The copy I had of The Fault In Our Stars had a fault on the cover. I got it from the Archangel who bought it in India, where – get this – they literally photocopied every single page of the original, slapped a new cover onto it and sold it in all its ‘#1 Ner York Times Bestseller’ glory. No seriously, that’s what it said on the cover. And she didn’t notice. And neither did I. Lol.
The Fault In Our Stars by John Green is a novel about a girl, Hazel, who has cancer, and a boy she meets through a cancer support group that she has to go to. Augustus Waters. You have to say it like that because that is how it is said throughout the entire book.
This girl is supposed to be 16 but she does not sound 16 at all. Which is one thing I was impressed by. Another thing I was impressed by was how exactly John Green manages to capture the exact nuances of a teenage love affair – from a girl’s point of view! How did he do this? Is there a teenage girl locked in his head? Or in his house, who he starves to bleed true emotion and description from her? Because he was very, very on it. But if this teenage girl is anything like Hazel, then she must have escaped by now. Because Hazel is smart.
Sure, there are some things that she – and Augustus Waters – are slightly improbably smart about. But I suppose cancer gives and takes some things. Like…you think about stuff differently. So I guess it make sense. And the gallows humour in this is my exact cup of tea.
My favourite bits of the book are when the guy starts describing stuff about the characters and things that actually really matter. Made me think – or rather, reminded me to remember. I think this book is the type that should be read a couple of times in a lifetime, just to remember the important shit.
Aki I hope that I just read the real text and not an Indian aspiring writer person’s one. And my niece has already told me that the movie is meh. So. And apparently, his other books aren’t actually very good? If I find one, I’ll let you know.
Young Adult books my foot. This one is for old ones.
‘But that wasn’t what I was thinking. I was just trying to notice everything: the light on the ruined Ruins, this little kid who could barely walk discovering a stick at the corner of the playground, my indefatigable mother zigzagging mustard across her turkey sandwich, my dad patting his handheld in his pocket and resisting the urge to check it, a guy throwing a Frisbee that his dog kept running under and catching and returning to him.
…All I know of heaven and all I know of death is in this park: an elegant universe in ceaseless motion, teeming with ruined ruins and screaming children.’