This is one of those books I sometimes feel unequipped to read. I feel like, because I haven't suffered true loss, somehow I can't connect as deeply as I want to with books that deal with death and grief. And is it very terrible of me to say that I want to? Is it to relieve them, or to understand human nature? Does it come from fear of realizing that perhaps I am not as whole, or as ready for life, because I don't know how to handle sorrow?

This isn't really a book about cancer. It is no more than a means -- because in the end, death is death. It's about Dani, whose sister is dying. The story is Dani's journey in coming to terms with the fact that one day, the person she loves most in the world, may be gone.

Sarah Wylie's All These Lives is a taxing read. Not because of the sadness, or the tension. Or because of the hospital scenes and the blood and IVs. It's because Wylie's protagonist demands attention and patience. It was a difficult book to get into, and honestly, for a while there I thought this was going to turn into a chore-read. I had a hard time understanding Dani. What exactly was she feeling? Her actions and words pointed to too many places.

The thing is, we come into Dani's life after Jena's diagnosis. We have no reference between Dani-before and Dani-after. We only have Dani-now, who is irascible, smart-mouthed, and a bully. We can't as easily forgive her because we know from past experience that she is genuinely good; that she is only misunderstood. The Dani we have is unlikeable. She also believes she may have nine lives, and in order to save her sister, she tries to do away with as many of them as she can afford -- because she believes that somehow if she does it just right, one of her lives might find its way into Jena. It's an improbable premise, unless this book is heading towards the paranormal. But it isn't. It's pure realistic fiction. And you can't get any more real than death.

Dani isn't a bitch. Readers might disagree -- and rightly so, as Dani provides us ample reason to judge her as one. But she isn't. Instead, as most bitches turn out to be, she is the opposite. She is everything at once: weak and afraid to lose her twin, bitter with God, unbelieving of miracles, and pretty much retired to existing at all. She is not a bitch because as we see her putting up walls to ward off the world, she is doing exactly that with us, especially herself. She lies to herself so much, we're almost never sure which ones she believes and which ones she doesn't. That is probably the greatest evidence of her helplessness, and she knows it. I couldn't judge her so harshly and dismissively for all the senseless trouble she imposed on herself and her family because she was just a little girl trying to be tough when all she wanted was to crumble.

The nine lives is a sensitive topic. How could a girl actually believe she has nine lives? And that it's possible to transfer them into another person? There is no magic here, no miracle. The closest thing to the divine is a family's love and dedication to each other: a mother trying be everything her daughters need, and a father trying to cope with the realization that just because he's the father, he is not all-knowing. Jena's cure is beyond their ability, and so they cling and glue themselves together even when they are being yanked apart.

Dani's nine lives and her attempts at counting them down comes across as monumentally stupid and irresponsible. And they are, but they are also devastating. Because I don't think she actually does believe it. Instead, it shows once again how deep her suffering goes. She isn't really trying to give Jena her life, though she would if she could. Perhaps, a part of Dani has accepted defeat and makes her attempts on the off chance she might go, too. But she does it half-heartedly because she doesn't really want to die and how could she do that to her parents after everything they've been through?

The writing is sharp and full of sting. Wylie has a dark and deeply cutting sense of humor. Dani goes from contemplating suicide to tortuously flirting with the school geek. Wylie smothers us in dark, but occasionally lets us breathe because despite the gravity of this book, I couldn't help snickering. She really has some of the best lines. When I looked at my notebook, I saw that I'd jotted down many page numbers. Not many books compel me to do that.

This is another one you won't feel gratified for reading until you're nearing the end, and then you find that you've actually become quite attached. You'll like Dani, despite all her efforts to be hated. You see past her facade because it just isn't that good. Her mask slips from the very beginning and you spend the entire book watching her struggle in keeping it on. It's sad. This will tear you just a little bit; more if you know what she's going through. I didn't, but even I was pulled in and tasted its bitterness. Wylie is a very good, very effective writer. The book rides on all kinds of pain, and all degrees of grief, worry and dread but Wylie eventually takes you where you need to go, which in this case, is acceptance of the things that are simply out of our hands, and that this is exactly why we must make every moment count.

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My heart jumps out of its cage to see what the fuss is about. Damn thing. Always so hopeful, but my voice hides it well.

--

"I know," Jack says, sitting down next to me. I start to point out that a) I didn't invite him to, and b) his pants length is too short and if I see his socks, I will act out, but it's too late. He's right next to me.

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I bite into the flesh on the side of my mouth until it starts to bleed. I want to find a smaller place to hide, in between the shelves, or inside the pages of this book, or in between the letters of a word... I want to fold myself inside out and disappear. Grow smaller, smaller, smaller, till nobody can see me.

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An ARC was provided by the publisher.