Handle with Care

I find it an interesting juxtaposition that my review of Jodi Picoult's Handle with Care comes right after my commentary on the Battlestar Galactica finale, for reasons I think will become obvious. Please note that there will be detailed spoilers after the cut, not only for Handle with Care, but also for Picoult's earlier novel, My Sister's Keeper, and for Battlestar Galactica.

Judging by the numbers on LibraryThing, I'm not the only one who thinks that My Sister's Keeper has been Jodi Picoult's most significant work to date. As of this writing, there are 7,357 copies of the book cataloged on Library Thing, with an average rating of 4.12 out of 5 stars. The next closest book is Nineteen Minutes with 3,531 copies and a 4.04 rating, which is quite a difference. Of course, Handle with Care has only been out a matter of weeks, so it can't fairly be compared on the numbers with My Sister's Keeper. But I can and will compare it in another way; the success or failure of its ending, and the trust that readers place in authors, or television show creators.

I hope you'll forgive me in advance, because this review is going to meander all over the place. I'll start with Battlestar Galactica, which just recently ended a four-year run with a the explanation that God was behind all the mysterious happenings and prophecies and unexplained phenomena. Viewers have been vigorously debating the ending ever since, because science fiction fans generally do not like divine explanations for their plots. Many have referenced the term deus ex machina, one meaning of which is a plot device that does not follow from before, but is rather whipped out by the author at the last minute in an effort to sew things up.

While I certainly prefer scientific explanations myself, and am in fact an atheist, I didn't feel "cheated" by Battlestar Galactica's ending, as so many fans did. I felt that the show's creators had made it pretty obvious all along that a divine explanation was a definite possibility, because the characters constantly expressed their thoughts and speculations as to whether or not God (or the gods) was interfering. To me, it was not a deus ex machina because it didn't come out of nowhere. I also didn't feel personally betrayed by the show's creators. It may not have been the story as I would have chosen to tell it, but I didn't feel as though I had been manipulated under false pretenses.

So how does this relate to Jodi Picoult? Well, even though My Sister's Keeper seems to be her most popular book, many readers felt cheated by the ending. Not in a deus ex machina way, exactly, but because they felt the ending was contrived, unrealistic, and emotionally manipulative.

My Sister's Keeper centers around Anna, a 12 or 13 year old (if I recall correctly) girl who knows she was conceived to provide stem cell donor material for her older sister Kate, who has leukemia. It didn't end there, however; Kate subsequently needed bone marrow from Anna, and now needs a kidney. But Anna engages a lawyer to sue for medical emancipation from her parents, so that she can make her own medical decisions. This type of premise is exactly where Jodi Picoult's strength lies: she chooses hot-button topics (other books have covered parental kidnapping, school shootings, and date rape), and she really makes the reader consider all possible sides of the story. She also creates beautifully layered characters, in this case by giving us first-person chapters by everyone except Kate. I was completely enthralled with this book.

And then came the ending. A nice twist that worked well was that Kate was the one who urged Anna to instigate the lawsuit in the first place. It was a little contrived that readers didn't learn this until the end of the trial, because Anna had been relating large parts of the story, and obviously she knew but conveniently didn't tell us. But that's not what readers objected to. Most readers probably expected, and would have been happy with the ending, if Anna won the lawsuit and then chose to donate a kidney to Kate. Instead, Anna wins the lawsuit and then is killed in a car crash on the way home from the trial. She arrives brain-dead at the hospital where Kate lays dying, and her lawyer, who now has the right to make medical decisions concerning Anna, gives permission for the doctors to give Anna's kidney to Kate.

This is extremely contrived. What are the odds that a young girl, who minutes before won the right to choose whether or not to be a living donor, would get killed in a car accident just then? And that she would be brain dead but with her organs perfectly intact? It's not only contrived, it's emotionally manipulative because the reader has already been through the wringer with this family. In a way, it's like the author saying "Ha! I still surprised you! You thought you were safe!"

