Jacob Hunt is a teenager with Asperger's Syndrome. He's hopeless at reading social cues or expressing himself well to others, and like many kids with AS, Jacob has a special focus on one subject -- forensic analysis. He's always showing up at crime scenes, thanks to the police scanner he keeps in his room, and then telling the cops what they need to do -- and he's usually right.

But when his tutor is found dead, and the police come to question Jacob, all the behaviors of Asperger's -- not looking someone in the eye, stimulatory tics and twitches -- looks a lot like guilt to law enforcement officials. So it's little wonder that Jacob finds himself accused of murder.

They tell me I'm lucky to have a son who's so verbal, who is blisteringly intelligent, who can take apart the broken microwave and have it working again an hour later. They think there is no greater hell than having a son who is locked in his own world, unaware that there's a wider one to explore. But try having a son who is locked in his own world, and still wants to make a connection. A son who tries to be like everyone else, but truly doesn't know how.

Jacob Hunt is a teenage boy with Asperger's syndrome. He's hopeless at reading social cues or expressing himself well to others, and like many kids with AS, Jacob has a special focus on one subject--in his case, forensic analysis. He's always showing up at crime scenes, thanks to the police scanner he keeps in his room, and telling the cops what they need to do...and he's usually right. But then his town is rocked by a terrible murder and, for a change, the police come to Jacob with questions. All of the hallmark behaviors of Asperger's--not looking someone in the eye, stimulatory tics and twitches, flat affect--can look a lot like guilt to law enforcement personnel. Suddenly, Jacob and his family, who only want to fit in, feel the spotlight shining directly on them. For his mother, Emma, it's a brutal reminder of the intolerance and misunderstanding that always threaten her family. For his brother, Theo, it's another indication of why nothing is normal because of Jacob. And over this small family the soul-searing question looms: Did Jacob commit murder?

Emotionally powerful from beginning to end, House Rules looks at what it means to be different in our society, how autism affects a family, and how our legal system works well for people who communicate a certain way--and fails those who don't.

Explore the reading group guide for House Rules.

A Conversation with Author Jodi Picoult

Q: How did you first decide upon Asperger's Syndrome as the focus for this novel?

A: I have a cousin who's autistic. Several times, my aunt found herself in a public place trying to control one of his meltdowns--and people who didn't understand why she was restraining him contacted authorities and made allegations of abuse. As he got older, and moved into a group home, his frustrations became more intense because of his size--he'd break in windows with his fist, for example--and several times the police were called. It got me thinking that the legal system works really well, if you communicate a certain way. But if you don't, it all goes to Hell in a handbasket really quickly. A lot of the hallmark behaviors of autism--flat affect, stimming, not looking someone in the eye--could very easily be misinterpreted as signs of guilt.

Q: You have been known to do extensive research about the topics in your books. What was the research process like for this novel?

A: In addition to meeting with attorneys to get the legal information accurate, I met with six teens with Asperger's, and their parents--face to face. Even though some of the kids were very awkward in a direct setting, I needed to experience that to understand how the rest of the world would feel coming in contact with Jacob. But kids with Asperger's, who are so smart, shine when you let them answer questions on paper. So another 35 teens and their parents answered lengthy questionnaires for me about themselves, their reactions to situations, their lives, their hopes, their frustrations. It made for some incredible reading, and many of their direct experiences wound up in Jacob's life. One of these young women with Asperger's Syndrome was so detailed in her writing and so open about her experiences that she volunteered to help me further. She read the manuscript for accuracy and told me, based on Jacob's voice, what seemed consistent and what, in her opinion, Jacob would never say or do. The last bit of research I did was incredibly fun--I shadowed a CSI for a week. I got to learn blood spatter analysis, to do presumptive semen tests, to check out crime scenes, and to observe an autopsy. It was fascinating!

Q: When your central characters are in a real-life situation that affects so many people around the world--in this case, dealing with the effects of Asperger's Syndrome and autism on a family--is there more pressure on you as the author to "get it right"?

A: It doesn't really matter whether it's Asperger's or a rape victim or a cancer patient--when research subjects open up to me with such honesty I ALWAYS feel a responsibility to "get it right."

Q: If you could say one thing to the families who are dealing with the effects of having an autistic child, what would it be?

