, you're the Peacekeeper."
He thinks he knows me, but that goes both ways -- and when it comes to friction, Jesse is an addict. I look right at him. "Says who?"
Jesse agrees to wait for me in the parking lot. It's one of the few times I can recall him doing anything I tell him to do. I walk around to the front of the building, which has two gargoyles guarding its entrance.
Campbell Alexander, Esquire's office is on the third floor. The walls are paneled with wood the color of a chestnut mare's coat, and when I step onto the thick Oriental rug on the floor, my sneakers sink an inch. The secretary is wearing black pumps so shiny I can see my own face in them. I glance down at my cutoffs and the Keds that I tattooed last week with Magic Markers when I was bored.
The secretary has perfect skin and perfect eyebrows and honeybee lips, and she's using them to scream bloody murder at whoever's on the other end of the phone. "You cannot expect me to tell a judge that. Just becauseyou don't want to hear Kleman rant and rave doesn't mean that I have to...no, actually, that raise was for the exceptional job I do and the crap I put up with on a daily basis, and as a matter of fact, while we're on -- " She holds the phone away from her ear; I can make out the buzz of disconnection. "Bastard," she mutters, and then seems to realize I'm standing three feet away. "Can I help you?"
She looks me over from head to toe, rating me on a general scale of first impressions, and finding me severely lacking. I lift my chin and pretend to be far more cool than I actually am. "I have an appointment with Mr. Alexander. At four o'clock."
"Your voice," she says. "On the phone, you didn't sound quite so..."
Young?
She smiles uncomfortably. "We don't try juvenile cases, as a rule.
If you'd like I can offer you the names of some practicing attorneys who -- "
I take a deep breath. "Actually," I interrupt, "you're wrong. Smith v. Whately, Edmunds v. Womens and Infants Hospital, and Jerome v. the Diocese of Providence all involved litigants under the age of eighteen. All three resulted in verdicts for Mr. Alexander's clients. And those were just in the past year."
The secretary blinks at me. Then a slow smile toasts her face, as if she's decided she just might like me after all. "Come to think of it, why don't you just wait in his office?" she suggests, and she stands up to show me the way.
Even if I spend every minute of the rest of my life reading, I do not believe that I will ever manage to consume the sheer number of words routed high and low on the walls of Campbell Alexander, Esquire's office. I do the math -- if there are 400 words or so on every page, and each of those legal books are 400 pages, and there are twenty on a shelf and six shelves per bookcase -- why, you're pushing nineteen million words, and that's only partway across the room.
I'm alone in the office long enough to note that his desk is so neat, you could play Chinese football on the blotter; that there is not a single photo of a wife or a kid or even himself; and that in spite of the fact that the room is spotless, there's a mug full of water sitting on the floor.
I find myself making up explanations: it's a swimming pool for an army of ants. It's some kind of primitive humidifier. It's a mirage.
I've nearly convinced myself about that last one, and am leaning over to touch it to see if it's real, when the door bursts open. I practically fall out of my chair and that puts me eye to eye with an incoming German shepherd, which spears me with a look and then marches over to the mug and starts to drink.
Campbell Alexander comes in, too. He's got black hair and he's at least as tall as my dad -- six feet -- with a right-angle jaw and eyes that look frozen over. He shrugs out of a suit jacket and hangs it neatly on the back of the door, then yanks a file out of a cabinet before moving to his desk. He never makes eye contact with me, but he starts talking all the same. "I don't want any Girl Scout cookies," Campbell Alexander says. "Although you do get Brownie points for tenacity. Ha." He smiles at his own joke.
"I'm not selling anything."
He glances at me curiously, then pushes a button on his phone. "Kerri," he says when the secretary answers. "What is this doing in my office?"
"I'm here to retain you," I say.
The lawyer releases the intercom button. "I don't think so."
"You don't even know if I have a case."
I take a step forward; so does the dog. For the first time I realize it's wearing one of those vests with a red cross on it, like a St. Bernard that might carry rum up a snowy mountain. I automatically reach out to pet him. "Don't," Alexander says. "Judge is a service dog."
My hand goes back to my side. "But you aren't blind."
"Thank you for pointing that out to me."
"So what's the matter with you?"
The minute I say it, I want to take it back. Haven't I watched Kate field this question from hundreds of rude people?
