Jodi Picoult has a talent for getting inside her characters' heads and showing how they really feel without all the exterior ornamentation. While I liked the fast pace, it was a bit much to be constantly shifting between characters only because Picoult didn't seem able to elaborate on some crafty thought, that instead she'd just leave you with a clever turn of phrase that made you wonder what she would have written if she'd continued her train of thought. Picoult is a brilliant woman, nobody doubts that. Pity that she chose a style for mass market publishing as opposed to pure writing. She's like a female version of Stephen King, in that she puts the character's thoughts directly into the prose, rendering the reading a chaotic, intense experience. And like King, with a little refinement and less choppiness, she could truly be one of the all-time greats. This is a great book, but not for the reasons a writer truly wishes. It's great for the character studies; all those desperate moments captured so well by the frantic scribblings, so that it makes us feel like we’ve entered someone's head the same way King, or even Shakespeare, could transport us into such troubled, distinct souls.
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