Friday Confessional: I Hate Jodi Picoult

Similar to my new, non-structured series, I Go Back, I've decided that I want a more permanent "Theme Post" for everyone to look forward to, where I promise to post a little distraction from the regular topics (Note: Yes, I get that at the moment, my focus is rather... unfocused as it is. I hope for that to change with time!). From this point forward, on Fridays, I am going to do a little feature called "Friday Confessional". Each week, I will admit to, well... something. It can be controversial, ridiculous, or just plain embarrassing (believe me; there will be no shortage of topics). I figure it can be like Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes, which we all know is the only reason anyone still tunes in. Man, do I love that old coot. 

A few weeks ago, I confessed that even though I grumble and groan with the best of 'em, I secretly LOVE horrible weather. Pagophobia be damned (if you had to look that up, don't feel bad; I did, too), I get a little thrill out of knowing my entire city is going to be shut down and everyone will be inconvenienced. Evil? Probably. Fun? You betcha.

So, this week, without further ado, I hereby confess:

While I will cop to loving my fair share of chick lit, I LOATHE the collected works of Jodi Picoult.

[Source]

And I don't just mean, "wow, I can't believe I just wasted an entire day and a half reading this book," hate; I mean, "I not only want my money back but I want her entire advance plus royalties transferred to my bank account immediately as reparations" hate. A burning, fiery, throw-all-of-her-books-off-of-a-cliff-while-possibly-doing-some-kind-of-dance-from-the-netherworld hate.

There, I said it. Go ahead, revoke my girl license. I knew it was coming.

I can't stand the flowery, predictable dialogue. I can't stand the over-the-top cathartic moments. Most of all, I can't stand that I can read the first paragraph of one of her books and know that the entire story will play out as some emotionally-wrought parable about interpersonal connection, inner turmoil and the protagonist's attempt to cope with whatever dramatic event is unfolding in the crisis du jour.

"BUT WAIT!" I've heard a hundred times, as soon as one of my friends, acquaintances, or random person on the bus gets clued in to my burning hatred. "THIS one has a TWIST!"

This is my shocked face.

OF COURSE this one has a twist. Guess what? THEY ALL HAVE A TWIST! It never fails to amaze me how many readers I've talked who to have waxed on and on about how no one saw the twist coming. Really? REALLY?! I was going to go into a whole synopsis of all the twists I never saw coming in the five JP books I've read, except then I realized it's hard to synopsize zero.

Look, I'm not a literary critic. I'm not a professional writer or an agent, acquisitions editor or anything remotely connected to the world of publishing. But I do have a degree in English and I've been devouring books since the age of 2. (No, literally, I devoured them - there are incriminating photos of me with See Spot Run and bits of cardboard hanging from my three teeth).  I don't mind a little bit of bad writing (See: Coben, Harlan and Kinsella, Sophie), and I don't even hate books with contrived plots and dialogue (See: Weiner, Jennifer, and her last three offerings -- but don't mess with her earlier books; those are sacred!). But I want to at least love the characters, or the language, or some basic facet of the book. I get that there are tons of readers out there who totally LOVE Jodi and everything she stands for, but she is just not my cup tea.

In summary, in my opinion, Jodi Picoult deserves a throne in the inner circle of Writer Hell, right next to that other bastion of literary technique, Stephanie Meyer. Yeah, you heard me...

Suck it, Edward.

[Source]

Boom! Roasted!

So, readers, what do you think? Is Jodi a literary goddess or a writer who reeks? Am I the only one who gets creeped out by RPattz' colossal coiffure? What should I cop to next? Thoughts, comments, concerns -- feel free to send 'em my way!