sky143's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
2.5
danielledavids_'s review against another edition
5.0
At one point in my life, I had literally read every Jodi Picoult book there was... like at least a dozen. for some reason, I stopped keeping up with her new books. this is the first of hers I have read in a long time and it reminds me how much I adore her writing, her dynamic characters and the time and research she clearly puts in to creating amazing stories.
this book was amazing and I kind of loved the ending because you leave it feeling complete and satisfied. it left me with so many things to reflect on. definitely recommend this read!
this book was amazing and I kind of loved the ending because you leave it feeling complete and satisfied. it left me with so many things to reflect on. definitely recommend this read!
julieanncordero's review against another edition
5.0
What a timely book! Jodi Picoult’s books are always so good and this one was no exception. I really began to care for the characters and then was surprised by the twists and turns. Such a good book!
debi_g's review against another edition
4.0
I'm so wary of "white savior" stories, and of stories told by outsiders, that I would have avoided this book entirely. Then I read Picoult's rationale and decided to try considering it worthwhile. After all, her audience is vast, her motives and message are informed, humble, and essential. And this book tries to break the mold.
I realize she researched exhaustively, and I respect her endeavor. With this book, she is accomplishing what she set out to do. More white people are getting #woke. But still. No book by a white person--no matter how well intentioned, will have the impact of a book by a person of color. Right?
My extended family includes warmer skin tones, ethnicities, and religious identities despised by white supremacists. My enduring friendships span various races and minority (in the US) religions, too, so I am aware of the difference in how people treat and look at me depending on whose companionship I'm enjoying or which child is in my company. None of this qualifies me to speak on their behalf. And yet. Isn't that what fiction achieves?
Novelists put us through the exercises of other lives, decisions, trials, and triumphs. Men write female characters, adults write with the voices of children, and youthful authors imagine old age. Lonely hearts pen romances, bereaved storytellers spin tales of eternal life, and the rhythmless, tone deaf writer might create a fictional rock star.
The same goes for readers. Given the chance, we become who we read, if only temporally and temporarily. Often, though, we are forever changed by our time in the lives of those we find in books. I have been Scout and Calpurnia, Atticus, and Tom. Through non-fiction, I have been Anne Frank and Elie Wiesel, Zelda and Eleanor, Frederick and Harriet, Serena and Kaffir Boy. As a child, I lived as Cady Woodlawn and Laura Ingalls Wilder. I've walked in the shoes of princes and paupers, inventors and strikers, soldiers and scientists. Why limit this to those writers and readers whose lives most closely resemble the humans brought to life by the words that dance on their pages? So long as authentic voices are heard and appreciated, we can also tip our hats to those who recognize their privilege and write about less personally comfortable scenarios.
That's why I read this book. Picoult has proven herself capable of weaving multiple perspective stories. She's built her career upon it. Unlikable characters coexist with sympathetic characters in each books she's written. Reading a white supremacist's POV made me feel ill. I had to put the book away for a while. But that character serves to point out how absurd it is for any one person to speak for a collective. It had to have been harder to write that character than any other, although his skin matches the author's.
As usual, Picoult cuts to the quick with her observational pathos and permits us into the lives of multiple characters, many of whom I'd have like to learn more about.
How has this book changed me? Whereas I viewed the stars and bars with scorn and derision in the past, I realize now that I dismissed its intentions and implications because I hoped for better. (Is it more insidious to display their attitudes while so many deny their steadfast racism?) Similarly, while it is always unsettling to see a swastika, I clung to an absurd hope that young fools may have simply drawn it (often along with anarchy symbols) as a broader symbol of rebellion rather than actual hate. Moreover, I can remember both times I've heard white-skinned people use the n-word and how revolted and bewildered I felt each time. These naive reactions stemmed from my mistaken hope that America had grown into a place of celebrated diversity. After reading this book, I genuinely fear those who bear confederate flags. I fear for the safety, privacy, livelihoods, and opportunities of those not born into the vast invisible, systemic privilege afforded by pale skin. Yes, I kept informed and aware of injustices, but reading about the fictional Turk, a person so convicted by hate, a person who lives by violent delights, a person who rallies others to his "causes" has rattled me.
In spite of its many discomforts, however, this book also offers a sprinkling of hope. I'll leave that, along with the plot, for readers to discover on their own.
