9780805076684

The Adoration of Jenna Fox

by
  • ISBN13:

    9780805076684

  • ISBN10:

    0805076689

  • Format: Hardcover
  • Copyright: 4/29/2008
  • Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
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Summary

Who is Jenna Fox? Seventeen-year-old Jenna has been told that is her name. She has just awoken from a coma, they tell her, and she is still recovering from a terrible accident in which she was involved a year ago. But what happened before that? Jenna doesn't remember her life. Or does she? And are the memories really hers? This fascinating novel represents a stunning new direction for acclaimed author Mary Pearson. Set in a near future America, it takes readers on an unforgettable journey through questions of bio-medical ethics and the nature of humanity. Mary Pearson's vividly drawn characters and masterful writing soar to a new level of sophistication.

Author Biography

Mary E. Pearson is the author of three other novels for teens--A Room on Lorelei Street, David v. God, and Scribbler of Dreams.  She writes full-time from her home in Carlsbad, California, where she lives with her husband and two dogs. 

Table of Contents

I look at my fingers again, the ones that trembled and shook just a few days ago at Mr. Bender’s kitchen table.  I bring them together, fingertip to fingertip, like a steeple.  Each one perfect by appearance. But something is not . . . right.  Something that I still have no word for.  It is a dull twisting that snakes through me.  Is this a tangled feeling that everyone my age feels?  Or is it different?  Am I different?  I slide my steepled fingers, slowly, watching them interlace. Trying to interlace, like a clutched desperate prayer, but again, I feel like the hands I am lacing are not my own, like I have borrowed them from a twelve-fingered monster.  And yet, when I count them, yes, there are ten.  Ten exquisitely perfect, beautiful fingers.

Excerpts

I look at my fingers again, the ones that trembled and shook just a few days ago at Mr. Bender’s kitchen table.  I bring them together, fingertip to fingertip, like a steeple.  Each one perfect by appearance. But something is not . . . right.  Something that I still have no word for.  It is a dull twisting that snakes through me.  Is this a tangled feeling that everyone my age feels?  Or is it different?  Am I different?  I slide my steepled fingers, slowly, watching them interlace. Trying to interlace, like a clutched desperate prayer, but again, I feel like the hands I am lacing are not my own, like I have borrowed them from a twelve-fingered monster.  And yet, when I count them, yes, there are ten.  Ten exquisitely perfect, beautiful fingers.


Excerpted from The Adoration of Jenna Fox by Mary E. Pearson
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.

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