by Jodi Picoult
A: Let me tell you a story: My Sister’s Keeper is the first book one of my own kids has read. Kyle, who’s twelve, picked it up and immediately got engrossed in it. The day he finished the book, I found him weeping on the couch. He pushed me away and went up to his room and told me that he really didn’t want to see me or talk to me for a while—he was that upset. Eventually, when we did sit down to discuss it, he kept asking, “Why? Why did it have to end like that?” The answer I gave him (and you) is this: because this isn’t an easy book, and you know from the first page that there are no easy answers. Medically, this ending was a realistic scenario for the family—and thematically, it was the only way to hammer home to all the characters what’s truly important in life. Do I wish it could have had a happy ending? You bet—I even gave a twenty-third-hour call to a oncology nurse to ask if there was some other way to end the book. But finally, I came to see that if I wanted to be true to the story, this was the right conclusion.
Q: All of your books to date have garnered wonderful press. In what ways, if any, does this change your writing experience?
A: Um, are you reading the same reviews that I am?!? I’m kidding—well, a little. I’ve had overwhelmingly good reviews, but I think the bad reviews always stick with you longer, because they sting so much (no matter how many times I tell myself I’m going to ignore them, I read them anyway). I am fortunate to write commercially marketed books that still manage to get review coverage—too often in this industry books are divided by what’s reviewed and literary, or what’s advertised and commercial. It’s incredibly fun to have a starred review in a magazine—photographers come out and take fancy pictures of you, and people are forever seeing your face and a description of your novel when they hang out in doctors’ and dentists’ waiting rooms. But the best thing about good press is that it makes people who might not otherwise have a clue who you are want to go and pick up your book. I never write a book thinking of reviewers (in fact, if I did, I’d probably just hide under my desk and never type another letter!), but I certainly think about whether it will hold the interest of a reader as well as it’s holding my own.
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
1) One of this novel’s strengths is the way it skillfully demonstrates the subjectivity people bring to their interactions with others. The motivations of individual characters, the emotions that pull them one way or another, and the personal feelings that they inject into professional situations become achingly clear as we explore many viewpoints. For example, despite Julia and Campbell’s attempts to remain calm, unemotional, and businesslike when they deal with each other, the past keeps seeping in, clouding their interaction. The same goes for the interaction between Sara and Anna during the trial. Is there such a thing as an objective decision in the world of this story? Is anyone capable of being totally rational, or do emotions always come into play?
2) What do you think of this story’s representation of the justice system? What was your opinion of the final outcome of the trial?
3) What is your opinion of Sara? With her life focused on saving Kate, she sometimes neglects her other children. Jesse is rapidly becoming a juvenile delinquent, and Anna is invisible—a fact that the little girl knows only too well. What does this say about Sara’s role as a mother? What would you have done, in her shoes? Has she unwittingly forgotten Jesse and Anna, or do you think she has consciously chosen to neglect them—either as an attempt to save a little energy for herself, or as some kind of punishment? Does Sara resent her other children for being healthy? Did you find yourself criticizing Sara, empathizing with her, or both?
4) During a conversation about Kate, Zanne tells Sara, “No one has to be a martyr 24/7.” When she mistakenly hears the word “mother” not “martyr” and is corrected by Zanne, Sara smiles and asks, “Is there a difference?” In what ways does this moment provide insight into Sara’s state of mind? Do you think it strange that she sees no difference between motherhood and martyrhood?
5) Campbell is certainly a fascinating character: guarded, intelligent, caring and yet selfish at the same time. Due to these seemingly contradictory traits, it can be difficult to figure him out. As he himself admits, “motivations are not what they seem to be.” At one point he states, “Out of necessity—medical and emotional—I have gotten rather skilled at being an escape artist.” Why do you think Campbell feels that he needs to hide his illness? Is it significant that Anna is the first to break down his barriers and hear the truth? Why, for example, does he flippantly dismiss all questions regarding Judge with sarcastic remarks?
