The ninth book I read this year was the saddest thing I've ever experienced. The book was My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. I know this book has been out forever, and I've been meaning to read it, I have. My darling friend Tori loves Picoult with a passion, and I've been missing her terribly since I moved back to Oregon in September, so I read it in her honor.
Firstly, I'd like to say this is a remarkably well written book. I love it. If you aren't familiar with it, it is the story of a young girl who was genetically modified as an embryo so that she could be a donor for her older sister, who was diagnosed with leukemia as a toddler.
At the age of thirteen, she gets tired of all the surgeries, all the needles, all the donations that she was forced to make, so she hires a lawyer to sue her parents for medical emancipation.
Each chapter of the story has a different narrator, which I think adds a lot of depth. Her parents, lawyer, older brother, etc, all narrate chapters...and I feel like it keeps those characters from becoming shallow. It would be easy to villanize her parents, but it's hard to...especially her father who is so loveable.
The story is sweet and shows the inevitable strength of young women, but something about the ending made me so upset.
I don't ever want to read it again.