…but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves.
John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
The Fault in Our Stars: around twenty pages or so into the book, I could feel my heart aching. It wasn’t because I found it to be incredibly sad straight away; it was more because of the familiarity. I wasn’t a cancer kid (thank God) but I did have my unfair share of being a sick kid, and the first thing I really liked about this book was how John Green was able to express what that feels like.
There was this one moment in the book when Hazel, the main character, was silently cursing her steroid bloated, puffed up face, and how it was not in proportion to her skinny body, that really had me laughing. It had me laughing because I remember having those same thoughts many times in my life. When I was 12 years old, it absolutely crushed me. As I got older, I learned to accept it, but through sarcasm and a dry sense of humor.
There was this one time, when I was in high school, that one of my former classmates approached me, took one look at me and told me that I was getting fat. The truth was, all my clothes had gotten too big and I probably lost around 10 lbs, but looking at my puffed up face, most people wouldn’t realize that. But there was no point in explaining that to anyone, so I just weakly smiled at the person, counted the hours until I could go home so that I could finally get away from it all.
When I was a high school senior, I had to take steroids again after thinking that I wouldn’t have to anymore, and I just hated it. I hated going to school. I just wanted to stay home, and read, and be with my mother—which was exactly what Hazel wanted too, at one point in the story—because dealing with everything going on inside me, along with having to deal with school life and the horribleness of most human beings was just too much.
I don’t know if my balloon face issues sound really shallow, but really, such a thing can do wonders to a teenage girl’s self-esteem. Besides, it’s really more like the tip of the iceberg. It’s what you and everyone else can see, and although difficult, it’s easier to deal with than what’s underneath the surface—because that stuff, you really have no control over and just can’t really grasp.
I liked this book because I could relate to the main character in many ways. When I was in college something happened again: same girl, different illness, and this time much worse. I got pulled out of school too, and also, during this round of fighting, everyone could see that there was something wrong with me, and Augustus was right about seeing the way other people look at you—it was infuriating.
There were other familiar points in the story too. Like the cancer kid perks. My sick kid perks included getting to list down all the books I wanted and having them brought home to me because a) I couldn’t leave the house and b) there was nothing I could do with myself but read. The other thing was being the alpha and omega of all your parents’ suffering. That really sucked. Oh, I could go on and on.
Although I do not envy Hazel and Augustus’s battles with cancer and would never wish a terminal illness on anyone, there were some things that I envied about her. First was having friends she could talk to about it without feeling like they were pitying her or that they were trying hard to understand but really couldn’t. Second was Augustus. How I wish I had an Augustus too. But I find it hard to believe that guys like him exist in real life, and that I will ever find anyone who could be the Augustus to my Hazel. (Minus the bitter ending, of course.)
Disclaimer: I do not encourage or promote books that touch this subject matter because they usually just aren’t done right or are very Nicholas Sparks in motive. Also, every time I read a John Green book (after Looking for Alaska) I have to exercise my “suspension of disbelief.” His characters are always one and the same, too smart to believe (read: pretentious) and therefore I cannot bring myself to give it a five-star rating on Goodreads. But then again, the author must be doing something right because I keep reading his books anyway.
Clearly this was not a review. It was just my initial and personal reaction to the story. Perhaps I need to read it again, without any emotional attachments, to be able to fully intellectually assess the story and the writing. But I’d say it was worth the time and the 300+ pages that both mother nature and I will never get back (although I read it digitally, I intend to buy the actual book sometime in the near future).
“My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.”
I’m such a sucker for astronomical metaphors.