But to be honest, I didn't really mind too much. While I absolutely recognized the contrivance, I loved the poignancy of Kate's epilogue several years later, which is the first time we hear her voice in the story. It let us see that Kate has survived into adulthood against the odds, and that she feels Anna's absence like a missing limb, even years later. In other words, I was willing to forgive Jodi Picoult for being so manipulative because I found a poetic symmetry and tragic beauty in what happened, and also because I knew Anna was selfless enough to want to give Kate her kidney. She just didn't want to be forced to do it against Kate's wishes.

And now we come to Handle with Care.

Part of the problem is that Picoult has found a formula that works for her, and she is duplicating it to the point that long-time Picoult readers can predict most of her books' endings with a great degree of accuracy. In Handle with Care, Charlotte sues her obstetrician -- who is also her best friend -- in a wrongful birth lawsuit, because her younger daughter, Willow, has osteogenesis imperfecta, which means a lifetime of disability, pain, and broken bones, with all the resulting medical bills. Charlotte is desperate for money to provide Willow with the ability to survive into adulthood with some quality of life, and if that means lying and saying she would have aborted the fetus if her obstetrician had recognized the condition, she'll do it.

There are many parallels to My Sister's Keeper. Two sisters, one healthy and one ill. The lengths to which a parent will go to protect a child. The effect of a child's serious illness on the other siblings. The strain on the marriage. Lots of unlikely coincidences that show up in the placement and dealings of minor characters. Chapters alternating by character viewpoint -- although in Handle with Care Picoult uses the odd convention of having each character addressing his/her words directly to Willow, to the point of saying when "you" did this and when "you" did that.

And the ultimate parallel: the contrived, manipulative ending. Things look like they'll be okay: Charlotte wins the lawsuit, even though her husband Sean testifies for the other side, because he can't bear to have it publicly stated that they'd be better off if Willow had never been born. They are awarded $8 million, Charlotte and Sean reconcile, Willow's older sister Amelia finally starts dealing with her bulimia and cutting, and the family now has a financial cushion for future medical needs, even though they haven't cashed the check yet. So what happens? Willow, who has always envied Amelia's ability to ice skate, crawls out on the frozen pond near their house, falls through, and drowns. You have got to be kidding me.

As with Kate in My Sister's Keeper, this is the first time we hear Willow's own voice, but it doesn't quite make sense in this case because she's alone when she dies, so who is recording these thoughts for us? I can overlook that, but I'm not sure I can forgive Picoult for choosing this ending in the first place. It's beautifully written, with Willow's metaphoric thoughts (ice breaking, instead of her bones this time) and lack of regret. But for me, there is no symmetry or necessity. All it does is heap further suffering on a family that has already been through so much, and on the reader who is experiencing it all vicariously.

And I don't find it at all realistic. Willow is six but reads voraciously, on a sixth-grade level. Did she really not know that the ice in ponds can break? I imagine we're supposed to believe that Willow was so limited in her activity that it never occurred to anyone to tell her the ice itself was treacherous, as opposed to her falling on ice and breaking her bones. What, did she never hear the parents tell Amelia not to skate on the pond unless they'd checked the ice first? I think we're also supposed to be touched that Charlotte tucks the $8 million check into the lining of Willow's casket without cashing it, because in her mind, that money was for Willow. Yes, poetic, Charlotte, but how about giving that money to the Osteogenesis Imperfecta Foundation? And again, how about some realism? Would the insurance company not wonder why the check wasn't cashed? They can reissue the check, so Charlotte's action isn't "final" anyway. Besides, an $8 million award doesn't mean an $8 million check -- the prosecuting law firm takes its cut out before the client sees anything. Yes, I'm nitpicking now, but that's how much Picoult annoyed me this time around. I mean, it's not as though we were expecting Willow to be cured by an act of God, or a televangelist! Can this writer give us anything?