A: That you're not alone--and that, hopefully, more and more people will come to understand that a child who's "different from" is not one who is "lesser than."

Q: In a previous interview, you referred to your novels taking part in a long line of "moral and ethical fiction." When you first began writing, did you have the intention of using your work as a springboard for conversation about moral and ethical issues? Or did that come later on?

A: I think I started gravitating toward that sort of niche as I kept writing. I have always written about subjects that engage me--questions I can't answer myself. They apparently tend to be big moral and ethical issues! But I never lose sight of the fact that before I was a writer, I was a teacher. I still am. My classroom's just gotten a little bigger.

Q: House Rules is your seventeenth novel. Do you feel your writing has changed since your first novel? If so, was it an intentional change, or is it something you've noticed over time?

A: I think my writing has become "cleaner." By that I mean that technically I've improved--I might turn a metaphor in five words now, where years ago, it would have taken me a paragraph. I can't say it was intentional--but you know what they say about practice making perfect…!

Q: Why did you choose to end the book when you did, rather than going into what happens to the characters in the aftermath of the trial?

A: Because at heart, this is Jacob's book. And remember, to Jacob, there was never any real mystery here, was there?

Q: Could you talk for a moment about Emma's character and her struggles throughout the book? You've said that your characters' voices come to you, that they take on a life of their own. Did you find yourself agreeing with Emma's choices as the novel progressed?

A: I think Emma is a very typical, very overwhelmed mom. A lot of the moms of autistic kids I met are so consumed with being their child's advocate that there's no room for anything else--least of all themselves. It's why so many marriages end in divorce, when a child is diagnosed on the spectrum. Emma's journey in this book is one of unwinding--allowing herself to define herself as more than just Jacob's mother, because that's been completely eroded by his autism.

Q: If the main characters in this novel had favorite books, what do you think they would be?

A: What a great question! I think Jacob's would be, clearly, anything written by Dr. Henry Lee. Oliver would love Presumed Innocent by Turow--it's probably why he decided to go to law school. Theo would read Vonnegut. He wouldn't understand Vonnegut, but he'd think it's the kind of thing a rebel would read. Rich--I think he's a closet softy, the kind of guy who's got a dog-eared copy of The Sun Also Rises in his nightstand. And dare I hope that Emma reads Jodi Picoult novels?

Q: Could you give us a glimpse into your next project?

A: Sing You Home, the 2011 book, is the story of Zoe Baxter, who has spent ten years trying to get pregnant. After multiple miscarriages and infertility issues, it looks like her dream is about to come true--she is seven months pregnant. But a terrible turn of events takes away the baby she has already fallen for; and breaks apart her marriage to Max. In the aftermath, she throws herself into her career as a music therapist--using music clinically to soothe burn victims in a hospital; to help Alzheimer's patients connect with the present; to provide solace for hospice patients. When Vanessa--a guidance counselor--asks her to work with a suicidal teen, their relationship moves from business to friendship and then, to Zoe's surprise, blossoms into love. When Zoe allows herself to start thinking of having a family, again, she remembers that there are still frozen embryos that were never used by herself and Max.

Meanwhile, Max has found peace at the bottom of a bottle--until he is redeemed by an evangelical church, whose charismatic pastor--Clive Lincoln--has vowed to fight the "homosexual agenda" that has threatened traditional family values in America. But this mission becomes personal for Max, when Zoe and her same-sex partner say they want permission to raise his unborn child.

Sing You Home explores what it means to be gay in today's world, and how reproductive science has outstripped the legal system. Are embryos people or property? What challenges do same-sex couples face when it comes to marriage and adoption? What happens when religion and sexual orientation--two issues that are supposed to be justice-blind--enter the courtroom? And most importantly, what constitutes a "traditional family" in today's day and age?

Also--in a very unique move--readers will get to literally hear Zoe Baxter's voice. I am collaborating with Ellen Wilber, a dear friend who is also a very talented musician, to create a CD of original songs, which will correspond to each of the chapters. This CD will be packaged with each hardcover book. So--literally--stay tuned!

