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My Sister's Keeper

This is a discussion on My Sister's Keeper within the Arts and Entertainment forum, part of the MummySG Lifestyle category; Hi I just finished a book "My Sister's Keeper" heard its gonne be in the movies or tv, can anyone ...

  1. #1
    Worthy Lady holeyman1's Avatar
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    My Sister's Keeper

    Hi I just finished a book "My Sister's Keeper" heard its gonne be in the movies or tv, can anyone confirm???

  2. #2
    Consort-in-Ordinary Phoebii Cheng's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    I think it is gonna b in a movie, I thought I saw a pic of it at Isetan Scotts the shaw brother's cinema

  3. #3
    Imperial Concubine
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    YES! It's gonna be a movie starring Cameron Diaz.

    I loved the book! Hope the movie will be just as good.

  4. #4
    Pure Consort Ting's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    oh yes gg to show end of the year i think.
    i hadnt read the book yet, cos my friend say wanna loan me still hadnt, but i read the storyline n think its gg to be a great one.
    looking forward for that show!!

  5. #5
    Worthy Lady mrsmorgan's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    what is it about?

  6. #6
    Pure Consort Ting's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    if i rmb correctly.
    its this mother, who has a daughter and she has some sickness.
    so the doc say her only hope is to have a second child to save the first one.
    so she gv birth to another daughter.
    but when the second daughter grew up, she refuse to donate her blood (or organ or whatever) to the elder sister.
    means she refuse to save her elder sister.
    n the mother is caught in a dilemma somehow.

    tts what i read at the back of the book though.
    the author is Jodi Picoult. she has many very interesting books in fact.
    Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.

  7. #7
    Worthy Lady mrsmorgan's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    that sounds interesting! will look for this back! thks!

  8. #8
    Worthy Lady holeyman1's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    wa if showing in local cinemas then must get parents to baby-sit children .

  9. #9
    Imperial Concubine Domique's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    poor me gotta wait till dvd come out.... alaric seems to be very sticky recently..... no outing for mummy without him.

    Quote Originally Posted by holeyman1 View Post
    wa if showing in local cinemas then must get parents to baby-sit children .

  10. #10
    Imperial Concubine Domique's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

  11. #11
    Consort-in-Ordinary snowbear's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    Sounds like a wonderful story! Searched NLB's catalogue but the book's out on loan/reserved in all branches! Sigh...

  12. #12
    Pure Consort Ting's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    yeah me too! it keeps getting loan.
    i saw it at book stores, n bf wanna buy for me, but i see no point in buying!

  13. #13
    Consort-in-Ordinary snowbear's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    Quote Originally Posted by Ting View Post
    yeah me too! it keeps getting loan.
    i saw it at book stores, and bf wanna buy for me, but i see no point in buying!
    me too! so we just have to wait till the craze dies down..

  14. #14
    Pure Consort Ting's Avatar
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    sian... dont know gotta wait til how long..
    tryin to reach my friend who has that book.

  15. #15
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    Excerpt from My Sister's Keeper