OK, deep breath while I get a hold of myself. There is much more, good and bad, that can be said about Handle with Care, and it doesn't always have to be in comparison to My Sister's Keeper. For instance, I liked Willow as a character. I learned a lot about osteogenesis imperfecta. I saw many sides of the "wrongful birth" issue -- not the least of which is that others with the same disease felt as if they were being told they all should have been aborted. I was truly touched when Charlotte took Willow to an osteogenesis imperfecta convention and they interacted with others affected by this disease for the first time. I sympathized with Charlotte, and with Piper the obstetrician. I enjoyed the metaphorical use of recipes throughout the book -- before Willow, Charlotte was a pastry chef, and she equates many baking terms with what is happening in her life.

There were things I didn't like. As per the Picoult formula, Amelia goes on the stand in a "surprise" move for the "big reveal", which anticlimactically turns out to be that she overheard her mother say that she wouldn't have aborted Willow no matter what. I absolutely could have done without Amelia's bulimia and cutting, because there actually are some children and young adults who deal gracefully with ongoing, difficult situations. I didn't like the Piper's quirky new obsession with house renovation -- metaphors are great, but let's not beat them to death (no pun intended).

In the end, Picoult has the right to write the books she wants, and I as the reader have to decide if I will keep reading her books. I suspect I will, but for once I don't mind waiting a year or two before her next book comes out. And I'll continue to read them at the library first, and only buy the ones that engage me more than they annoy me (to date, I have only kept My Sister's Keeper and Vanishing Acts). After all, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice.... And I do feel a bit fooled by Handle with Care, even though I didn't particularly feel that way for My Sister's Keeper. I'm not sure that's rational on my part, but there it is.

I feel better now.

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Why BSG's Finale (Mostly) Worked for Me

[Please be aware that there are massive spoilers behind the cut!]

In an effort to avoid posting spoilers, I didn't even title this post as I wanted to, which was:

"Why This Atheist is OK with Battlestar Galactica's Divine Explanation".

First, I have two caveats. The first is that I have a personal connection to this show, so I know I'm not completely objective. However, it had already been my favorite show before that connection was made, so I don't think this is just my bias talking. Secondly, all of this is just my opinion, and therefore doesn't mean squat. And I actually do agree with a lot of the criticism of the finale I've seen floating around.

Before I went to Clarion West in 2000, I read only science fiction. Hard or soft, technical or social, but it had to be science fiction. I had no patience at all for fantasy, because I had no interest in magic or supernatural explanations. I craved something that just maybe could really happen someday.

Thankfully, and largely because of Clarion West in 2000, I've since broadened my reading horizons, and have particularly enjoyed Glenda Larke's Isles of Glory trilogy, The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss, the Harry Potter books, several Patricia McKillip titles, and so on. Trust me, I still prefer science fiction, and I still get annoyed when a tale I'm enjoying as science fiction goes all religion on me in the end, which I experienced a bit with David Brin’s Kiln People, for instance.

So now that I do like fantasy, I can enjoy different kinds of fantasy –- and to me, that's just what religion is. Divine intervention is no different than magic in my mind, and I just don't believe it does or can happen. (I mean no offense to anyone who does have religious faith.) To me, then, the entire new Battlestar Galactica series (nuBSG) is fantasy. Science fantasy, to be sure, but fantasy. I don’t believe that the events in nuBSG could happen, just as I don't believe that the events in Lord of the Rings could happen, just as I . . . you get the drift.

I have to admit that I would have preferred some things to be a little different in nuBSG's season 4.5 and the finale:

• I expected, and wanted, Starbuck to be Daniel’s daughter, so that her head music could be explained as a bit of programming that came down on her Cylon DNA side, and so that the Cylons had a bit better reason for being so personally interested in her.
  
  
• I wanted Baltar to willingly die to save Hera, to atone for his huge role in causing the holocaust in the first place.
  
  
• I didn’t think everyone should have or would have given up technology and gone traipsing off on an unknown planet by themselves or in groups of two or three. I also think it unlikely that Bill would have left Lee, especially because they've just lost women they loved. If family isn't important then, when the heck is it important?
  
  
• I thought the Tigh and Six relationship was ridiculous in the extreme.
  
