Why I hate the book, The Fault in Our Stars by John Green:
1. It's a book about cancer. Cancer sucks ass and there's nothing good about it...ever.
2. It's a book about kids...with cancer. Kids with cancer sucks ass even more and there's nothing good about it...ever.
3. It made me cry. A lot. Now I realize that this was going to be a gimme before I even picked up this fucking book, it does have a title that gives a tip of the hat to a Shakespearian quote no less, but regardless, I do want you to know I tried, really, really hard, not to cry. So, I'm guessing you've assumed correctly that it did make me cry, but to my credit, not until page 117!
4. It actually has a Jodi Piccoult quote on the cover of the book. Jodi Piccoult for God's sake!"Electric...staccato bursts of humor and tragedy." On the FRONT cover!!
5. Kids, even precocious, smarty pants, pubescent, sex-driven, cancer-riddled teens don't talk like this all of the time.
6. The author, yes, you, John Green, use the age-old flippity, flip-flop trick of making the reader think things are one way when they are actually the other. Although, I feel that I realized this pages before it was actually revealed. But then again, perhaps this was simply a tool used for jackwagons like me that provide just enough foreshadowing that I would feel superior and think that I had figured it out well before you actually revealed it, so that in all actuality, I really didn't.
7. At this point, I feel obligated to pull a Peter Van Houten douche move and not finish the book...just walk away mid-sentence and not finish...your book or even this list for that matter, John.
But. I. Return. To. Finish. Your. Stupid. Book. And. This. Stupid. Review.
8. The book ends without really ending, which, I'm assuming John Green figured was a clever move on his part, but it totally sucks since she's reading her own God-damned eulogy when it ends! Which leaves me finishing the book a blubbering pile of goo saying out loud, "God damn you John Green. Leaving me feeling manipulated and used.
So, let me summarize: I originally stopped reading on page 222, wiping tears off my face, and cursing myself for even picking up the damn thing in the first place. This world will not be made better by reading how the person who was supposed to live, love, or die does or doesn't when they should but rather when the stars dictate. Boo to the stars, life is not fair and therefore life is too short to be lectured by fictional authors (I believe Van Houten was referred to as doucheface by Hazel - I know the feeling!) about how meaningless fiction is in our lives. Then, for Green to inflict his thoughts upon fictional teens with cancer (as if they don't have enough to worry about already!) and force them to ponder such serious subjects about how no one will remember them when they're gone seems like a cruel fate, even for fictional Hazel and Gus.
I don't know if I'll read another John Green novel or not (I'm thinking not). I am guessing that he'll write other books about teens dealing with cutting, sexual abuse, alcohol/drug abuse, bulemia/anorexia, etc. (insert your teen angst-ridden issue of choice, wave the magic John Green wand, add a dash of clever dialogue, and you have another best-selling, potential cheesy blockbuster). I will simply add reading John Green novels to the list of things I have never or will never do again, such as reading a Jodi Picoult book, watching Oprah, or touching an electric fence just to see if it's on. Life is simply too short to make it intentionally painful.