    When I was little, the great mystery to me wasn't how babies
    were made, but why. The mechanics I understood – my older
    brother Jesse had filled me in — although at the time I was
    sure he'd heard half of it wrong. Other kids my age were
    busy looking up the words penis and vagina in the classroom
    dictionary when the teacher had her back turned, but I paid
    attention to different details. Like why some mothers only
    had one child, while others seemed to multiply before your
    eyes. Or how the new girl in school, Sedona, told anyone
    who'd listen that she was named for the place where her
    parents were vacationing when they made her ("Good thing
    they weren't staying in Jersey City,"my father used to
    Now that I am thirteen, these distinctions are only
    more complicated: the eighth grader who dropped out of
    school because she got into trouble; a neighbor who got
    herself pregnant in the hopes it would keep her husband from
    filing for divorce. I'm telling you, if aliens landed on
    earth today and took a good hard look at why babies get
    born, they'd conclude that most people have children by
    accident, or because they drink too much on a certain night,
    or because birth control isn't 100%, or for a thousand other
    reasons that really aren't very flattering.
    On the other hand, I was born for a very specific
    purpose. I wasn't the result of a cheap bottle of wine or a
    full moon or the heat of the moment. I was born because a
    scientist managed to hook up my mother's eggs and my
    father's sperm and come up with a specific combination of
    precious genetic material. In fact, when Jesse told me how
    babies get made and I, the great disbeliever, decided to ask
    my parents the truth; I got more than I bargained for. They
    sat me down and told me all the usual stuff, of course —
    but they also explained that they chose little embryonic me,
    specifically, because I could save my sister Kate. "We
    loved you even more,"my mother made sure to say,"because
    we knew what exactly we were getting."
    It made me wonder, though, what would have happened if
    Kate been healthy. Chances are, I'd still be floating up in
    Heaven or wherever, waiting to be attached to a body to
    spend some time on Earth. Certainly I would not be part of
    this family. See, unlike the rest of the free world, I
    didn't get here by accident. And if your parents have you
    for a reason, then that reason better exist. Because once
    it's gone, so are you.
    Pawn shops may be full of junk, but they're also a
    breeding ground for stories, if you ask me, not that you
    did. What happened to make a person trade in the Never
    Before Used Diamond Solitaire? Who needed money so badly
    they'd sell a teddy bear missing an eye? As I walk up to
    the counter, I wonder if someone will look at the locket I'm
    about to give up, and ask these same questions.
    The man at the cash register has a nose the shape of a
    turnip, and eyes sunk so deep I can't imagine how he sees
    well enough to go about his business."Need something?"he
    It's all I can do to not turn around and walk out the
    door; pretend I've come in by mistake. The only thing that
    keeps me steady is knowing I am not the first person to
    stand in front of this counter holding the one item in the
    world I never thought I'd part with.
    "I have something to sell,"I tell him.
    "Am I supposed to guess what it is?"
    "Oh." Swallowing, I pull the locket out of the pocket
    of my jeans. The heart falls on the glass counter in a pool
    of its own chain."It's fourteen–karat gold,"I pitch.
    "Hardly ever worn." This is a lie; until this morning, I
    have not't taken it off in seven years. My father gave it to me
    when I was six after the bone marrow harvest, because he
    said anyone who was giving her sister such a major present
    deserved one of her own. Seeing it there, on the counter, my
    neck feels shivery and naked.
    The owner puts a loop up to his eye, which makes it
    seem almost normal size."I'll give you twenty."
    "No, pesos. What did you think?"
    "It's worth five times that!" I'm guessing.
    The owner shrugs."I'm not the one who needs the
    I pick up the locket, resigned to sealing the deal,
    and the strangest thing happens – my hand, it just clamps
    shut like the Jaws of Life. My face goes red with the effort
    to peel apart my fingers. It takes what seems like an hour
    for that locket to spill into the owner's outstretched palm.
    His eyes stay on my face, softer now."Tell him you lost
    it,"he offers, advice tossed in for free.
    If Mr. Webster had decided to put the word freak in
    his dictionary, Anna Fitzgerald would be the best definition
    he could give. It's more than just the way I look:
    refugee–skinny with absolutely no chest to speak of, hair
    the color of dirt, connect–the–dot freckles on my cheeks
    that, let me tell you, do not fade with lemon juice or
    sunscreen or even, sadly, sandpaper. No, God was obviously
