Mercy by Jodi Picoult
The work of the late Dr. Jack Kevorkian has pushed
euthanasia and mercy killing into the media and public consciousness for some
time now. My students watched a video
about some of his more famous cases, and wrote about them in legal and ethics
classes.
In this novel by Picoult, we have to wonder where Mercy is
being dispensed.
The plot revolves around the Clan MacDonald, transplanted to
a small New England
Town. Shades of Brigadoon haunt the setting; the
MacDonald patriarch, Angus, is transplanted
from his family castle to the New
England Town. He Time Travels in his dreams to the
Braveheart Era of Scotland’s
history that would have made Robert Burns and Sir Walter Scot proud. He fights battles with his Scottish ancestors
that parallel the struggles of his 21st century family.
A lot of battle cries shriek through this book. The female protagonist, wife of the police
chief, who is also a MacDonald, sells
all her husband’s possessions at a yard sale the whole town attends, even his
Clan heirlooms and dress uniforms. In
fact, the book opens with the yard sale, a seemingly vindictive act, that
contradicts the book’s title. Is Picoult
being ironic? Where is Mercy for the Chief, who is Chief of the Clan, and not
just Chief of Police.
As if that isn’t enough, a not-so-distant cousin and
childhood friend arrives in town with his dead wife in the passenger seat of
his car. Dr. Jaime MacDonald, a scientist of rare talent to creates Virtual
Reality games ala Brainstorm and Total Recall, seeks The Chief to confess he
has mercy-killed his wife, at her own behest.
Maggie, the wife, has been suffering from cancer.
Once again, the book is extremely well constructed and well
written. I have to applaud Picoult’s
success. She borrows from romance,
melodrama, the macabre, mythology, fantasy, classic literature, and many other
genres to weave a tale that is also contemporary and thought provoking.
Her subplots are as interesting as the main story; why does
the Chief feel he must commit adultery with his wife’s friend and
employee. How can Maggie, in pain and
deathly ill, engage in a very public make out session with her husband, a
picnic, and several other bucket list social events the night before he
smothers her with a pillow.
Why does a loving wife exact such a selfish, fundamentally
immoral promise from her devoted husband?
Chief Macdonald hires the best lawyer he can for his cousin,
yet must cooperate with the DA, who is, horror of horrors, a Campbell, member
of a rival clan. Enter a little Romeo
and Juliet sprinkled with The Hatfields and McCoys and garnished with West Side
Story. (Did I mention that my late cat Emma was part Hatfield?)
Moira, the “other woman’ is a true Celtic temptress, Fey, but also frumpy, staid in her profession
of flower arranging, but her arrangements smack of herbal magic, love potions
and witchcraft. She has no trouble being
the friend of the Chief’s wife, but also usurping her place in his bed.
At this point, I can’t help myself, I must say, “Hail to the
Chief!” He manages to up hold Clannish
honor, maintain the peace, and satisfy two women at once.
Jaime MacDonald is both pathetic and grotesque. There is something carnivalesque about
his role as Maggie’s doomed lover and
sad clown. One scene has him standing
nude by her gurney as EMT’s attempt to revive her after one of her near death,
but pre-homicide experiences.
All kidding aside, the trial scenes are detailed and well
written. We forgive the author any
technical issues in the name of poetic license.
She certainly understands reader response theory and holds our interest
as a storyteller.
I’m just disturbed that murder in any form is condoned. What takes place between Jaime and Maggie is
not so much mercy killing, as giving into Maggie’s ego and dominant will. Maggie is not the only victim in Picoult’s
homicides that becomes unappealing by the end of the novel, the same is true of teenaged Emily in The Pact.
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