I like YA. That’s just how I roll. But recently I found a Jodi Picoult novel on my bookshelf, courtesy I’m sure of my mother-in-law an avid reader, and decided to take a peek. It’s called My Sister’s Keeper and was written about five years ago, made into a movie, talked about, written about and reviewed extensively. Still, I had no idea.
It was REALLY good. You’ve probably heard that already. It was so good that I couldn’t imagine WHY I hadn’t read any of her books before. I remember picking them up, scanning the back, then opting for something else. But why? Tonight I went to the library, and remembered. They are so MATURE. They are DEEP. They are for grown up people with sense. Totally explains why I’ve been left out. But I went against my nature and picked up another one. A girl can change, you know.
As an apology, I’ve penned the following poem to Ms. Picoult.
Dear Jodi, Dear Jodi, Dear Jodi Picoult,
Am I pronouncing your name right, cause I don’t know.
Your books are deep, and I am slow,
But here I am reading, two in a row.
Wow. I am GOOD. Perhaps I should give up the YA book and start a book of poetry. It’s a thought.