    in some kind of mood on my birthday, because he added to
    this fabulous physical combination the bigger picture; the
    household into which I was born.
    My parents tried to make things normal, but that's a
    relative term. The truth is, I was never really a kid. To be
    honest, neither were Kate and Jesse. I guess maybe my
    brother had his moment in the sun for the three years he was
    alive before Kate got diagnosed, but ever since then, we've
    been too busy looking over our shoulders to run headlong
    into growing up. You know how most little kids think they're
    like cartoon characters – if an anvil drops on their heads
    they can peel themselves off the sidewalk and keep going?
    Well, I never once believed that. How could I, when we
    practically set a place for Death at the dinner table?
    Kate has acute promyelocytic leukemia. Actually,
    that's not quite true – right now she doesn't have it, but
    it's hibernating under her skin like a bear, until it
    decides to roar again. Molecular relapse and granulocyte and
    portacath – these words are part of my vocabulary, even
    though I'll never find them on any SAT. I'm an allogeneic
    donor – a perfect sibling match. When Kate needs leukocytes
    or stem cells or bone marrow to fool her body into thinking
    it's healthy, I'm the one who provides them. Nearly every
    time Kate's hospitalized, I wind up there too.
    None of which means anything, except that you
    shouldn't believe what you hear about me, least of all that
    which I tell you myself.
    As I am coming up the stairs, my mother comes out of
    her room wearing another ball gown.","she says, turning
    her back to me."Just the girl I wanted to see."
    I zip it up and watch her twirl. My mother could be
    beautiful, if she were parachuted into someone else's life.
    She has long dark hair and the fine collarbones of a
    princess, but the corners of her mouth turn down, like she's
    swallowed bitter news. She doesn't have much free time,
    since a calendar is something that can change drastically if
    my sister develops a bruise or a nosebleed, but what she
    does have she spends at Bluefly.com, ordering ridiculously
    fancy evening dresses for places she is never going to go.
    "What do you think?"she asks.
    The gown is all the colors of a sunset, and made out
    of material that swishes when she moves. It's strapless,
    what a star might wear sashaying down a red carpet – totally
    not the dress code for a suburban house in Upper Darby, RI.
    My mother twists her hair into a knot and holds it in place.
    On her bed are three other dresses – one slinky and black,
    one bugle–beaded, one that looks impossibly small."You
    look… "
    Tired. The word bubbles right under my lips.
    My mother goes perfectly still, and I wonder if I've
    said it without meaning to. She holds up a hand, shushing
    me, her ear cocked to the open doorway."Did you hear that?"
    "Hear what?"
    "I didn't hear anything."
    But she doesn't take my word for it, because when it
    comes to Kate she doesn't take anybody's word for it. She
    marches down the hall and opens up our bedroom door to find
    my sister hysterical on her bed, and just like that the
    world collapses again. My father, a closet astronomer, has
    tried to explain black holes to me, how they are so heavy
    they absorb everything, even light, right into their center.
    Moments like this, they're the same kind of vacuum; no
    matter what you cling to, you wind up being sucked in.
    "Kate!" My mother sinks down to the ground, that
    stupid skirt a cloud around her."Kate, honey, what hurts?"
    Kate hugs a pillow to her stomach, and tears keep
    streaming down her face. Her pale hair is stuck to her face
    in damp streaks, her breathing's too tight. I stand frozen
    in the doorway of my own room, waiting for instructions:
    Call Daddy. Call 911. Call Dr. Chance. My mother goes so far
    as to shake a better explanation out of Kate, grabbing her
    shoulders, but Kate only wipes her face and tries to speak.
    "It's Preston,"she sobs."He's leaving Serena for good."
    That's when we notice the TV. On the screen, a blond
    hottie gives a longing look to a woman crying almost as hard
    as my sister, and then he slams the door."But what hurts?"
    my mother asks, surely there has to be more to it than this.
    "Oh my God,"Kate says, sniffling."Do you have any
    idea how much Serena and Preston have been through? Do
    That fist inside me relaxes, now that I know it's all
    right. Normal, in our house, is like a blanket too short for
    a bed – sometimes it covers you just fine, and other times
    it leaves you cold and shaking; and worst of all, you never
    know which of the two it's going to be. I sit down on the
    end of Kate's bed. She's sixteen, but I'm taller than her
    and every now and then people mistakenly assume I'm the one
    who's older. At different times this summer she has been
    crazy for Callahan, Wyatt, and Liam, the male leads on this
    soap. Now, I guess, it's all about Preston."There was the
