A return to form for Picoult with a tale of delayed justice

Back when Picoult first became beloved of book clubs and fiction fans she was fresh and exciting. Then after a while, and after half a dozen similar books, it seemed the biggest question was ‘How does she get these topical books out there so quickly?’. A middle-class moral dilemma only had to feature on Oprah and Picoult spat out a book about a family torn apart — or driven closer together — by it.

Teen suicide, Asperger’s, leukaemia, organ donation, stem cell research, mercy killing and gay rights were just some of the topics Picoult used as themes in her commercial fiction.

She obviously has a writing skill, but for a while there it felt like she was on autopilot, and some readers felt a bit shortchanged. But with The Storyteller, Picoult has pushed herself hard and it’s worked.

After a bit of a ropey start — it’s hard to warm to the quirky Sage and her acquaintances with their contrived kookiness — the book really takes off.

Sage is befriended by an elderly man who seems like a grandfather to the whole community — he was a popular teacher, coached sport, has a cute dog. But their friendship wasn’t spontaneous — Josef is a German who has actively sought out “the only Jew in town” to get her forgiveness for all the orders he obeyed when he was a bright light in the German army during the Second World War.

Sage, who was born in America to American-born parents, points out that the Holocaust is several lifetimes and thousands of miles away so she’s hardly qualified to be his confessor and absolution granter.

But then her Polish grandmother’s story starts to become real to her and Sage finds she does care passionately about the wrongs that were heaped upon millions of people.

This is when The Storyteller comes into its own — Picoult really does manage to make the build-up to the war and one girl’s account of the paranoia, physical abuse and mental degradation that she endured seem fresh and real. It’s this story within the story that is gripping and vivid.

The moral dilemma — Picoult always has one — is about how to adequately punish an old, feeble man for crimes he committed decades ago. She looks at whether it’s possible to make up for a six years of reprehensible actions with 60 or 70 years as a pillar of the community. And she examines whether there is any point at all in extraditing a sick man in his 90s from the US to Germany to be tried for his war crimes when he’s likely to die before the end of the trial — and when modern justice systems don’t allow for an-eye-for-an-eye retribution.

The war account is so luminous that it’s a wrench to come back to present day but the two stories merge fairly well as the book progresses. Picoult hasn’t completely broken the mould here — there’s a twist or two along the way as well so that should keep long-term Picoult fans happy too.

Hopefully this is the start of a new era of storytelling for Picoult.