A Rant on Literature

Jodi Picoult is a coward. Jodi Picoult is a shallow, cagey, waffling slave of Hallmark. Jodi Picoult is not daring. Those who've read "My Sister's Keeper" know it to be emotional, heartbreaking, heavy. They also know that the ending comes from a magical land, where everything works out beautifully, and readers can wipe away a satisfied tear. "How tragic," they can cry, "makes you see the perfect beauty of the balance in life."

Jodi Picoult is a terrible author.

Gregory Maguire, author of Wicked and the like, is not. His characters are not afraid, nor is he afraid of them. He kills them off. He plays with the idea of family and love, without being bound by rules of fairytale. He lets a tragic hero die, and be found by her retarded half brother, born of incest and sin, and be kissed not by Prince Charming, but a 50 year old hunter who left her for dead.

Life is not perfect. Life is like Gregory Maguire's world. Completely unrealistic.