Cover image for Lone wolf a novel
Title:
Lone wolf a novel
Author:
Picoult, Jodi, 1966-
Personal Author:
Edition:
Unabridged.
Publication Information:
Prince Frederick, MD : Recorded Books, [2012]

℗2012
Physical Description:
11 audio discs (13 hr.) : digital ; 4 3/4 in.
Summary:
When his father and sister are injured in an accident that has rendered his father comatose, estranged son Edward decides to stop his father's life support so that his organs can be donated, a choice his sister urges him to reconsider.
General Note:
Title from container.

Compact discs.

Unabridged.

In container (17 cm.).

"With tracks every 3 minutes for easy book marking"--Container.
Language:
English
Added Corporate Author:
ISBN:
9781464024160

9781464030598
Format :
Audiobook on CD

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Summary

Summary

A prodigal son who left his family after an irreparable fight with his father learns that his dad lies comatose in a hospital. He fights with his sister about the next steps in this heart wrenching look at the intersection of medical science and moral choices.


Author Notes

Jodi Picoult was born in Nesconset, New York on May 19, 1966. She received a degree in creative writing from Princeton University in 1987 and a master's degree in education from Harvard University. She published two short stories in Seventeen magazine while still in college. Immediately after graduation, she landed a variety of jobs, ranging from editing textbooks to teaching eighth-grade English.

Her first book, Songs of the Humpback Whale, was published in 1992. Her other works include Picture Perfect, Mercy, The Pact, Salem Falls, The Tenth Circle, Nineteen Minutes, Change of Heart, Handle with Care, House Rules, Sing You Home, Lone Wolf, Leaving Time, and Small Great Things. My Sister's Keeper was made into a movie starring Cameron Diaz. She received the New England Bookseller Award for fiction in 2003. She also wrote five issues of the Wonder Woman comic book series for DC Comics. She writes young adult novels with her daughter Samantha van Leer including Between the Lines and Off the Page.

(Bowker Author Biography)


Reviews 3

Booklist Review

Estranged from his family while living in Thailand for the past six years, Edward Warren is summoned home to New Hampshire when his father, Luke, a renowned wolf expert, and Edward's 17-year-old sister, Cara, are critically injured in a car accident. Cara's wounds are not life-threatening, but Luke has suffered severe brain damage and languishes in a vegetative state doctors say is irreversible. As his father's legal next-of-kin, it falls to Edward to make the hard choices about life support and organ donation, a nearly impossible responsibility, given that father and son parted on angry terms the night Edward tried to confide to Luke that he was gay. Then Cara becomes a volatile advocate for her father's right-to-life, taking impulsive steps to wrest control away from Edward. Though the author's loyal Pi-cult following will drive demand, this latest offering lacks the emotional nuance that may have won Picoult her fans. Worthy discussions about critical end-of-life medical and moral issues are often eclipsed by overwrought teenage melodrama and heavy-handed working of the lone wolf/Luke Warren trope. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Best-selling Picoult will conduct a national author tour backed by extensive advertising and publicity for this topical drama by a reliably prolific and avidly popular author.--Haggas, Carol Copyright 2010 Booklist


Publisher's Weekly Review

Picoult returns with two provocative questions: can a human join a wolf pack, and who has the right to make end-of-life decisions? Luke Warren, a vital free spirit, has devoted himself to understanding wolf behavior, to the point of having once abandoned his family to live with wolves. Now divorced and raising his 17-year-old daughter, Cara, near his wolf compound, Luke sustains a traumatic brain injury in an accident. His ex-wife, Georgie, remarried to a lawyer, summons Cara's brother, Edward, from Thailand, where he's lived for years alienated from his family, who assume the estrangement stems from his father's rejection of Edward's homosexuality. Cara wants to keep her father on life support; Edward struggles with resentment but believes his father wouldn't want to exist in a vegetative state. As Cara and Edward navigate their own conflicts and Luke languishes in a coma, Picoult folds in mesmerizing excerpts of Luke's book about life with the wolves. There are no surprises, as Picoult (My Sister's Keeper) as usual probes intriguing matters of the heart while introducing her fans to subjects they might not otherwise explore. You can always count on Picoult for a terrific page-turner about a compelling subject. Agent: Laura Gross, Laura Gross Literary Agency. (Feb. 28) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.


