The tragedy, panic, rebellion, frustration and devastation caused by the global pandemic will always be etched into our hearts going forward. There will always be a remnant of Covid-19 – that’s in the way we interact, our behaviour and our habits. In ten years time, I still think that I will be scrubbing profusely and religiously pouring hand sanitiser on my hands like it was anointing oil.
What Jodi Picoult has done with her latest novel is completely remarkable. She gives readers a raw perspective into the pandemic from all angles. This is one story I resonated with whole heartedly and I am sure that every individual reading this will feel the same way.
The story revolves around our main protagonist, Diana – a well put together 29 year old, who has carefully penned out her entire life from what age she will be getting married at to the suburb where she wants to raise her kids, with her boyfriend and surgical resident Finn. Diana finds a blue Tiffany’s box before her and Finn’s well needed getaway to the Galapagos islands – finally, it seems like everything is falling into place. Diana works as an Associate Specialist for Sotheby’s and her first ever deal to procure a Henri de Toulouse- Lautrec goes awry when Kitomi Ito won’t sell. With her job in the balance, news of the virus starts to spread around New York City. When Finn no longer can go on holiday, Diana makes the bold move to go herself to the Galapagos islands. Thus, begins our tale.
I don’t want to spoil anything as this story is full of unexpected twists and turns – trust me! But what I do want to touch on a couple of themes that have been woven into the story.
Okay, let me first touch on the character of Kitomi -it has to be done. I can’t help but make the connection to John Legend’s wife Yoko Ono. Kitomi is selling a sought after and rare masterpiece by prominent post-impressionist artist Henri de Toulouse- Lautrec – the artist who was notoriously known for portraying Paris’ nightlife. Even though there isn’t a direct connection between the painting up for sale in Picoult’s story and Yoko Ino (as far as my Google search took me) there is still a couple of connections. One, the most obvious of them all is the relationship with spouses. Kitomi was married to one of the lead singers of iconic band ‘The Nightjars’ and unfortunately she was left widowed after her husband was brutally murdered. This is a very very obvious, I mean hit you in the face obvious connection with Yoko Ono. Not only that Yoko Ono herself is quite a major name in the world of art, not only is she a renowned activist but also a multimedia artist.
Jodi Picoult achieves a lot with this novel but one thing for me was how close to home it hit. I remember working, sitting at my desk staring at my screen and trying to focus despite the blaring and sobering news that was being broadcasted at the time. I remember spinning around and watching scenes unfold in Wuhan, China, where mothers were wailing unable to see their children at the hospital. I remember feeling empathetic but also bearing a twinge of ignorance – the sheer audacity to think that this could never happen to the UK. Fast forward three weeks from that bleak moment and it was a whole different story. Therefore, when Diana displays the similar sort of naivety when it comes to the virus, I surprisingly don’t find myself rolling my eyes – I instead, find myself captivated with the words on the page and nodding my head vigorously. Why? Because that was me. That’s why this novel works so well.
We can’t ignore the portrayal of frontline workers. Screw the Avengers, these are the actual superheroes. For example, we have Finn, Diana’s boyfriend working countless hours, so much so that the days are blurring into one. His mask cuts into his face, his skin has been scrubbed raw due to his routine once he finishes at the hospital, his paranoia is off the scale and even though he has seen so much death because of the virus he still turns up to work and works his ass off to try and gain a glimmer of hope.
If you do one thing this year, make sure you read this book.
Mishelle Thurai 