Syrupy tales emerge again

This is one of those books which I bet will be reprinted in paperback very soon with a large banner stating breathlessly, ‘Now a major motion picture starring so and so’!
Cecelia’s earlier novel P.S, I Love You, which pushed her into the limelight, was also lapped up gladly by Hollywood and in this novel, it is as if the author had decided much before the first draft that she will pen a novel that will render Hollywood directors who make films like The Holiday and Message in a bottle weak-kneed and slurpy. And when it comes to syrupy tales such as these, Bollywood is way ahead.
We have already had a Salman Khan-Preity Zinta-Bhumika Chawla starrer called Dil Ne Jise Apna Kahaa, the plot of which runs on very similar lines. This Atul Agnihotri-directed dud had Preity Zinta donating her heart to Bhumika Chawla, who after the donation, automatically falls in love with Preity’s boyfriend Salman who also instinctively ‘finds’ his dead girlfriend in Bhumika Chawla!
In this novel, the connection’s not through hearts but through blood. So there is the lonely, puppy-eyed, handsome and arty Justin Hitchcock who, in a moment of bravado, donates blood — he being the I-can’t-stand-the-sight-of-blood kind. And that blood, make no mistake, is supposedly and I quote, “the first thing to come straight from his heart in a long time.” Whew!
With such a heavy sentimental baggage, the donated blood ought to do something spectacular, right? Well, it does. It is donated to Joyce Conway, who is battling death in a hospital after a terrible accident in which she loses her unborn baby. Her life and her marriage is in pieces but once she is back from the hospital, she keeps getting flashes of another person’s memories, his life, his passions and his sorrows.
She begins recalling streets in Paris, streets that she has never seen before and gives detailed descriptions of period architecture to her baffled friends. Her memory flashes are especially sharp when she sees visions of a happy child at a picnic with her parents. Slowly, she realises that she is not going mad but something ‘special’ has happened to her and undertakes a journey to unravel the truth.
And as everything is pre-ordained, coincidences abound and she keeps bumping into a mysterious man who surprise, surprise, later turns out to be her blood donor. And yes, yes, the twain indeed shall meet and all that blah.
Despite the inherent cynicism such stories provoke, one has to give credit to the author for keeping the plot tight and eliciting many amused smiles and sometimes delicious laughter from her readers.
Cecilia does have a knack for character portrayal and excels especially, in sketching the quirkiness of Joyce’s adorable father and the hero Justin. Justin is a genuinely charming mix of academic seriousness and handsome mischievousness while Joyce’s father is simply adorable with a capital A.
I can well imagine an actor like Jack Nicholson essaying this part with great panache and somebody like Tom Hanks playing the role of Justin. The surprises are just where they should be and so are the emotional bits. In fact, if you want a verdict on the book, in true filmi style, I would say it is fultoos timepass!