  
• I didn’t think Chief was so in love with Cally that he would murder Tory. I’m not overly sorry Tory died, but perhaps someone might have understood a little bit that she was afraid of being discovered as a Cylon at that time. Oh, and I don't think Chief would have ever voted to leave the fleet. He seemed to love the Galactica as much as the old man did.
  
  
• I think that Boomer’s character arc was one of the big missed opportunities of the show. By the end, while I liked Athena and rooted for her, she had it comparatively easy in that she always knew she was a Cylon, she seduced Helo, got pregnant (and knew it) within a few days, and was accepted fairly easily by Adama and the fleet, all things considered. After all, she was sipping tea in the Admiral's Quarters and became a Colonial officer sometime during the year of New Caprica. If Boomer, on the other hand, could have truly overcome the shock of discovering she was a Cylon, and the shame and horror of shooting Adama; if she could have earned the same kind of trust Athena had earned, even after all that had happened, well, that really would have been something. Also, as someone else pointed out, the “dressing-down” flashback was unnecessary, and I think it was stupid. I’ve seen Adama lead the fleet honorably for four seasons, and now I seem him acting like an ass dressing down a pilot while he himself is drunk? Boomer’s “Tell the old man I owed him one” already meant plenty in conjunction with her having shot him.
  
  
• There were tons of unresolved bits. Kara's ovaries. Daniel. Where the heck was D'Anna in the finale? Why was Kara the harbinger of death? If Hera was a true single Mitochondrial Eve, that implies that every other fleet survivor's lines died out -- isn't that a bit much? And I'm sure there are a thousand more things I'll think of as soon as I post this.

BUT here’s what I’ve loved about this season and finale:

• Gaeta’s tragic character arc, and Zarek’s arc as well. They had to be executed, yet seeing it was gut-wrenching. I loved that I was never sure of Zarek's character until the end, when he has the Quorum murdered. Remember on New Caprica when he and Roslin were slated to be executed, and the death squad of Centurions marches over the hill? Zarek instinctively stepped in front of Roslin to protect her.
  
  
• I loved the nods to the fans in the finale: old BSG music while the fleet sails into the sun, Ron Moore’s cameo, and fan-favorite Romo ending up as President.
  
  
• I thought Lee and Kara’s flashbacks were great. She clearly met the wrong brother first, and this was going to haunt everyone for a long, long time. Laura and Bill's flashbacks were not as successful, but I certainly didn't find them boring. It's my understanding we may get more flashbacks on the beginning of Chief and Boomer's relationships in the extended DVD, which would be nice because what we saw back in the first season didn't suggest to me they'd been planning their dream house.
  
  
• I thought most characters got the right –- for this story –- resolution. Other than the going off alone or in pairs, I was happy with how Bill said goodbye to Laura, how Lee had to let Kara go, how Helo and Athena could finally just raise their daughter, and how Baltar did perform a selfless act, even if it wasn’t as dramatic as I wanted.

OK. All that said, I can see why many science fiction fans are infuriated at the divine intervention explanation. A friend said, and I agree, that we don’t like it when SF writers use divine intervention to “explain their way out of something they couldn't find a resolution for.”

But that’s not what happened here, in my opinion. They didn’t start a story about genetic engineering and cyborgs, and then say three seasons later “Crap! What’ll we do? I know, we’ll make it that it was God’s plan!” Rather, they planned to tell a God/gods story all along. I’m not sure I could fault a show for being about God when they were pretty upfront all along, saying, “hey, we're going to tell this story about God, and God's plan, and God's children, and their children, both real and artificially created, and....” Do people think the show was not upfront about that? Or is it possible that science fiction viewers deliberately overlooked the fact that the show was screaming "religion!", and went ahead and imposed their science fiction expectations on the show because it had spaceships and robots?

Even the original BSG show was based on the Mormons' 13 tribes -- which I didn't know when I was ten years old, of course. I just figured they picked the astrological signs because it was neat! For me, this is a bit similar to Buffy -- in many ways I disliked the whole heaven/hell schtick. And the fact that the Christian symbol of the cross really did ward off vampires kind of "validated", in the context of the show, that Christianity in general and the Catholic Church in particular were "right", which I don't believe. But it fit within the context of the show, and I could either accept that or not watch.