    kidnapping scare,"I volunteer. I actually followed that
    story line; Kate made me tape the show during her dialysis
    "And the time she almost married his twin by mistake,"
    Kate adds.
    "dont't forget when he died in the boat accident. For
    two months, anyway." My mother joins the conversation, and
    I remember that she used to watch this soap too, sitting
    with Kate in the hospital.
    For the first time, Kate seems to notice my mother's
    outfit."What are you wearing?"
    "Oh. Something I'm sending back." She gets up,
    standing in front of me so that I can undo her zipper again.
    I wonder if it's putting on someone else's skin for a while
    that my mom likes so much, or if it's the option of being
    able to mail back a circumstance that just doesn't suit you.
    "You're sure nothing hurts?"
    After my mother leaves, Kate sinks a little. That's
    the only way to describe it – how fast color drains from her
    face, how she disappears against the pillows. As she gets
    sicker, she fades a little, until I am afraid one day I will
    wake up and not be able to see her at all."Move,"Kate
    orders."You're blocking the picture."
    So I go to sit on my own bed."It's only the coming
    "Well, if I die tonight I want to know what I'm
    I fluff my pillows up under my head. Kate, as usual,
    has swapped so that she has all the funchy ones that dont't
    feel like rocks under your neck. She's supposed to deserve
    this, because she's three years older than me or because
    she's sick or because the moon is in Aquarius – there's
    always a reason. I squint at the television, wishing I could
    flip through the stations, knowing I dont't have a prayer.
    "Preston looks like he's made out of plastic."
    "Then why did I hear you whispering his name last
    night into your pillow?"
    "Shut up,"I say.
    "You shut up." Then Kate smiles at me."He probably
    is gay, though. Quite a waste, considering the Fitzgerald
    sisters are –"Wincing, she breaks off mid–sentence, and I
    roll toward her.
    She rubs her lower back."It's nothing."
    It's her kidneys."Want me to get Mom?"
    "Not yet." She reaches between our beds, which are
    just far enough for us to reach each other if we both try. I
    hold out my hand too. When we were little we'd make this
    bridge and try to see how many Barbies we could get to
    balance on it.
    Lately, I have been having nightmares, where I'm cut
    into so many pieces that there isn't enough of me to be put
    back together.
    My father says that a fire will burn itself out,
    unless you open a window and give it fuel. I suppose that's
    what I'm doing, when you get right down to it; but then
    again, my dad also says that when flames are licking at your
    heels you've got to break a wall or two if you want to
    escape. So when Kate falls asleep from her meds I take the
    leather binder I keep between my mattress and box spring and
    go into the bathroom for privacy. I know Kate's been
    snooping – I rigged up a red thread between the zipper's
    teeth to let me know who was prying into my stuff without my
    permission, but even though the thread's been torn there's
    nothing missing inside. I turn on the water in the bathtub
    so it sounds like I'm in there for a reason, and sit down on
    the floor to count.
    If you add in the twenty dollars from the pawn shop, I
    have $136.87. It's not going to be enough, but there's got
    to be a way around that. Jesse didn't have $2900 when he
    bought his beat–up Jeep, and the bank gave him some kind of
    loan. Of course, my parents had to sign the papers too, and
    I doubt they're going to be willing to do that for me, given
    the circumstances. I count the money a second time, just in
    case the bills have miraculously reproduced, but math is
    math and the total stays the same. And then I read the
    newspaper clippings.
    Campbell Alexander. It's a stupid name, in my opinion.
    It sounds like a bar drink that costs too much, or a
    brokerage firm. But you can't deny the man's track record.
    To reach my brother's room, you actually have to leave
    the house, which is exactly the way he likes it. Jesse moved
    into the attic over the garage three years ago — a perfect
    arrangement, since he didn't want my parents to see what he
    was doing and my parents didn't really want to see. Blocking
    the stairs to his place are four snow tires, a small wall of
    cartons, and an oak desk tipped onto its side. Sometimes I
    think Jesse sets up these obstacles himself, just to make
    getting to him more of a challenge.
    I crawl over the mess and up the stairs, which vibrate
    with the bass from Jesse's stereo. It takes nearly five
    whole minutes before he hears me knocking."What?"he snaps,
    opening the door a crack.
    "Can I come in?"
    He thinks twice, then steps back to let me enter. The
    room is a sea of dirty clothes and magazines and leftover
    Chinese take–out cartons; it smells like the sweaty tongue
    of a hockey skate. The only neat spot is the shelf where