Emma

Everywhere I look, there are signs of a struggle. The mail has been scattered all over the kitchen floor; the stools are overturned. The phone has been knocked off its pedestal, its battery pack hanging loose from an umbilicus of wires. There?s one single faint footprint at the threshold of the living room, pointing toward the dead body of my son, Jacob.

He is sprawled like a starfish in front of the fireplace. Blood covers his temple and his hands. For a moment, I can?t move, can?t breathe.

Suddenly, he sits up. ?Mom,? Jacob says, ?you?re not even trying.?

This is not real, I remind myself, and I watch him lie back down in the exact same position?on his back, his legs twisted to the left.

?Um, there was a fight,? I say.

Jacob?s mouth barely moves. ?And . . . ??

?You were hit in the head.? I get down on my knees, like he?s told me to do a hundred times, and notice the crystal clock that usually sits on the mantel now peeking out from beneath the couch. I gingerly pick it up and see blood on the corner. With my pinkie, I touch the liquid and then taste it.

?Oh, Jacob, don?t tell me you used up all my corn syrup again??

?Mom! Focus!?

I sink down on the couch, cradling the clock in my hands. ?Robbers came in, and you fought them off.? Jacob sits up and sighs. The food dye and corn syrup mixture has matted his dark hair; his eyes are shining, even though they won?t meet mine. ?Do you honestly believe I?d execute the same crime scene twice??

He unfolds a fist, and for the first time I see a tuft of corn silk hair. Jacob?s father is a towhead?or at least he was when he walked out on us fifteen years ago, leaving me with Jacob and Theo, his brand-new, blond baby brother.

 ?Theo killed you??

?Seriously, Mom, a kindergartner could have solved this case,? Jacob says, jumping to his feet. Fake blood drips down the side of his face, but he doesn?t notice; when he is intensely focused on crime scene analysis,

I think a nuclear bomb could detonate beside him and he?d never flinch.

He walks toward the footprint at the edge of the carpet and points. Now, at second glance, I notice the waffle tread of the Vans skateboarding sneakers that Theo saved up to buy for months, and the latter half of the company logo?NS?burned into the rubber sole. ?There was a confrontation in the kitchen,? Jacob explains. ?It ended with the phone being thrown in defense, and me being chased into the living room, where Theo clocked me.?

At that, I have to smile a little. ?Where did you hear that term??

?CrimeBusters, episode forty-three.?

?Well, just so you know?it means to punch someone. Not hit them with an actual clock.?

Jacob blinks at me, expressionless. He lives in a literal world; it?s one of the hallmarks of his diagnosis. Years ago, when we were moving to Vermont, he asked what it was like. Lots of green, I said, and rolling hills.

At that, he burst into tears. Won?t they hurt us? he said.

?But what?s the motive?? I ask, and on cue, Theo thunders down the stairs.

?Where?s the freak?? he yells.

?Theo, you will not call your brother??

?How about I stop calling him a freak when he stops stealing things out of my room?? I have instinctively stepped between him and his brother, although Jacob is a head taller than both of us.

?I didn?t steal anything from your room,? Jacob says.

?Oh, really? What about my sneakers??

?They were in the mudroom,? Jacob qualifies.

?Retard,? Theo says under his breath, and I see a flash of fire in Jacob?s eyes.

?I am not retarded,? he growls, and he lunges for his brother.

I hold him off with an outstretched arm. ?Jacob,? I say, ?you shouldn?t take anything that belongs to Theo without asking for his permission. And Theo, I don?t want to hear that word come out of your mouth again, or I?m going to take your sneakers and throw them out with the trash. Do I make myself clear??

 ?I?m outta here,? Theo mutters, and he stomps toward the mudroom.

A moment later I hear the door slam.

I follow Jacob into the kitchen and watch him back into a corner.

?What we got here,? Jacob mutters, his voice a sudden drawl, ?is . . . failure to communicate.? He crouches down, hugging his knees.

When he cannot find the words for how he feels, he borrows someone else?s. These come from Cool Hand Luke; Jacob remembers the dialogue from every movie he?s ever seen.

I?ve met so many parents of kids who are on the low end of the autism spectrum, kids who are diametrically opposed to Jacob, with his Asperger?s. They tell me I?m lucky to have a son who?s so verbal, who is blisteringly intelligent, who can take apart the broken microwave and have it working again an hour later. They think there is no greater hell than having a son who is locked in his own world, unaware that there?s a wider one to explore. But try having a son who is locked in his own world and still wants to make a connection. A son who tries to be like everyone else but truly doesn?t know how.