6) At one point, Campbell thinks to himself: “There are two reasons not to tell the truth—because lying will get you what you want, and because lying will keep someone from getting hurt.” With this kind of thinking, Campbell gives himself an amazingly wide berth; he effectively frees himself from speaking any semblance of the truth as long as the lie will somehow benefit himself or anyone else. Did it concern you that a lawyer would express an opinion like this? Do you think, by the end of the story, that Campbell still thinks this moral flexibility is okay? In what ways might this kind of thinking actually wind up hurting Campbell?
7) It is interesting that Campbell suffers seizures that only his dog can foresee. How might this unique relationship mirror some of the relationships between humans in this novel? In what ways does Judge introduce important ideas about loyalty and instinct?
8) On page 149, Brian is talking to Julia about astronomy and says, “Dark matter has a gravitational effect on other objects. You can’t see it, you can’t feel it, but you can watch something being pulled in its direction.” How is this symbolic of Kate’s illness? What might be a possible reason for Brian’s fascination with astronomy?
9) Near the end of the novel, Anna describes “Ifspeak”—the language that all children know, but abandon as they grow older—remarking that “Kids think with their brains cracked wide open; becoming an adult, I’ve decided, is only a slow sewing shut.” Do you believe this to be true? What might children teach the adults in this novel? Which adults need lessons most?
10) “It’s more like we’re astronauts, each wearing a separate helmet, each sustained by our own source of air.” This quote comes from Anna, as she and her parents sit in silence in the hospital cafeteria. Besides being a powerful image of the family members’ isolation, this observation shows Anna to be one of the wisest, most perceptive characters in this novel. Discuss the alienation affecting these characters. While it is obvious that Anna’s decision to sue her parents increases that sense of alienation throughout the novel (especially for Anna herself), do you think that she has permanently harmed the family dynamic?
11) During the trial, when Dr. Campbell takes the stand, he describes the rules by which the medical ethics committee, of which he is a part, rules their cases. Out of these six principles (autonomy, veracity, fidelity, beneficence, non-maleficence, and justice), which apply to Anna’s lawsuit? Moreover, which of these should be applied to Anna’s home situation? In other words, do you think a parent might have anything to learn from the guidelines that the doctors follow? Are there family ethics that ought to be put into place to ensure positive family dynamics? If so, what should they be?
12) Early in the legal proceedings, Anna makes a striking observation as she watches her mother slip back into her lawyer role, noting, “It is hard to believe that my mother used to do this for a living. She used to be someone else, once. I suppose we all were.” Discuss the concept of change as it is presented in this story. While most of the characters seem to undergo a metamorphosis of sorts—either emotionally or even physically (in the case of Kate), some seem more adept at it than others. Who do you think is ultimately the most capable of undergoing change, and why?
13) Discuss the symbolic role that Jesse’s pyromania plays in this novel, keeping in mind the following quote from Brian: “How does someone go from thinking that if he cannot rescue, he must destroy?” Why is it significant that Jesse has, in
many respects, become the polar opposite of his father? But despite this, why is Jesse often finding himself in the reluctant hero position (saving Rat, delivering the baby at boot camp)? Brian himself comes to realize, in the scene where he confronts Jesse, that he and his son aren’t so different. Talk about the traits that they share and the new understanding that they gain for each other by the end of the story.
14) My Sister’s Keeper explores the moral, practical, and emotional complications of putting one human being in pain or in danger for the well-being of another. Discuss the different kinds of ethical problems that Anna, as the “designer baby,” presents in this story. Did your view change as the story progressed? Why or why not? Has this novel changed any of your opinions about other conflicts in bioethics like stem cell research or genetically manipulated offspring?
Now, younger fans of Jodi Picoult have something new to love as she teams up with her daughter, Samantha, to write another spellbinding novel.
BETWEEN THE LINES
What happens when happily ever after . . . isn’t?