    Jesse keeps his special collection – a Jaguar's silver
    mascot, a Mercedes symbol, a Mustang's horse – hood
    ornaments that he told me he just found lying around,
    although I'm not dumb enough to believe him.
    dont't get me wrong – it isn't that my parents dont't
    care about Jesse or whatever trouble he's gotten himself
    mixed up in. It's just that they dont't really have time to
    care about it, because it's a problem somewhere lower on the
    totem pole.
    Jesse ignores me, going back to whatever he was doing
    on the far side of the mess. My attention is caught by a
    crock pot – one that disappeared out of the kitchen a few
    months ago – which now sits on top of Jesse's TV with a
    copper tube threaded out of its lid and down through a
    plastic milk jug filled with ice, emptying into a glass
    Mason jar. Jesse may be a borderline delinquent, but he's
    brilliant. Just as I'm about to touch the contraption, Jesse
    turns around."Hey!" He fairly flies over the couch to
    knock my hand away."You'll screw up the condensing coil."
    "Is this what I think it is?"
    A nasty grin itches over his face."Depends on what
    you think it is." He jimmies out the Mason jar, so that
    liquid drips into the carpet."Have a taste."
    For a still made out of spit and glue, it produces
    pretty potent whiskey. An inferno races so fast through my
    belly and legs I fall back onto the couch. I lose my voice
    again, for nearly a whole minute."Disgusting,"I gasp.
    Jesse laughs and takes a swig, too, although for him
    it goes down easier."So what do you want from me?"
    "How do you know I want something?"
    "Because no one comes up here on a social call,"he
    says, sitting on the arm of the couch."And if it was
    something about Kate, you would've already told me."
    "It is about Kate. Sort of." I stare into my lap. I
    can still taste the fire."Remember that time you came home
    trashed and I dragged you up here? You owe me."
    "Owe you what?"
    I press the newspaper clippings into my brother's
    hand; they'll do a better job explaining than I ever could.
    He scans them, then looks me right in the eye. His are the
    palest shade of silver, so surprising that sometimes when he
    stares at you, you can completely forget what you were
    planning to say.
    "dont't mess with the system, Anna,"he says bitterly.
    "We've all got our scripts downpat. Kate plays the martyr.
    I'm the Lost Cause. And you, you're the Peacekeeper."
    He thinks he knows me, but it goes both ways – and
    when it comes to friction, Jesse is an addict. I look right
    at him."Says who?"
    Jesse agrees to wait for me in the parking lot. It's
    one of the few times I can recall him doing anything I tell
    him to do. I walk around to the front of the building, which
    has two gargoyles guarding its entrance.
    Campbell Alexander, Esquire's office is on the third
    floor. The walls are paneled with wood the color of a
    chestnut mare's coat, and the Oriental rug on the floor is
    so thick my sneakers sink an inch. The secretary is wearing
    black pumps so shiny I can see my own face in them. I glance
    down at my cutoffs and the Keds that I tattooed last week
    with Magic Markers when I was bored.
    The secretary has perfect skin and perfect eyebrows
    and honeybee lips, and she's using them to scream bloody
    murder at whoever's on the other end of the phone."You
    cannot expect me to tell a judge that. Just because you
    dont't want to hear Kleman rant and rave doesn't mean that I
    have to… no, actually, that raise was for the exceptional
    job I do and the crap I put up with on a daily basis, and as
    a matter of fact while we're on –" She holds the phone
    away from her ear; I can make out the buzz of disconnection.
    "Bastard,"she mutters, and then seems to realize I'm
    standing three feet away."Can I help you?"
    She looks me over from head to toe, rating me on a
    general scale of first impressions, and finding me severely
    lacking. I lift my chin and pretend to be far more cool than
    I actually am."I have an appointment with Mr. Alexander. At
    four o'clock."
    "Your voice,"she says."On the phone, you didn't
    sound quite so… "
    She smiles uncomfortably."We dont't try juvenile
    cases, as a rule. If you'd like I can offer you the names of
    some practicing attorneys who –"
    I take a deep breath."Actually,"I interrupt,"you're
    wrong. Smith very. Whately, Edmunds very. Womens and Infants
    Hospital, and Jerome very. the Diocese of Providence all
    involved litigants under the age of eighteen. All three
    resulted in verdicts for Mr. Alexander's clients. And those
    were just in the past year."
    The secretary blinks at me. Then a slow smile toasts
    her face, as if she's decided she just might like me after
    all."Come to think of it, why dont't you just wait in his
    office?"she says, and she stands up to show me the way.
    Even if I spend every minute of the rest of my life
    reading, I do not believe that I will ever manage to consume