"I have an iron lung," Campbell Alexander says curtly, "and the dog keeps me from getting too close to magnets. Now, if you'd do me the exalted honor of leaving, my secretary can find you the name of someone who -- "
But I can't go yet. "Did you really sue God?" I take out all the newspaper clippings, smooth them on the bare desk.
A muscle tics in his cheek, and then he picks up the article lying on top. "I sued the Diocese of Providence, on behalf of a kid in one of their orphanages who needed an experimental treatment involving fetal tissue, which they felt violated Vatican II. However, it makes a much better headline to say that a nine-year-old is suing God for being stuck with the short end of the straw in life." I just stare at him. "Dylan Jerome," the lawyer admits, "wanted to sue God for not caring enough about him."
A rainbow might as well have cracked down the middle of that big mahogany desk. "Mr. Alexander," I say, "my sister has leukemia."
"I'm sorry to hear that. But even if I were willing to litigate against God again, which I'm not, you can't bring a lawsuit on someone else's behalf."
There is way too much to explain -- my own blood seeping into my sister's veins; the nurses holding me down to stick me for white cells Kate might borrow; the doctor saying they didn't get enough the first time around. The bruises and the deep bone ache after I gave up my marrow; the shots that sparked more stem cells in me, so that there'd be extra for my sister. The fact that I'm not sick, but I might as well be. The fact that the only reason I was born was as a harvest crop for Kate. The fact that even now, a major decision about me is being made, and no one's bothered to ask the one person who most deserves it to speak her opinion.
There's way too much to explain, and so I do the best I can. "It's not God. Just my parents," I say. "I want to sue them for the rights to my own body."
Copyright © 2004 by Jodi Picoult
Product details
- Publisher : Atria/Emily Bestler Books; Reprint edition (February 1, 2005)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 448 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0743454537
- ISBN-13 : 978-0743454537
- Lexile measure : 770L
- Item Weight : 13.6 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.31 x 1 x 8.25 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #8,145 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #426 in Family Life Fiction (Books)
- #634 in Women's Domestic Life Fiction
- #1,092 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
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About the author
Jodi Picoult is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of twenty-eight novels, including Wish You Were Here, The Book of Two Ways, A Spark of Light, Small Great Things, Leaving Time, and My Sister's Keeper, and, with daughter Samantha van Leer, two young adult novels, Between the Lines and Off the Page. Picoult lives in New Hampshire.
Her next novel, Mad Honey, co-written with Jennifer Finney Boylan, is available on October 11th.
Follow Jodi Picoult on Intagram, Twitter, and Facebook: @jodipicoult
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Customers find the writing style well-written, complex, and real. They also find the characters interesting and easy to relate to. Readers describe the emotional content as thought-provoking, tearjerking, and ethical dilemma. They say the content keeps them interested and easy for any age to relate. However, some find the format frustrating, repetitive, and preachy. Opinions differ on the ending, with some finding it unexpected and heartbreaking, while others say it's miraculously solved.
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Customers find the emotional content of the book thought-provoking, riveting, and well-researched. They also say it's deeply challenging and a tearjerker.
"This book is so well-written, I couldn’t put it down. A real-life moral dilemma and a twist ending that shocked me." Read more
"...it down and finished in three days as a single mom, so you know it was captivating and I spent every spare second I could to read this story" Read more
"Very emotional , soul searching. Jodi picoult has a lot of talent and is able to make you see her Characters" Read more
"***** Ages 14 up? This book....Heartbreaking. Tear jerking. Moving. Poignant, Touching, Tragic, Beautiful, terrible...." Read more
Customers find the writing style well-written, great, and real. They also say the development is strong and overshadows the complex vocabulary. Readers also mention that the book has a quick start and is kept relatively fresh throughout.
"This book is so well-written, I couldn’t put it down. A real-life moral dilemma and a twist ending that shocked me." Read more
"...I love his style, his way with words, his storylines, dialogue, description, and masterful similes...." Read more
"...book is written from many different POV, and the author masterfully transitions between these and between time periods of the plot line in such a..." Read more
"...What is the right answer? The story is heart breaking, but it’s very well written...." Read more
Customers find the characters interesting, well researched, and human. They also say the story is engaging and full of plot twists.