Delilah hates school as much as she loves books. In fact, there’s one book in particular she can’t get enough of. If anyone knew how many times she has read and reread the sweet little fairy tale she found in the library, especially the popular kids, she’d be sent to social Siberia . . . forever.
To Delilah, though, this fairy tale is more than just words on the page. Sure, there’s a handsome (well, okay, hot) prince, and a castle, and an evil villain, but it feels as if there’s something deeper going on. And one day, Delilah finds out there is. Turns out, this Prince Charming is real, and a certain fifteen-year-old loner has caught his eye. But they’re from two different worlds, and how could it ever possibly work?
Together with her daughter Samantha Van Leer, #1 New York Times bestselling author Jodi Picoult has written a classic fairy tale with a uniquely modern twist. Readers will be swept away by this story of a girl who crosses the border between reality and fantasy in a perilous search for her own happy ending.
Coming Summer 2012
A special collaboration from Jodi and her daughter Samantha
Between the Lines
Soon to be Available from Emily Bestler Books and Simon Pulse
Excerpt from Between the Lines copyright © 2012 by Jodi Picoult
OLIVER
JUST SO YOU KNOW, WHEN THEY SAY “ONCE UPON a time” . . . they’re lying.
It’s not once upon a time. It’s not even twice upon a time. It’s hundreds of times, over and over, every time someone opens up the pages of this dusty old book.
“Oliver,” my best friend says. “Checkmate.”
I follow Frump’s gaze and stare down at the chess-board, which isn’t really a chessboard at all. It’s just squares scratched onto the sand of Everafter Beach, and a bunch of accommodating pixies who don’t mind acting as pawns and bishops and queens. There isn’t a chess set in the story, so we have to make do with what we’ve got, and of course we have to clean up all evidence when we’re done, or else someone might assume that there is more to the story than what they know.
I can’t remember when I first realized that life, as I knew it, wasn’t real. That this role I performed over and over was just that—a role. And that in order for me to play it, there had to be another party involved—namely one of those large, round, flat faces that blurred the sky above us every time the story began. The relationships you see on the page aren’t always as they seem. When we’re not acting our parts, we’re all just free to go about our business. It’s quite complicated, really. I’m Prince Oliver, but I’m not Prince Oliver. When the book is closed, I can stop pretending that I’m interested in Seraphima or that I’m fighting a dragon, and instead I can hang out with Frump or taste the concoctions Queen Maureen likes to dream up in the kitchen or take a dip in the ocean with the pirates, who are actually quite nice fellows. In other words, we all have lives outside the lives that we play when a Reader opens the book. For everyone else here, that knowledge is enough. They’re happy repeating the story endlessly, and staying trapped onstage even when the Readers are gone. But me, I’ve always wondered. It stands to reason that if I have a life outside of this story, so do the Readers whose faces float above us. And they’re not trapped inside the book. So where exactly are they? And what do they do when the book is closed?
Once, a Reader—a very young one—knocked the book over and it fell open on a page that has no one but me written into it. For a full hour, I watched the Other-world go by. These giants stacked bricks made of wood, with letters written on their sides, creating monstrous buildings. They dug their hands into a deep table filled with same sort of sand we have on Everafter Beach. They stood in front of easels, like the one Rapscullio likes to use when he paints, but these artists used a unique style— dipping their hands into the paint and smearing it across the paper in swirls of color. Finally, one of the Others, who looked to be as old as Queen Maureen, leaned forward and frowned. Children! This is not how we treat books, she said, before shutting me out.
When I told the others what I had seen, they just shrugged. Queen Maureen suggested I see Orville about my strange dreams, and ask for a sleeping potion. Frump, who is my best friend both inside the story and out, believed me. “What difference does it make, Oliver?” he asked. “Why waste time and energy thinking about a place or a person you’ll never be?” Immediately I regretted bringing it up. Frump wasn’t always a dog—he was written into the story as Figgins, my best buddy from childhood, who was transformed by Rapscullio into a common hound. Because it’s only a flashback of text, the only time he’s ever read he’s seen as a dog—which is why he stays in that form even when we’re offstage.
