A couple of years ago I had been encouraged by several people to read My Sister’s Keeper by (get ready for the hulk-like font!)
“It’s amazing!” one person actually said to me. “You’ll love it.” After reading it I suppose I could see why a certain type of reader would find it so riveting, but I found it annoying to the point of needing to pummel a punching bag. The ending apparently left these readers in tears, but I muttered, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” until I finished the very last sentence, dry eyed all the way. I don’t need a happy ending to enjoy a novel. Just don’t fuck over your characters (and me..hello?) to create a little dramatic tone. And don’t write about hot-button topics and never truly take any sort of stand, hiding behind an army of narrators that do nothing but ruminate ‘til the cows come home. It was as if all of the characters spoke in riddles, and they sure as hell took their dear sweet time getting to the topic at hand. There was always some roundabout anecdote that in some way correlated to what was happening, but by the time I got to the middle of the book I was just DONE with the whole song and dance.
I’d say 80% of this book was filler. Skipping ahead is advised.
After reading Vanishing Acts, Change of Heart and The Pact (although I merely skimmed the latter two) I realized that Picoult does the same annoying shit every time. I know, I know… why did I read so many of her books when the first one bugged SO HARD? … I guess I kept expecting to be amazed or impressed.