OK - maybe Jodi Picoult doesn't need a prozac. Actually, I'm confident she's a happy, happy woman, what with her literary success and financial security, thanks to the masses of chick lit fans (and I'm one on occasion!) who rush to pick up anything and everything with her name on the cover.
Me? I just don't get it. She's a very talented writer, no doubt. The two books of hers I have read weren't put down unless I had to feed a child or check for bleeding in a living room cage match between brothers. So if you need engaging, thought-provoking writing, Jodi's your gal. But for me, her endings ALWAYS TICK ME OFF. Always! I gave up after My Sister's Keeper and Vanishing Acts - because both were emotionally blindsiding.
In Vanishing Acts, the protagonist is Delia, a search and rescue expert – and her calling turns out to be oh so ironic as she discovers she in fact was a missing child. Long believing her father, Andrew, raised her with no mother in sight, she discovers she had been kidnapped at a tender young age. Whatever her father's reasons, and every reader will feel differently about them, Delia is forced to confront her own feelings – about her father, her fiance and the father of her child, Eric, and for a childhood friend, newspaper reporter Fitz.
I'll let you decide, should you read it, what you think about the ending, but I will say this – I lost complete respect for Delia in the end, and thought the ending was a travesty. So – Picoult succeeds in garnering an extreme emotional response from me - it just wasn't a happy one. And maybe that's the point. Life isn't always about the happy.