    the sheer number of words routed high and low on the walls
    of Campbell Alexander, Esquire's office. I do the math – if
    there are 400 words or so on every page, and each of those
    legal books are 400 pages, and there are twenty on a shelf
    and six shelves per bookcase – why, you're pushing nineteen
    million words, and that's only partway across the room.
    I'm alone in the office long enough to note that his
    desk is so neat, you could play Chinese football on the
    blotter; that there is not a single photo of a wife or a kid
    or even himself; and that in spite of the fact that the room
    is spotless, there's a coffee cup sitting on the floor.
    I find myself making up explanations: it's a swimming
    pool for an army of ants. It's some kind of primitive
    humidifier. It's a mirage.
    I've nearly convinced myself about that last one, and
    am leaning over to touch the cup and see if it's real, when
    the door bursts open. I practically fall out of my chair and
    that puts me eye–to–eye with an incoming German shepherd,
    which spears me with a look and then marches over to the mug
    and starts to drink the water inside.
    Campbell Alexander comes in too. He's got black hair
    and he's at least as tall as my dad – six feet – with a
    right–angle jaw and eyes that look frozen over. He shrugs
    out of a suit jacket and hangs it neatly on the back of the
    door, then yanks a file out of a cabinet before moving to
    his desk. He never makes eye contact with me, but he starts
    talking all the same."I dont't want any Girl Scout cookies,"
    Campbell Alexander says."Although you do get Brownie points
    for tenacity. Ha." He smiles at his own joke.
    "I'm not selling anything."
    He glances at me curiously, then pushes a button on
    his phone."Carrie,"he says when the secretary answers.
    "What is this doing in my office?"
    "I'm here to retain you,"I say.
    The lawyer releases the intercom button."I dont't
    think so."
    "You dont't even know if I have a case."
    I take a step forward; so does the dog. For the first
    time I realize it's wearing one of those vests with a red
    cross on it, like a St. Bernard that might carry rum up a
    snowy mountain. I automatically reach out to pet him.
    "dont't,"Alexander says."Judge is a service dog."
    My hand goes back to my side."But you aren't blind."
    "Thank you for pointing that out to me."
    "So what's the matter with you?"
    The minute I say it, I want to take it back. have not't I
    watched Kate field this question from hundreds of rude
    "I have an iron lung,"Campbell Alexander says curtly,
    "and the dog keeps me from getting too close to magnets.
    Now, if you'd do me the exalted honor of leaving, my
    secretary can find you the name of someone who –"
    But I can't go yet."Did you really sue God?" I take
    out all the newspaper clippings; smooth them on the bare
    A muscle tics in his cheek, and then he picks up the
    article lying on top."I sued the Diocese of Providence, on
    behalf of a kid in one of their orphanages who needed an
    experimental treatment involving fetal tissue, which they
    felt violated Vatican II. However, it makes a much better
    headline to say that a nine–year–old is suing God for being
    stuck with the short end of the straw in life." I just
    stare at him."Dylan Jerome,"the lawyer admits,"wanted to
    sue God for not caring enough about him."
    A rainbow might as well have cracked down the middle
    of that big mahogany desk."Mr. Alexander,"I say,"my
    sister has leukemia."
    "I'm sorry to hear that. But even if I were willing to
    litigate against God again, which I'm not, you can't bring a
    lawsuit on someone else's behalf."
    There is way too much to explain – my own blood
    seeping into my sister's veins; the nurses holding me down
    to stick me for white cells Kate might borrow; the doctor
    saying they didn't get enough the first time around. The
    bruises and the deep bone ache after I gave up my marrow;
    the shots that sparked more stem cells in me, so that
    there'd be extra for my sister. The fact that I'm not sick,
    but I might as well be. The fact that the only reason I was
    born was as a harvest crop for Kate. The fact that even now,
    a major decision about me is being made, and no one's
    bothered to ask the one person who most deserves it to speak
    her opinion.
    There's way too much to explain, and so I do the best
    I can."It's not God. Just my parents,"I say."I want to
    sue them for the rights to my own body."

  16. #16
    Consort-in-Ordinary snowbear's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2008
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    Mummy , thanks for the excerpt. It's intriguing.

  17. #17
    Pure Consort Ting's Avatar
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    Jul 2007
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    Re: My Sister's Keeper

    thanks mummy im dying to read the book!!!

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