Library Journal Review

Biologist Luke Warren leaves his family for two years to join a wild wolf pack in Canada to learn as an insider about their behavior. When returning from the wild, he can't seem to rejoin civilization, and his human family disintegrates. A car crash leaves Luke in a vegetative state; his neurosurgeon is 99 percent certain he will never regain consciousness. Someone must decide whether to keep him on life support. His son and daughter disagree about what to do, and the family faces the moral and ethical dilemma in court. VERDICT Picoult skillfully interweaves the pros and cons of this familial conflict with information about wolves-their family groups, interactions, rules, and how they teach their young. The story is well read by Natalia Payne, Louis Changchien, Celeste Ciulla, Nick Cordero, Angela Goethals, Mark Zeisler, and Andy Patis. Recommended. ["Picoult once again has written a compelling story involving current issues and family drama with a unique twist," read the review of the New York Times best-selling Atria: S. & S. hc, LJ 2/1/12.-Ed.]-Joanna Burkhardt, Univ. of Rhode Island Libs., Providence (c) Copyright 2012. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Excerpts

Excerpts

Lone Wolf CARA Seconds before our truck slams into the tree, I remember the first time I tried to save a life. I was thirteen, and I'd just moved back in with my father. Or, more accurately, my clothes were once again hanging in my former bedroom, but I was living out of a backpack in a trailer on the north end of Redmond's Trading Post & Dinosaur World. That's where my father's captive wolf packs were housed, along with gibbons, falcons, an overweight lion, and the animatronic T. rex that roared on the hour. Since that was where my father spent 99 percent of his time, it was expected that I follow. I thought this alternative beat living with my mom and Joe and the miracle twins, but it hadn't been the smooth transition I'd hoped for. I guess I'd pictured my dad and me making pancakes together on Sunday morning, or playing hearts, or taking walks in the woods. Well, my dad did take walks in the woods, but they were inside the pens he'd built for his packs, and he was busy being a wolf. He'd roll around in the mud with Sibo and Sobagw, the numbers wolves; he'd steer clear of Pekeda, the beta of the pack. He'd eat from the carcass of a calf with wolves on either side of him, his hands and his mouth bloody. My dad believed that infiltrating a pack was far more educational than observing from afar the way biologists did. By the time I moved in with him, he'd already gotten five packs to accept him as a bona fide member--worthy of living with, eating with, and hunting with them, in spite of the fact that he was human. Because of this, some people thought he was a genius. The rest thought he was insane. On the day I left my mom and her brand-spanking-new family, my dad was not exactly waiting for me with open arms. He was down in one of the enclosures with Mestawe, who was pregnant for the first time, and he was trying to forge a relationship with her so she'd pick him as the nanny for the pups. He even slept there, with his wolf family, while I stayed up late and flicked through the TV channels. It was lonely in the trailer, but it was lonelier being landlocked at an empty house. In the summers, the White Mountains region was packed with visitors who went from Santa's Village to Story Land to Redmond's Trading Post. In March, though, that stupid T. rex roared to an empty theme park. The only people who stayed on in the off-season were my dad, who looked after his wolves, and Walter, a caretaker who covered for my dad when he wasn't on-site. It felt like a ghost town, so I started hanging out at the enclosures after school--close enough that Bedagi, the tester wolf, would pace on the other side of the fence, getting used to my scent. I'd watch my father dig a birthing bowl for Mestawe in her den, and meanwhile, I'd tell him about the football captain who was caught cheating, or the oboe player in the school orchestra who had taken to wearing caftans, and was rumored to be pregnant. In return, my dad told me why he was worried about Mestawe: she was a young female, and instinct only went so far. She didn't have a role model who could teach her to be a good mother; she'd never had a litter before. Sometimes, a wolf would abandon her pups simply because she didn't know better. The night Mestawe gave birth, she seemed to be doing everything by the book. My father celebrated by opening a bottle of champagne and letting me drink a glass. I wanted to see the babies, but my father said it would be weeks before they emerged. Even Mestawe would stay in the den for a full week, feeding the pups every two hours. Only two nights later, though, my father shook me awake. "Cara," he said, "I need your help." I threw on my winter coat and boots and followed him to the enclosure where Mestawe was in her den. Except, she wasn't. She was wandering around, as far from her babies as she could get. "I've tried everything to get her back inside, but she won't go," my father said matter-of-factly. "If we don't save the pups now, we won't have a second chance." He burrowed into the den and came out holding two tiny, wrinkled rats. At least that's what they looked like, eyes squinched shut, wriggling in his hand. He passed these over to me; I tucked them inside my coat as he pulled out the last two pups. One looked worse off than the other three. It wasn't moving; instead of grunting, it let out tiny puffs every now and then. I followed my dad to a toolshed that stood behind the trailer. While I was sleeping he'd tossed all the tools into the snow; now the floor inside was covered with hay. A blanket I recognized from the trailer--a fluffy