In nuBSG, that ending –- including Kara being an angel – fit within the context of the story they had been telling for four years. They chose a direction from the beginning –- not the direction I would have chosen -- and once they chose it they stuck with it.

I also note that they also happened to choose one of the most clichéd plots in all of genre fiction -- I have criticized new aspiring writers for this very same, lame Adam and Eve plot. But that's why the execution is the thing. And the overall execution of the story that they wanted to tell was, for me, gorgeous. It wasn't perfect. But three of my other in-genre favorites -- Next Gen, DS9, and Babylon 5 -- have episodes that I'm not sure you could pay me to sit through again. Firefly and nuBSG are the only shows for which I can't think of a single episode I would refuse to watch. Pound for pound, the new Battlestar Galactica is the best television show of any genre that I've ever seen.


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Venomous

[Due to a slight mix-up, this review did not appear in VOYA as it was supposed to, and therefore the editor has given me the go-ahead to post it here. We're limited to 250 words for VOYA reviews, and our reviews are written for the audience of librarians who work with young adults, so this will sound quite different than the reviews I usually post here. However, I wanted to go ahead because this book deserves all the positive attention it can get.]

In Venomous, Christopher Krovatin’s second novel, Locke Vinetti’s temper is so volatile that he calls it “the venom.” His mother, younger brother, and friend Randall are the only stabilizing influences in his life until Randall introduces Locke to the troubled but emotionally mature Renée. Equally important, Locke meets Casey, a gay teen whose own explosive anger allows him to truly understand Locke’s constant struggle.

Simply put, this book is a winner. Krovatin has infused a traditional full-length novel with graphic novel sensibilities, both in Locke’s tendency to identify with comic book heroes (and villains) and in the presentation itself, with occasional comic-style illustrations by Kelly Yates. As such, this book will appeal to both genders, and is a particularly good choice for reluctant male readers. Best of all, Venomous teases the reader into questioning, almost until the end, whether “the venom” is an actual supernatural phenomenon or a highly developed coping mechanism.

It should be noted that although Krovatin’s treatment of alcohol and drug use is somewhat casual, his exploration of sex and violence is anything but, tackling the associated emotions with honesty and depth. In addition, while Locke’s estranged father feels generic, Locke’s relationships with his mother and brother are beautifully drawn. The climax is slightly overdramatic, and forgiveness occurs more quickly than seems realistic, but these are minor quibbles. Librarians should be aware of the book’s graphic language and violence, but by all means should get this book into young adult hands.

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Larry and the Meaning of Life

Janet Tashjian's Larry and the Meaning of Life (2008) is her third book about Josh Swenson, a.k.a. "Larry". In the first book, The Gospel According to Larry (2001), super-bright teen Josh is startled when his vehement anti-consumerism blog gains a large cult following and more momentum than he ever could have imagined. In Vote for Larry (2004), Josh realizes that he can perhaps channel his followers' energy and enthusiasm into turning out young voters for the 2004 presidential election. Naturally, the original plan gets away from him, and before he knows it, he's a serious contender for the office of President of the United States, running as an independent against the unnamed Democratic and Republican candidates. (The author deals with the minimum age requirement in a way that isn't really believable, but I can't quibble because I certainly can't think of a better way to handle it.)

Both of these books were refreshing in their message and in Josh's unique voice, and Vote for Larry was particularly gorgeous in its timeliness and in Larry's (and presumably Tashjian's) sharp criticism of both political parties' inertia and shenanigans. I mean, I wanted this eighteen-year-old kid to be President! I was therefore very much looking forward to this new book, simply to see what new antics our friend may have gotten up to. Before I go on, though, let me note this: because there is simply no way to discuss Larry and the Meaning of Life in any significant way without revealing important elements, please be aware that the rest of this post (behind the cut) contains major spoilers.