I reach out to comfort him but stop myself?a light touch can set Jacob off. He doesn?t like handshakes or pats on the back or someone ruffling his hair. ?Jacob,? I begin, and then I realize that he isn?t sulking at all. He holds up the telephone receiver he?s been hunched over, so that I can see the smudge of black on the side. ?You missed a fingerprint, too,? Jacob says cheerfully. ?No offense, but you would make a lousy crime scene investigator.? He rips a sheet of paper towel off the roll, dampens it in the sink. ?Don?t worry, I?ll clean up all the blood.?

?You never did tell me Theo?s motive for killing you.?

?Oh.? Jacob glances over his shoulder, a wicked grin spreading across his face. ?I stole his sneakers.?

In my mind, Asperger?s is a label to describe not the traits Jacob has but rather the ones he lost. It was sometime around two years old when he began to drop words, to stop making eye contact, to avoid connections with people. He couldn?t hear us, or he didn?t want to. One day I looked at him, lying on the floor beside a Tonka truck. He was spinning its wheels, his face only inches away, and I thought, Where have you gone?

I made excuses for his behavior: the reason he huddled in the bottom of the grocery cart every time we went shopping was that it was cold in the supermarket. The tags I had to cut out of his clothing were unusually scratchy. When he could not seem to connect with any children at his preschool, I organized a no-holds-barred birthday party for him, complete with water balloons and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. About a half hour into the celebration, I suddenly realized that Jacob was missing. I was six months pregnant and hysterical?other parents began to search the yard, the street, the house. I was the one who found him, sitting in the basement, repeatedly inserting and ejecting a VCR tape.

When he was diagnosed, I burst into tears. Remember, this was back in 1995; the only experience I?d had with autism was Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. According to the psychiatrist we first met, Jacob suffered from an impairment in social communication and behavior, without the language deficit that was a hallmark of other forms of autism. It wasn?t until years later that we even heard the word Asperger?s?it just wasn?t on anyone?s diagnostic radar yet. But by then, I?d had Theo, and Henry? my ex?had moved out. He was a computer programmer who worked at home and couldn?t stand the tantrums Jacob would throw when the slightest thing set him off: a bright light in the bathroom, the sound of the UPS truck coming down the gravel driveway, the texture of his breakfast cereal. By then, I?d completely devoted myself to Jacob?s early intervention therapists?a parade of people who would come to our house intent on dragging him out of his own little world. I want my house back, Henry told me. I want you back.

But I had already noticed how, with the behavioral therapy and speech therapy, Jacob had begun to communicate again. I could see the improvement. Given that, there wasn?t even a choice to make.

The night Henry left, Jacob and I sat at the kitchen table and played a game. I made a face, and he tried to guess which emotion went with it. I smiled, even though I was crying, and waited for Jacob to tell me I was happy.

Henry lives with his new family in the Silicon Valley. He works for Apple and he rarely speaks to the boys, although he sends a check faithfully every month for child support. But then again, Henry was always good with organization. And numbers. His ability to memorize a New York Times article and quote it verbatim?which had seemed so academically sexy when we were dating?wasn?t all that different from the way Jacob could memorize the entire TV schedule by the time he was six. It wasn?t until years after Henry was gone that I diagnosed him with a dash of Asperger?s, too.

There?s a lot of fuss about whether or not Asperger?s is on the autism spectrum, but to be honest, it doesn?t matter. It?s a term we use to get Jacob the accommodations he needs in school, not a label to explain who he is. If you met him now, the first thing you?d notice is that he might have forgotten to change his shirt from yesterday or to brush his hair. If you talk to him, you?ll have to be the one to start the conversation. He won?t look you in the eye. And if you pause to speak to someone else for a brief moment, you might turn back to find that Jacob?s left the room.

Saturdays, Jacob and I go food shopping. It?s part of his routine, which means we rarely stray from it. Anything new has to be introduced early on and prepared for?whether that?s a dentist appointment or a vacation or a transfer student joining his math class midyear. I knew that he?d ha...