red plaid--was inside a small cardboard box. "Tuck them in," my father instructed, and I did. A hot water bottle underneath the blanket made it feel warm like a belly; three of the babies immediately began to snuffle between the folds. The fourth pup was cold to the touch. Instead of putting her beside her brothers, I slipped her into my coat again, against my heart. When my father returned, he was holding baby bottles full of Esbilac, which is like formula, but for animals. He reached for the little wolf in my arms, but I couldn't let her go. "I'll feed the others," he told me, and while I coaxed mine to drink a drop at a time, his three sucked down every last bottle. Every two hours, we fed the babies. The next morning, I didn't get dressed for school and my father didn't act like he expected me to. It was an unspoken truth: what we were doing here was far more important than anything I could learn in a classroom. On the third day, we named them. My father believed in using indigenous names for indigenous creatures, so all his wolf names came from the Abenaki language. Nodah, which meant Hear me, was the name we gave the biggest of the bunch, a noisy black ball of energy. Kina, or Look here, was the troublemaker who got tangled in shoelaces or stuck under the flaps of the cardboard box. And Kita, or Listen, hung back and watched us, his eyes never missing a thing. Their little sister I named Miguen, Feather. There were times she'd drink as well as her brothers and I would believe she was out of the woods, but then she'd go limp in my grasp and I'd have to rub her and slip her inside my shirt to keep her warm again. I was so tired from staying up round the clock that I couldn't see straight. I sometimes slept on my feet, dozing for a few minutes before I snapped awake again. The whole time, I carried Miguen, until my arms felt empty without her in them. On the fourth night, when I opened my eyes after nodding off, my father was staring at me with an expression I'd never seen before on his face. "When you were born," he said, "I wouldn't let go of you, either." Two hours later, Miguen started shaking uncontrollably. I begged my father to drive to a vet, to the hospital, to someone who could help. I cried so hard that he bundled the other pups into a box and carried them out to the battered truck he drove. The box sat between us in the front seat and Miguen shivered beneath my coat. I was shaking, too, although I'm not sure whether I was cold, or just afraid of what I knew was coming. She was gone by the time we got to the parking lot of the vet's office. I knew the minute it happened; she grew lighter in my arms. Like a shell. I started to scream. I couldn't stand the thought of Miguen, dead, being this close to me. My father took her away and wrapped her in his flannel shirt. He slipped the body into the backseat, where I wouldn't have to see her. "In the wild," he told me, "she never would have lasted a day. You're the only reason she stayed as long as she did." If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn't. I burst into loud sobs. Suddenly the box with the wolf pups was on the dashboard, and I was in my father's arms. He smelled of spearmint and snow. For the first time in my life, I understood why he couldn't break free from the drug that was the wolf community. Compared to issues like this, of life and death, did it really matter if the dry cleaning was picked up, or if he forgot the date of open-school night? In the wild, my father told me, a mother wolf learns her lessons the hard way. But in captivity, where wolves are bred only once every three or four years, the rules are different. You can't stand by and just let a pup die. "Nature knows what it wants," my father said. "But that doesn't make it any easier for the rest of us, does it?" There is a tree outside my father's trailer at Redmond's, a red maple. We planted it the summer after Miguen died, to mark the spot where she is buried. It's the same type of tree that, four years later, I see rushing toward the windshield too fast. The same type of tree our truck hits, in that instant, head-on. •  •  •   A woman is kneeling beside me. "She's awake," the woman says. There's rain in my eyes and I smell smoke and I can't see my father. Dad? I say, but I can only hear it in my head. My heart's beating in the wrong place. I look down at my shoulder, where I can feel it. "Looks like a scapula fracture and maybe some broken ribs. Cara? Are you Cara?" How does she know my name? "You've been in an accident," the woman tells me. "We're going to take you to the hospital." "My . . . father . . . ," I force out. Every word is a knife in my arm. I turn my head to try to find him and see the firemen, spraying a hose at the ball of flames that used to be my dad's truck. The rain on my face isn't rain, just mist from the stream of water. Suddenly I remember: the web of shattered windshield; the fishtail of the truck skidding; the smell of gasoline. The way when I cried for my dad he didn't answer. I start shaking all over. "You're incredibly brave," the woman says to me. "Dragging your father out of the car in your condition . . ." I saw an interview once where a teenage girl lifted a refrigerator off her little cousin when it accidentally fell on him. It had something to do with adrenaline. A fireman who has been blocking my view moves and I can see another knot of EMTs gathered around my father, who lies very still on the ground. "If it weren't for you," the woman adds, "your dad might not be alive." Later, I will wonder if that comment is the reason I did everything I did. But right now, I just start to cry. Because I know her words couldn't be farther from the truth. Excerpted from Lone Wolf by Jodi Picoult All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.