House Rules
, by Jodi Picoult
My rating: 4 out of 5 stars
“I would like to be able to tell her that, yes, now I get it. When someone dies, it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all the nerves are still a little raw.”
Here are a few bits that feel a little “off” to me:
- The mom, Emma’s, character didn’t always ring true for me. At times she comes across as an overprotective mom, and at other times she seems a little batty (the whole thing about the vaccine link to autism seemed like a sensational add-in that didn’t quite fit). She only allows her sons to go on Web sites she prescreens, but she allows Jacob to stay out of the house at all hours without keeping track of where he is? She also seems completely insensitive to the difficult life Theo has to lead. And the other thing that baffled me was why, since she knew her son better than anyone else, why didn’t she (or anyone else) just ask Jacob straight up if he did it.
- The sudden return of Henry (the boy’s father) also seemed a bit out of place. Was he just brought in to cause a bit of jealousy? For someone who had abandoned the family years ago and never really knew his sons–and also had a bit of Asperger’s himself–why would he just show up to ostensibly help?
- Prosecuting attorney Helen Sharp is just a bit too one-dimensionally evil and insensitive, and then there’s the detective, Rich, who veers from making fun of Jacob’s need for sensory breaks to being the one to help him when he panics…kind of like a bully who feels guilty about his actions.
- I had to laugh at the stereotype of a young, inexperienced lawyer who essentially agrees to work for free. (Oliver shows his extreme naivete when he tells Emma to “relax” when Jacob is thrown in jail.)
On the other hand, I liked so much about this book as well, such as the way Picoult portrays the deep complications of parenting, especially special needs parenting:
“Real mothers wonder why (parenting) experts seem to have their acts together all the time when they themselves can barely keep their heads above the stormy seas of parenthood.
Real mothers don’t just listen with humble embarrassment to the elderly lady who offers unsolicited advice in the checkout line when a child is throwing a tantrum. We take the child, dump him in the lady’s cart, and say ‘Great. Maybe you can do a better job.’
Real mothers know that it’s okay to eat cold pizza for breakfast.
Real mothers admit it is easier to fail at this job than to succeed.If parenting is the box of raisin bran, then real mothers know the ratio of flakes to fun is severely imbalanced. For every moment that your child confides in you, or tells you he loves you, or does something umprompted to to protect his brother that you happen to witness, there are many more moments of chaos, error, and self-doubt.Real mothers may not speak the heresy, but they sometimes secretly wish they’d chosen something for breakfast other than this endless cereal.Real mothers worry that other mothers will find that magic ring, whereas they’ll be looking and looking for ages.Rest easy, real mothers. The very fact that you worry about being a good mom means that you already are one.”
“If you asked Jacob for a list of friends, he’d probably be able to give you that list. But if you asked those same kids for their lists, Jacob wouldn’t be on them. His Asperger’s leads him to mistake proximity for emotional connection.”