"...Picoult has a way with characters – you feel connected to every character regardless of their part in the story...." Read more
"...Jodi Picoult did an amazing job developing the characters and storyline...." Read more
"...Each of the characters have such a developed backstory that it is conceivable to think that they had lives before Jodi Picoult weaved them into this..." Read more
"...It's a sure-fire winner with believable characters in a very timely, controversial situation that has been well-researched by Picoult, brilliantly..." Read more
Customers find the book interesting, thoughtful, and refreshing. They say it's easy to relate to at any age, with a good premise.
"...this book a lot - I think it brought up some very interesting and important issues. It was the characters that gave me pause...." Read more
"...Easy tear. Story wise it's not the best story I ever read but it's a great idea...." Read more
"...And the premise itself, although intriguing, strikes me as implausible. Is is it even possible for parents to FORCE their child to donate an organ?..." Read more
"...This is a fascinating issue on many levels...." Read more
Customers find the book to be a quick read.
"...Once I started it I could not put it down. It is a fast and easy read." Read more
"...Other than that, it is easy to read. It is a fast read and, as stated before, thought provoking." Read more
"...It was a super fast read; the ending came too fast for me...." Read more
"...The chapters came fast and furious...." Read more
Customers find the emotional tone of the book touching, deep, and fuzzy. They also say the love shared between sisters is unparalleled.
"...This book....Heartbreaking. Tear jerking. Moving. Poignant, Touching, Tragic, Beautiful, terrible...." Read more
"...The big surprise in reading the book was in the ending. It was very touching and was a real downer...." Read more
"...This book is so well written and personally touching." Read more
"So touching and deep...." Read more
Customers are mixed about the ending. Some find it unexpected, heartbreaking, and interesting. They also say the family dynamics are a really interesting part of the story. However, others say they completely hate the ending, saying it offers no hope and is too long.
"...The endings in the book and movie are different. The ending was not what I expected...." Read more
"This book was so amazing and had me sobbing...." Read more
"...Subplots are also miraculously solved and secondary characters are taken care of in the most improbable way... and as a consequence the novel loses..." Read more
"***** Ages 14 up? This book....Heartbreaking. Tear jerking. Moving. Poignant, Touching, Tragic, Beautiful, terrible...." Read more
Customers find the book frustrating to read, with irritating and hard to like characters. They also say the writing style is weird and confusing, making the book completely unrecognizable. Readers also mention that the premise is repetitive and preachy.
"...Spoilers ahead: The reunion of Campbell and Julia is kind of boring...." Read more
"...There are no easy answers to this situation and any ending is going to be difficult, shy of a miracle or divine intervention...." Read more
"...I found some of the characters irritating and hard to like. But saving Kate’s life forces everyone to make difficult decisions...." Read more
"...this is devastating to my grade but also absolutely deplorable and frustrating. I don’t have the time to request a replacement...." Read more
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There is a bit of a mystery to Campbell as he has a service dog, but he's not blind. Which is what everyone he runs across assumes what the dog is for once they are informed it's a service dog. Some of the man's responses to their questions about it are pretty funny. Representing Anna is not easy as there are many times it looks like she's not sure exactly what she wants and there are moments whether or not he questions whether he's still pursuing the lawsuit. Which is a challenge because if she doesn't know what she wants then how can she prove that she's capable of making her own medical decisions, which is the whole point of the case that she wants to be free to make her own medical decisions. In the end she may end up giving her sister her kidney, but after years of having various medical procedues done she finally wants to have a say with what happens with her own body. She also wants to be finally be heard.
The story unfolds over the course of the book with various points of view by various members of Anna's family along with her lawyer and Julia. Part of the mother's story is set in the past as we get various details about Kate's medical history. Her whole life since she was about two years old has been divided between being sick and some moments of being absolutely healthy. Unfortunately she's been sick more then she's been healthy. She's beaten the odds big time where her disease is concerned but now her kidney's are failing and the dialysis she undergoes is no longer working. If she doesn't get a kidney transplant real soon then she's going to die. It's revealed in the book that even if she gets the kidney there are no guarantees. After years of facing her death, her parents are no better prepared to say goodbye then when she first got the diagnosis when she was a little girl. An awful lot of the family's life has revolved around Kate and sometimes the other two kids have fallen through the cracks, especially Jesse as he's neither the one who is sick nor is the one who has been able to do something about it. The only reason he gets any attention at all is that he's the family screw up.
