I got this book for Christmas a few years ago. I would guess, since I was posting that I needed/wanted to read it in September 2012, that Sinéad gave it to me for Christmas 2011. Therefore, it’s shameful that I didn’t read it until early 2014, especially since I had specifically asked her for it.
In any case – I did read it. And now I’m getting around to reviewing it, too!
The book centres around the dilemma faced by the family of Luke Warren, who has been in a terrible car crash, and may never wake up. His medical decisions cannot be made by his ex-wife, nor his 17-year-old daughter Cara, thus it falls to Edward, his estranged son, to come back from his life in Thailand, where he has been for the last five years, to decide whether his father would want to be kept alive through extraordinary means.
But this is no ordinary man – Luke spent two years living as a member of a wolf pack, has survived incredible things before, and Cara cannot agree that he would not want a chance to fight back from this.
Picoult always writes incredibly melodramatic novels. This, Lone Wolf, is no departure from that. It’s also not really a departure from form that there’s a court case with family members or close friends on either side of the court – so much, so usual. But this particular book fell short of Picoult’s normal standards. While I admit that I read Picoult mostly for the melodrama and the investigations of the human condition, this one really wasn’t melodramatic enough for me, but more than that, I don’t think it really did a good job of investigating the motivations and relationships behind and between the characters. Edward, for example, made absolutely zero sense to me.
As usual, there are also secrets rampaging everywhere – it wasn’t hard to figure out why Edward flew to Thailand and never came back the day after he went to confess to his dad that he was gay, meaning that the twist in the tail which I have come to know and love in Picoult novels was really just a flat revelation which anyone with two brain cells to rub together had known for at least two hundred pages.
I generally really like Picoult novels, but for some reason this one fell short of her usual standards.