I have to say that I read this with pretty low hopes, having just finished My Sister's Keeper, and being pretty angry (well, maybe angry is too strong a word) with the ending. I have to say that I enjoyed this one much more, although I think most of that comes from me being a parent and appreciating some sort of the "eye-opening" that parents need sometimes to fully appreciate and shepherd the children in their care.

This book definitely affords that, as most it deals with parents caught within a very tragic situation. Although one could definitely argue that parts of the book were oversimplified and trite (seriously, is every jock that bad? And is every computer geek that maligned?), the parental relationships were very nicely explored, and those characters were fleshed out very well. This is what kept me reading the book, and what kept me enjoying it until the very last page. It certainly wasn't the suspense, as the "twist ending" was very foreseeable (although, I'm sure this is what the author intended, as I am not usually one of those people who figures everything out within the first 50 pages. In reading, as in talking and running, I am quite slow).

In the end, it was very readable, I read it very quickly, and was left with memorable characters and a somewhat satisfied feeling.

And I got a nice moment with my daughter. I read the book today and then took her out for my lunch. My daughter is 8, but an old 8. She has a very mature understanding of many things that I frequently wonder about the origins of. It certainly doesn't come from me, who of course gets her life and parenting lessons from the cheap new paperback shelf at Barnes and Noble. Anyway, we were waiting on our salads at the restaurant, and my daughter is telling me something about the Jonas Brothers. And I, having just spent the last 4 hours of my life reading this book, want to talk to her about deep issues. "Gabby," I ask (and I should note, she immediately picks up that I want to talk about "deep things" and gets the look on her face I see when I am getting ready to do something really embarassing like sing or dance or talk about the oldest Jonas Brother, who all her friends find to be disgusting), "no one bullies you do they?" Gabby takes a long sip of water, and says, "Why would they?" I tell her that kids are cruel, sometimes it happens, etc, etc. She stops me midsentence and reminds me, "Um, I'm on the student council mom, and we have strict rules about that kind of thing. It doesn't happen on my yard." I imagine her standing down some bully, possibly wearing a sheriff's badge and writing a citation, and almost laugh, but then I see the look on her face, and I stop. I want to freeze her, I want to keep her this age forever. I want her to stop me and tell me I have nothing to worry about, that the characters in the book are nothing like her and her friends. I want her to remember this moment; I want her to help me to remember it. But, it of course ends, and we are brought our salads, and my daughter spends the next 10 minutes trying to discern every ingredient in the vinaigrette. Nothing in my life is tied up all nice like in a Jodi Picoult novel, a moving little story topped with the perfect words, the perfect ending note before heading into the next point of view. I am quite happy with that, I suppose.