The book unwinds itself around a two week period of time, as Anna's case works it's way through the courts leading up to the day of the hearing. The hearing which can determine whether or not she is legally emancipated. Things are pretty strained in the family as each member struggles to hold it together between Kate's hospitalization and Anna's court case. Not being able to breathe between the court case and what's going on with her sister, Anna ends up temporarily moving in with her father at the firehouse he workss at as a firefighter. Over the course of the few days the hearing takes place we are treated to a few surprises. You find out what the service dog is for and the real reason Anna filed the lawsuit. Not to mention what happens after the verdict in the case is read and makes you wonder if the family would have done anything differently if they had known what the ultimate outcome was going to be. As is usual based on the other Jodi Picoult books I have read, there is one heck of a twist at the end of the book. Whether or not it ruins the rest of the story, is really up to the individual reader. But after reading this book I will continue to read Jodi Picoult books in the future.
Basically, Anna sues her parents for the rights to her own body - medical emancipation - when they want her to donate a kidney for her sister Kate who is dying of acute something leukemia .About a family that is broken apart by a terminal disease but manages to glue itself back together again, all the while learning and discovering new things about each other.
It's a very complex story, and the reader doesn't know every aspect of the story and lawsuit. Anna has hidden reasons for the lawsuit that aren't known until the end of the book, and it will surprise you.
The POV alternates between Anna; the main character, Sara; her mom, Brian; her dad, Jesse; her brother, Campbell; her lawyer/attorney, and Julia; her guardian ad litem - she is brought in to see what the best choice is for Anna and her family. Each of the characters have such a developed backstory that it is conceivable to think that they had lives before Jodi Picoult weaved them into this story.
Sara's POV mostly consists of flashbacks starting from when Kate is diagnosed leading up to the present, which really explains Anna's past 'donations' and Sara's choices.
Anna is a very realistic character, wondering about things I wondered about when I was 13, like what age are we in heaven and more. She is mature but still a kid, and I felt such sympathy for her sometimes, like when she is not allowed to go to this really prestigious hockey camp with an Olympic champion trainer with a full schlorship just 'in case'. In case Kate is sick again, in case Anna is needed to give up another part of her body for her.
Brian's POV shows his uncertainty about Anna's decision: he kind of supports her and her rights, but hates to see this tearing apart his family. We also get to see Jesse's POV, and observe his life as the forgotten sibling: not the sick one or the needed one.
My favorite character was actually Campbell. He had a great stinging sense of humor and sarcasm and had that whole mystery going on with Judge, his service dog. Every few chapters he would be asked what Judge if for because "You're not blind." He always had some funny retort, and I wanted to know just as bad as his inquisitors. His History with Julia and their relationship was also another aspect of the book I enjoyed. Also, since we don't read from Kate's POV, we don't actually know how she feels until the end.
All the characters developed and grew and learned about each other and become closer. (I know, a serious need for commas in that sentence). They were my favorite part.
OH, THE ENDING! In the words of Draco Malfoy in the Prisoner of Azkaban, "Oh, it's killed me! It's killed me!" <-That's only 'cause you were idiotic and arrogant and confronted poor Buckbeak. Ok, back on the topic. I almost cried. Most people bawl, I've heard. It was a twist, for the book, and for my heart. In the back of the book, the author writes that after reading it her son wouldn't talk to her except to say "WHY?!?!" I wasn't expecting it, and ... I can't really say more without spoiling the whole book. FOR MORE GO TO [...]
Top reviews from other countries
This book covers the same essential topic as does Kazuo Ishiguro in his ‘Never Let Me Go’ but, whereas the characters there simply accept their lot (and make it even more terrifying as a result), here you see the emotional turmoil and repercussions for each of the participants.
Her novels are always meticulously researched, so that the details of even obscure aspects seem totally accurate. Most cover some topical issue whose morality you may not have questioned. Through her characters, she investigates all sides and may easily change the way that you have thought about it. Most also deal extensively with a court case addressing an aspect of the subject being considered – and her coverage of this material is invariably convincing.
Yet all of this is almost incidental. Her writing easily involves you in the emotional impact on each of those involved so that enjoyment of the story is primary (and achieved effortlessly) and the moral and ethical considerations apparently relegated to second place (but it can be guaranteed that it will make you think!)
This is one of her best!
Strong recommend
Reviewed in India on September 12, 2023
Strong recommend