3.5 stars
I realize she researched exhaustively, and I respect her endeavor. With this book, she is accomplishing what she set out to do. More white people are getting #woke. But still. No book by a white person--no matter how well intentioned, will have the impact of a book by a person of color. Right?
My extended family includes warmer skin tones, ethnicities, and religious identities despised by white supremacists. My enduring friendships span various races and minority (in the US) religions, too, so I am aware of the difference in how people treat and look at me depending on whose companionship I'm enjoying or which child is in my company. None of this qualifies me to speak on their behalf. And yet. Isn't that what fiction achieves?
Novelists put us through the exercises of other lives, decisions, trials, and triumphs. Men write female characters, adults write with the voices of children, and youthful authors imagine old age. Lonely hearts pen romances, bereaved storytellers spin tales of eternal life, and the rhythmless, tone deaf writer might create a fictional rock star.
The same goes for readers. Given the chance, we become who we read, if only temporally and temporarily. Often, though, we are forever changed by our time in the lives of those we find in books. I have been Scout and Calpurnia, Atticus, and Tom. Through non-fiction, I have been Anne Frank and Elie Wiesel, Zelda and Eleanor, Frederick and Harriet, Serena and Kaffir Boy. As a child, I lived as Cady Woodlawn and Laura Ingalls Wilder. I've walked in the shoes of princes and paupers, inventors and strikers, soldiers and scientists. Why limit this to those writers and readers whose lives most closely resemble the humans brought to life by the words that dance on their pages? So long as authentic voices are heard and appreciated, we can also tip our hats to those who recognize their privilege and write about less personally comfortable scenarios.
That's why I read this book. Picoult has proven herself capable of weaving multiple perspective stories. She's built her career upon it. Unlikable characters coexist with sympathetic characters in each books she's written. Reading a white supremacist's POV made me feel ill. I had to put the book away for a while. But that character serves to point out how absurd it is for any one person to speak for a collective. It had to have been harder to write that character than any other, although his skin matches the author's.
As usual, Picoult cuts to the quick with her observational pathos and permits us into the lives of multiple characters, many of whom I'd have like to learn more about.
How has this book changed me? Whereas I viewed the stars and bars with scorn and derision in the past, I realize now that I dismissed its intentions and implications because I hoped for better. (Is it more insidious to display their attitudes while so many deny their steadfast racism?) Similarly, while it is always unsettling to see a swastika, I clung to an absurd hope that young fools may have simply drawn it (often along with anarchy symbols) as a broader symbol of rebellion rather than actual hate. Moreover, I can remember both times I've heard white-skinned people use the n-word and how revolted and bewildered I felt each time. These naive reactions stemmed from my mistaken hope that America had grown into a place of celebrated diversity. After reading this book, I genuinely fear those who bear confederate flags. I fear for the safety, privacy, livelihoods, and opportunities of those not born into the vast invisible, systemic privilege afforded by pale skin. Yes, I kept informed and aware of injustices, but reading about the fictional Turk, a person so convicted by hate, a person who lives by violent delights, a person who rallies others to his "causes" has rattled me.
In spite of its many discomforts, however, this book also offers a sprinkling of hope. I'll leave that, along with the plot, for readers to discover on their own.
3.5 stars
suvata's review against another edition
3.0
Stealing a phrase from Lemony Snicket, I prefer to call this book A Series of Preposterous Events. I get it. Jodi Picoult likes to touch a nerve with her writing. Sometimes she connects with me but most times she doesn't. In this case, she took on the topic of white privilege and racism. The story itself was pretty good but as it went on it just got more absurd by the minute. Perhaps in her zealousness to cover every stereotype possible, Picoult went a little too far this time. It detracted from the enjoyment of this book. Just my opinion.
zen_chick's review against another edition
1.0
Such an interesting topic, I really wish a better writer had taken this on. Her books are so formulaic and her characters...or caricatures...are so flat and uninteresting. I was over it when we met Kennedy's stereotype of a southern mother. I had to quit before the completely implausible trial started, because WAIT!...another Jodi Picoult book and another trial filled with things that would never happen in a courtroom? I just couldn't.
sallywindle's review against another edition
3.0
I had mixed feelings about this book...I’m not going to type it all up but my feelings got a little more positive as it went on (second half onwards). My key comment here is that I think it’s important to read the authors note at the end!!