First of all, and perhaps not surprisingly, there's an inherent problem which I should have anticipated: how do you top your teenage narrator actually running for President and making a huge impact doing so? In my mind, the author got it right in one sense: you don't try to top it. You don't try to have the kid take over the U.N. or lead a utopian colony to the moon, you simply go in a different direction. Unfortunately, the direction Tashjian chose simply didn't work for me.

The book starts off as Josh concludes a fruitless eight-month search for Janine, the girlfriend who left him when he wrongly accused her of sabotaging his political campaign. Janine is not to be found, however, so Josh returns to mope around his stepfather Peter's house, waiting until it's time to leave for Princeton University in January.

During one of his usual forays seeking the solitude of Walden Pond, Josh encounters a mysterious self-proclaimed guru who offers to let Josh join, for a hefty fee, his self-enlightenment group, which, by the way, happens to include Janine. Josh is suspicious but desperate, both to win Janine back and to find some new direction in his life.

And then things just get weird. Is Gus a scam artist or isn't he? Is he just looking to make money from naive hippie wannabees, or is there a more sinister purpose afoot? Betagold, Josh's arch nemesis from the first two books, shows up looking for a kidney donation, and Josh gives her a kidney in order to protect Janine because Gus has been putting some slimy moves on her (as though that makes sense). A horrific string of events leads to Janine's beloved dog being euthanized by an overzealous park ranger after he arrests Josh, whose Princeton scholarship is then rescinded. But that's nothing: Josh uncovers a possible terrorist/landmine plot, but the FBI thinks he's crying wolf, and Peter has decided he's had enough and wants Josh out of his life.

Enough, already! I could not for the life of me figure out what was going on in this book. That can sometimes be OK, but it turned out that everything, including the dead dog and the kidney donation, was part of a big hoax perpetrated by Beth (love interest from book one), Peter, and Janine, all to snap Josh out of his funk. To make the plan work, they use a cast of a few dozen, including several drama students from Beth's nearby Brown University. They give Josh Valium (um, highly unethical and illegal!) to make him think he's donated a kidney. And even though that might work, I don't believe they could fake his arrest and a night in jail!

In any case, whether or not they could pull it off: it's not OK. It's the Michael Douglas/Sean Penn movie The Game, and I felt unfairly manipulated and let down. In my mind, no amount of "Josh funk" (which consisted primarily of aimlessly watching TV) could possibly justify the hell that Josh's closest friends and family put him through (not to mention the actual crime of giving Josh a controlled drug, Valium, in order to make him think he'd donated a kidney). An attempt at justification is made in the form of a letter from Josh's mother to Peter shortly before her death; the letter states that Josh is extra bright and easily bored, will struggle after her death, and they'll need to (in so many words) snap him out of it. The story ends with Josh bowled over but not mad because, wow, he's been mentally stimulated and now has new and interesting things to think about. (Actually, I suppose that the fact that Josh faked his own death at the end of the first book, because he was completely overwhelmed by his own notoriety, means that Beth and Peter do actually have the right to some payback, but jeez!)

To make matters worse, Josh still does not know if he has a future with either Beth or Janine, which is just fine at his age, except that I no longer care about this outcome nearly as much as I did at the end of the second book. I was also troubled because almost no attention was given to the fact that Josh would still be a global household name less than a year after he almost became the President of the United States. He would not be able to go anywhere without being constantly recognized, and it seems likely journalists would still be keeping tabs on him, but it's as though the election never happened.

All of this said, within the context of my disappointment, I did continue to enjoy Tashjian's writing style, and as always I agree with much of what Josh has to say. I also note that authors of successful books are under tremendous pressure to make sequels different but not too different, and it can be a real catch-22. For myself, I really would have preferred if Josh had joined the Peace Corps or something, or had gone back to his anti-consumerism message in some slightly new way.

Ah well, you can't win 'em all. And lest I sound more harsh than I want to, I would definitely read another book in this series. Especially considering our current economy, our fictional Josh would certainly have something meaningful to say about the roller coaster that the next few years are sure to bring.



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