I wasn't sure about this book when I first received it (sent to me by my mother, owner and user of the ubiquitous blue Post-it notes). I can usually buzz through a book in a few hours/days (depending on the book), but in this case, 'The Memory Keeper's Daughter' wasn't easily digest-able chick lit or fun summer reading. This is the same problem I'm having with 'The Prodigal Summer' - it's a thick book, not in terms of size or weight, but in depth and complexity. It's almost a sin to fly through a book like this, since you'd miss a lot of the poetry of the language.

So I tried to chew slowly. It became my nighttime reading book, not my afternoon book. This is not a lie-by-the-pool kind of book, but more like a curl-under-the-covers-at-the-end-of-the-day.  The author has such a gentle, Southern tone that I found myself almost lulled to sleep (but in a good way).

In the first chapter, you meet Dr. David Henry, a physician with a very pregnant wife living in Kentucky in 1964. During a freak snow storm in March, Norah goes into labor (I can finally say I did not relate this scary pregnancy complication to myself, unless there will be snow in Vegas in August, and if that happens, we all have bigger problems to worry about than my delivery). Unable to get her to the hospital, she delivers in Dr. Henry's office with only one nurse present. She first delivers a healthy baby boy, but then feels the need to continue pushing...and ultimately delivers a little girl next. While no one expected twins, Dr. Henry was especially surprised to note the features of the little girl: they were congruent with that of Downs' Syndrome. With his wife aware that a baby girl was born, but currently heavily sedated due to the anesthesia, he passes the little girl to the nurse and tells her to 'take care of it.' When his wife awakens, Dr. Henry tells Norah that the little girl was stillborn.

Caroline, the nurse, attempts to take the little girl to the address Dr. Henry gave her, a local institution for children. She is, however, unable to leave the little girl. She then embarks on the most unexpected trips of her life with a newborn in tow.

The story weaves the narratives of Dr. Henry, Norah, and Caroline through the years, highlighting the ramifications of that split-second decision made on a snowy night in March. Norah, consumed with grief over the alleged passing of her daughter, sets off on a destructive course of actions that continue to pull her and her husband apart. Caroline finds herself an unlikely advocate for a cause she had never considered, and Dr. Henry tries to forgive himself while convincing himself he made the best decision possible.

The author could have easily turned the plot into a 'when will Norah find out?' catch-all, but resisted. Instead, the focus is more about how decisions (and ultimately, secrets) can make or break relationships. What we carry with us is never too far from the surface, despite our best attempts to bury it deep.

As mentioned earlier, the author's tone carries a soft, rocking quality to it, almost as though you were listening to a person with the most pleasant Southern accent. Descriptions of the most minute details, such as rocks and flowers, help to paint a cozy, though delicate narrative. I wanted to absorb the words without brushing past them. A true delight.

interestingly, while the novel's main themes focus on grief and forgiveness, there is also an undercurrent that demonstrates the importance of sibling relationships. You learn Dr. Henry's sister died when he was younger, tearing his family apart. Paul (the son) is left wondering what his sister might have been like, had she survived childbirth. And most interesting, Norah relies heavily on her sister throughout the story, despite their different personalities and interests.

This made me think about my own sister. While we definitely had our ups and downs growing up, she and I have grown remarkably close over the last few years. We were able to put our differences aside in adulthood and actually talk like human beings, as opposed to constant competitors. I'm not sure how many of you know this, but we are actually both expecting right now, and are due on the same day. Literally. (My poor parents...we told them on the same day. I don't think I'll ever forget January 14th, 2009. Quite a shock for everyone involved. They went from zero grandchildren to two grandchildren in the span of about 20 minutes.) We are both having boys, too, and no, I don't know what's going to happen when we both deliver. (that seems to be the most popular question). I'm sure we'll figure it out when the day comes.

Not surprisingly, going through pregnancy together has made us that much closer. I find she is frequently the person I call first, whether I have good or bad news to share. There's a comfort in knowing that she will pick up the phone (and me, to her) because she is the only person who occupies that 'sister' place in my life.

I felt badly for Paul that he missed this special connection with his sister. I felt badly for Dr. Henry, who never got over the loss of his own sister.  And sadly, Norah is never able to reflect past her all-consuming grief to appreciate what she does have.

'The Memory Keeper's Daughter' is definitely worth the time it takes to read it. Put it on your autumn book list. :-)

Grade: A

My first foray into the world of Jodi Picoult. I had heard a great deal about her books, but had not had the opportunity to read any until now. Sent by my loving mother (who also thought to include a little blue post-it note that read, "Enjoy! Love, Mom," remensicient of so many elementary school lunches), this novel will be released as a major motion picture later this summer.  Since my husband has already guaranteed me he will not (read: never) watch this movie, I figured it was best to read the novel if I ever wanted to learn what happens. Books are always better than the movies, anyways.

FYI: my wheelchair was delivered earlier this week, making the occasional outing possible. We've only used it to go to hospital baby classes, but I'm hoping to bust it out in real-world Vegas shortly. Look out, Town Center!

In "My Sister's Keeper," you meet the Fitzgerald family; Brian (Dad) is a level-headed firefighter, Sara (Mom) is an attorney-turned-stay-at-home-mom with the spirit of a protective moutain lion, Jesse, the oldest and only boy with a thick streak of delinquency, Kate, the middle child striken with a rare and difficult to treat cancer, and finally, Anna, the youngest daughter in the family. Anna was conceived and genetically engineered to be a perfect match for Kate after her sister's diagnosis at the age of two. What seemed like a good idea 13 years ago has now worn thin on little Anna; she is tired of being 'spare parts' for her sister, and seeks medical emancipation from her parents. She hires an attorney (the dark-haired, morally-ambiguous Campbell Alexander) and to the shock of everyone around her, begins the court process.

Picoult seamlessly weaves between narrators; just as you get comfortable with Anna's first person point-of-view, the book (and font) will switch to another party. All characters are well represented, save the mysterious (and ailing) Kate.  The moral, ethical, and legal questions are endlessly fascinating; it is nearly impossible to read this book without thinking, "What would I do?" And by the book ends, the only thing I could focus on is, "What is Anna going to do?"

And the ending does not disappoint.

My only regret while reading this book is that I just tossed out all of our information on cord-blood banking. The horror and unbelievable stress of having a child with cancer was not glossed over by Picoult; she took a measured (and appropriate) systems approach to acknowledge how each member of the family was affected by Kate's diagnosis, highlighting the roles people play in the face of crisis.

I'm a little nervous to discuss this book with my own mother, for fear she might break into her 'You love your children more than your own life, Kimmy' speech. (I don't disagree with this statement, I've just been hearing it since the age of eleven, and now she gets a little weepy as she says it, completely throwing me off-kilter because then I get weepy and well, that's just not a good thing.) I may not technically be a mother yet, but just the thought of anything happening to our little 29-week old fetus (who already has a name, a personality, and litany of hopes and dreams) is enough to make me sick to my stomach with anguish.

Eleven weeks of bed rest doesn't seem so bad anymore.

Grade: solid A