Book Review: Handle with Care, Jodi Picoult

Let me preface my post with this: I love Jodi Picoult. She is one of my favourite authors. I love that her plots are a combination of medical dilemmas, ethics, and lawsuits; I love that each novel has chapters from multiple points of view; I love the interactions within her plots. All of those elements were present in this novel - and they were good - but somehow, they did not blow me away this time, like they usually do. I don't think a novel is great until it surprises me in some way. This novel didn't do that, or at least not at the end, which is the best time to be surprised.

Picoult's formula is a good one, but for some reason, Handle with Care came across as too formulaic. It felt like Picoult took the exact same plot for My Sister's Keeper, exchanged the medical problems and attorneys, subtracted one kid, plugged in new careers for the parents, and shipped it off to her editor.

In this novel, the mom, Charlotte, files a lawsuit against her obstetrician for wrongful birth. Her daughter, Willow, has Type III osteogenesis imperfecta, which means her brittle bones will break at the slightest jostling for the rest of her life. Her obstetrician could have caught this earlier in the pregnancy, giving Charlotte the option to terminate and try again for a healthy child. Charlotte's logic determines that it doesn't matter "wrongful birth" implies she wishes her daughter had never been born. She thinks she can convince her 6-year-old otherwise, by day-to-day living and loving. She feels this lawsuit is all for Willow, since the money will improve her lifestyle.

I think the main reason why I wasn't sold on this book is because, as I said before, it's predictable. It's predictable that Charlotte would file the lawsuit, so sure her daughter would believe that she loved her and was doing the best for her all along, and then question it later on. It's predictable that Sean, Charlotte's husband, would disagree with the lawsuit eventually, and that it would cause problems within their marriage. It's predictable that both parents would favour the ailing younger sister, completely ignoring 12-year-old Amelia (and I think everyone knows that 12-year-olds should not be ignored and left to their own devices). It's predictable that Marin, Charlotte's lawyer, would disagree with her client, since she was given up for adoption at birth. It's predictable that the lawsuit would break up Charlotte's relationship with her obstetrician.

Despite all this, Handle with Care is written beautifully, strategically planned to make readers explore the morality of wrongful birth lawsuits. Is it okay to terminate a pregnancy if going through with it guarantees a lifetime of pain for your child? Is it okay to blame someone else for the inadequacy you have as a parent to provide insurance and health care for your family? Is it okay to say one incredibly hurtful thing to loved ones - I wish you had never been born - if it ultimately improves their lifestyle?

For this reason, Jodi Picoult's novels will always spark my interest. Reading them is not so much a matter of identifying with the characters as it is making me think about my worldview and opinions. If you like thinking, if you enjoy good writing, if diverse characters and situations catch your interest, and if you don't mind some small factors of poor plot (predictable, recycled, or conventional - for this author, anyway), I encourage you to pick up a Picoult. You won't be sorry.

Impulses, Pt. 1

I just bought five Jodi Picoult books on amazon when I was looking for a present for David.
I did get him the present. And it's friggin awesome. But still.

Ridiculous Ramblings and Run-On Sentences, pt. 1

I chose to write in Lucinda Grande because it sounded grande. Turns out, it's not so great.

I took three Benadryl last night because I was itchy and wanted to commemorate my first Monday of sleeping in. Before today, I had to rise and shine and give God the glory at 6. 6 AM. I am not a 6 AM kind of girl. I am a 9 AM kind of girl. So this was a momentous occasion. Very momentous, as it turns out, because instead of waking up at 8:15 I woke up at 9:17 because the three Benadryl (not me!) heard my alarm go off at 6 and shut it off and then made me collapse back into my warm bed where I tried to will myself to set another alarm but let's face it, the Benadryl had taken over my body and it was the point of no return. So instead of reading Cry, the Beloved Country in chapel I spent fifteen minutes trying to decide what to wear (very uncharacteristic) and marched off to class.

Let me tell you something about my Mondays. They are torturous. That has climbed the charts from the outright anguish that I experienced before I dropped my (second, all-freshman) bible class, and especially since (as you already know!) some precious girl switched my Monday work hours for her Friday hours. Now, I have one class at 10, a break (goodbye bible!), three classes from 12-3, and another class from 4:30-6. Not too shabby. Life is looking up lately.

Oh, I suppose this post should have been something introductory. Let's face it: if you've made it this far, you know what I'm like. I'm impulsive, quite silly, very amused with myself, and excessively garrulous. If you couldn't tell by that last word, I read ravenously, and when I so please my vocabulary can be quite extensive. Don't worry, I don't so please very often. I really started this post because I was craving waffles. That went away sometime in the process. That happens, too.

I don't want to give you the wrong impression, though. I can be quite intelligent, and I'll probably write blogs on morality, spirituality, and literature, because I love all those things. I'm an English major, so sometimes I just like to write. Basically, this blog is for whatever literary expression I need at the time, whether it be ranting, rambling, rhetorically inclined, or romancing. Enjoy the ride.