The Fault In Our Stars-John Green

As much as I would like to, I am resisting the immediate temptation of even watching the trailer for The Fault In Our Stars.

I had seen it before I cracked the novel, and the image of Shailene Woodley as Hazel Grace Lancaster was forever imprinted in my brain. So far as Ansel Elgort as Augustus "Gus" Waters…not so much. I know who Ansel Elgort is after seeing him in his fantastic performance as the titular character of Baby Driver. But within the afterglow of having finished The Fault In Our Stars less than two hours ago, the characters I have dreamed up in my mind of Hazel and Gus have usurped the physical imaginings of Josh Boone. No longer do Shailene and Ansel resemble the characters of Hazel and Gus in my mind, and the way they, their families, Peter Van Houten, Isaac, and Patrick have been cultivated within the firsthand screen of my mind is where I would like them to remain.

This, I found, was a common thread that bound together all of the books which would later be turned into movies that I had read. Unlike my earlier years, where I would see the movie dozens of times and then go back and read the book, I have reversed such habits and, call it whatever you fancy—stubborn, obstinate, prideful—I refuse to budge from the organic settings, emotions, and physical features my mind has created. It feels, in a strange way, as if I am betraying my marriage of time and commitment for a quickie of someone else's (often errant) interpretation. As if by doing so I am shunting the quality of my mind's eye. Trading steak at home for a burger on the road. As they say.

Weird. But I know those who read would understand.

I still haven't seen Twilight, The Fountainhead, Atlas Shrugged, For Whom The Bell Tolls, Child of God, Big Sur, Frankenstein, Dracula, 11/23/63, among many many others.

Nor do I plan on it.

The only one that may break this chain is when Michael Mann steps behind the camera to direct Heat 2.

*But I am setting the bar extremely low for that one.*

There isn't anything other-worldly unique about Gus or Hazel. Their characters, while respectably afflicted with health impediments I cannot even begin to imagine, are rather pretentious. Through their dialogue, they reminded me a lot of Kat Stratford from 10 Things I Hate About You. Or Denise Fleming from Can't Hardly Wait. Uppity intellectuals who feel as if—because they were book nerds—it provided them with impunity to look down upon the world.

That's about as honest of a coat that I can cast upon Gus and Hazel to prove that they shouldn't be revered as inspirational characters of literature who leave a lasting impression upon the brain, like Howard Roark and Alicia Western have been able to. But that doesn't necessarily make them bad people. On the contrary, I thought that the way Gus and Hazel fought against the throes of their unearned afflictions was rather genuine and to be commended. The snide thoughts and mannerisms were there. Cynical pokes at having meetings within the "Literal Heart of Jesus". Morbid quips and jokes about kicking the can or losing one's eyesight that only they are allowed to share with one another and sighs over hollow wall posts and indifference to the lengthening list of fellow support group members who had succumbed to their disease.

They are all there, but it provided me as the reader with a new approach to coping with terminal illness while also adding the brief slice of retribution for both Gus and Hazel as they manage to sneak in one final dalliance before one (or both) of them is forced to depart this world forever. As if, with their rendezvous and unique relationship, they managed to slip one past the goal line which has been locked down by the Grim Reaper their entire lives.

And it was admittedly beautiful.

This was a sad tale and pessimistic and often cynical at times. But made me wonder if this is the approach that teenagers who are forced to deal with a terminal illness take when forging a battle that, for their entire lives, they know to be futile.

With irony and indifference.

It's tough to say.

I don't think fortunate is an appropriate word. Let's just say that I have been blessed to have avoided seeing anyone from my teenage years succumb to a terminal illness. So far as I know, only two people from my graduating class succumbed to disease. One from cancer in 2015 at the age of 32 and another from chron's disease in 2009 at 25. I was cordial with the former (at best) and was friendly (but not really friends friends) with the latter. So, in a sense, I consider myself blessed to have not been forced to endure the throes of grief during my teenage years.

*That's not to say that our class has not had its fair share of other tragedies associated with it. We had one suicide during my Junior year. Another one (whom I was close with at various points in life) that I shared a birthday with whose method of passing was never revealed (I suspect it was suicide as well). And one whose passing was by far the most heartbreaking, an individual who rose to great prominence within our community who had some sort of breakdown and died after being shot by police on I-90.*

Despite the mismatched lexicon attached to Gus (no guys obsessed with video games like he is talked [or talk] like that) and the atheistic outlook of Hazel Grace, this was a rather pleasant little read. Overwhelmingly tragic for some, but for me, I saw the cancer that tethered Hazel, Gus, Isaac, and their families together as a third character. Maybe not the most pleasant character, but an essential element to the story. An aggressive life force whose presence refused to be ignored. Without cancer's looming hood cast upon the characters of this book, the romance would not have been as poignant, the pain not as potent, and words bereft of genuine feeling.

As Hazel and Gus ponder: "Without pain, how could we know joy?"

Good question.

Grade: B

Verdict: Read