Frump captures my queen. “Checkmate,” he says.
“Why do you always beat me?” I sigh.
“Why do you always let me?” Frump says, and he scratches behind his ear. “Stupid fleas.”
When we’re working, Frump doesn’t speak—he just barks. He follows me around like, well, a faithful pup. You’d never guess, when he’s acting, that in real life he’s always bossing the rest of us around.
“I think I saw a tear at the top of page forty-seven,” I say as casually as I can, although I’ve been thinking of nothing but getting back there to investigate since first spotting it. “Want to come check it out?”
“Honestly, Oliver. Not that again.” Frump rolls his eyes. “You’re like a one-trick pony.”
“Did you call me?” Socks trots closer. He’s my trusty steed, and again, a shining example of how what you see isn’t always what’s true. Although he snorts and stamps with the confidence of a stallion on the pages of our world, when the book is closed he’s a nervous mess with the self-confidence of a gnat.
I smile at him, because if I don’t, he’s going to think I’m angry at him. He’s that sensitive. “No, we didn’t . . .”
“I distinctly heard the word pony . . .”
“It was just an expression,” Frump says.
“Well, now that I’m here, tell me the truth,” Socks says, turning in a half circle. “This saddle totally makes my butt look fat, doesn’t it?”
“No,” I say immediately, as Frump vigorously shakes his head.
“You’re all muscle,” Frump says. “In fact I was going to ask if you’d been working out.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” Socks sniffles. “I knew I shouldn’t have had that last carrot at breakfast.”
“You look great, Socks,” I insist. “Honestly.” But he tosses his mane and sulks back toward the other side of the beach.
Frump rolls onto his back. “If I have to listen to that stupid horse whine one more time—”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” I interrupt. “What if you didn’t have to? What if you could be anywhere—anything—you wanted to be?”
I have this dream. It’s kind of silly, but I see myself walking down a street I’ve never seen before, in a village I
can’t identify. A girl hurries past me, her dark hair whipping behind her like a flag, and in her haste she crashes into me. When I reach out to help her up, I feel a spark ignite between us. Her eyes are the color of honey, and I cannot turn away from them. Finally, I say, and when I kiss her, she tastes of mint and winter and nothing like Seraphima—
“Yeah, right,” Frump says, interrupting me. “How many career opportunities are there for a basset hound?”
“You’re only a dog because you were written that way,” I say. “What if you could change that?”
He laughs. “Change it. Change the story. Yeah, that’s a good one, Ollie. While you’re at it, why don’t you turn the ocean into grape juice and make the mermaids fly?”
Maybe he’s right, maybe it is just me. Everyone else in this book seems to be perfectly happy with the fact that they are part of a story; that they are enslaved into doing and saying the same things over and over, like in a play that gets performed for eternity. They probably think that the people in the Otherworld have the same sorts of lives we do. I guess I find it hard to believe that readers get up at the same hour every morning and eat the same breakfast every day and go sit in the same chair for hours and have the same conversations with their parents and go to bed and wake up and do it all over again. I think more likely they lead the most incredible lives—and by incredible, I mean: with free will. I wonder all the time what that would be like: to feel the book opening yet not beg the queen to let me go on a quest. To avoid getting trapped by fairies and run ragged by a villain. To fall in love with a girl whose eyes are the color of honey. To see someone I don’t recognize, and whose name I don’t know. I’m not fussy, really. I wouldn’t mind being a butcher instead of a prince. Or swimming across the ocean to be hailed as a legendary athlete. Or picking a fight with someone who cuts in front of me. I wouldn’t mind doing anything other than the same old things I have done for as long as I can remember. I guess I just have to believe there’s more to the world than what’s inside these pages. Or maybe it’s just that I desperately want to believe that.
