A Book Review on Fault in Our Stars Usa
I hate the fact that it made me laugh, and so hard!
I detest the fact that it made me smile, so much!
I hate the fact that it fabricated me chuckle, so profusely!
I detest the fact that it gifted me with and then much Laughter, Smiles and Chuckles when I was expecting to come up face up to confront with tragedy at whatever moment....it changed my expec
I hate the fact that it fabricated me laugh, so hard!
I hate the fact that it made me smiling, so much!
I hate the fact that information technology fabricated me chuckle, so profusely!
I detest the fact that information technology gifted me with so much Laughter, Smiles and Chuckles when I was expecting to come face up to face with tragedy at any moment....it changed my expectations, fabricated me believe in Something which did not happen...or maybe did happen.
I hate the fact that while Hazel Grace fell in love the way you lot fall comatose: slowly, and then all at one time , I just fell ...no warning, no time to procedure the myriad emotions coursing through me, nope, zippo, just a huge endless void-filled fall and so a sudden crash that took my jiff abroad, like literally...
I detest the fact that I savage in love with this jump-to-cease-in-oblivion, bound-to-end-in-disaster boy who stared with blue bluish eyes and put the killing affair right between his teeth, but never gave it the power to do its killing. (Putting a cigarette right betwixt your teeth and never lighting it, aye, that'due south Augustus Waters for yous, people, a guy huge on metaphors and symbolism...that hopeless male child).
I hate the fact that when I least expected it, the story, the words just grabbed me and pulled me in so deep that even the thought of ever resurfacing never entered my listen.
I hate that the fact that right in the middle of my dance in the rain of laughter, dry out wit, and humour without any warning, without whatever lightning as it's precedent, this thunder would stun me, startle me, wipe the smile correct off my face, and sober me up, wake me upwardly from the intoxication of the very real still false jocularity spun by them, a humour which was zip but human tragedy waiting-to-happen-and-had-already-happened in disguise and so push me back into that rain to trip the light fantastic again.
I hate the fact that I'chiliad not making my much sense correct now....that right now my thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations...
And aye, all the hate above is a metaphor, a symbolic discussion for beloved... weird, correct? But right at present I can't bring myself to say that I love this book....I don't, I don't, I don't (yes, I practise, I do, I exercise...)
And then, *deep breath*, it's a story of a girl named Hazel Grace Lancaster, a girl diagnosed with thyroid cancer at the age of 13 who's nevertheless alive at 16 thank you to a miracle drug which didn't work information technology'south miracle in about 70% of the people but it did work in her.
So, fifty-fifty though her lungs suck at being lungs, she'southward nevertheless alive and well not kick, just animate, with difficulty (considering recall her lungs suck at being lungs), just animate however.
She's been nothing but a last example ever since her diagnosis. The doctors are but finding ways of keeping her live rather than removing the cancer ridden lungs and replacing information technology with a new one, because let's face it, her chances of surviving such an functioning are like side by side to nothing and why waste product a good pair of lungs on a given, bound-to-fail torso?
So, Hazel has never been annihilation but terminal, her last chapter inscribed upon diagnosis.
Enter Augustus Waters. He's 17, gorgeous, in remission, and very frankly and much to her surprise interested in her.
It's a lucifer made in Cancer Child Back up Group, in the Literal Heart of Jesus (you'll know what that means when you read the volume...yous'll laugh, trust me, y'all will).
He is a tenured professor in the Department of Slightly Crooked Smiles with a dual appointment in the Section of Having a Voice That Made My Skin Feel More than Like Pare.
He'south the unexpected, hot, gorgeous twist in her story...a story which is about to exist completely rewritten...
Their story begins with a staring competition...he stares at her...
So she stares dorsum...because allow'southward face information technology...
(Spoiler Alert: She wins.)
And it progresses into something bright, something as brilliant as the stars, into Something with a upper-case letter South....
I detest this book. (This needs indefinite repetitions, I hate it).
I hate the fact that I vicious in love with their ever. "Okay"
I detest the fact that Hazel Grace took the words correct out of my rima oris when she said what she said about existence a vegetarian...
"I want to minimise the number of deaths I am responsible for,"
and almost not knowing what'southward cool...
"I take a lot of pride in not knowing what'southward cool."
I hate the fact that I cruel in beloved with this blue-eyed male child who drove horrifically and his cheesy and still very endearing attempts to be Prince Charming....(just more than so with him...the surprised, excited and innocent side of him..)
"May I come across yous again?" he asked. At that place was an endearing nervousness in his vocalism.I smiled. "Sure."
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
"Patience, grasshopper," I counseled. "You don't desire to seem overeager."
"Right, that's why I said tomorrow," he said. "I want to see y'all again tonight. But I'm willing to wait
all night and much of tomorrow."
I hate the fact that Hazel Grace felt like a grenade and all she wanted to exercise was minimise the casualities when (not if but when) she blew upwards...
I hate the fact that I felt sorry for a lonely swing set...a Desperately Alone Swing Set Which Needed a Loving Dwelling...or possibly information technology was simply a Lonely, Vaguely Pedophilic Swing Set Which Sought the Butts of Children...and the fact that I absolutely dearest this sentence....
The Lone Swing Set...
or maybe Merely Vaguely Pedophilic...
And even though I vicious in dearest the way you fall from a cliff or a edifice, (don't actually know how that feels..since I've never done that)..I hate the way she vicious in love...
I hate this kiss....because for who so firm that cannot exist seduced?
And then we were kissing. My hand let get of the oxygen cart and I reached up for his cervix, and he pulled me up past my waist onto my tiptoes. As his parted lips met mine, I started to experience breathless in a new and fascinating way. The space around usa evaporated, and for a weird moment I really liked my body; this cancer-ruined thing I'd spent years dragging around suddenly seemed worth the struggle, worth the chest tubes and the PICC lines and the ceaseless bodily betrayal of the tumors.
I hate the love letter she wrote him...(Spoiler Alert: It's a Venn diagram love letter.)
I detest the fact that she did not agree with Maslow's Bureaucracy of Needs (in which Abraham Maslow, an American psychologist, claimed that certain needs must be met earlier you can even take other kinds of needs.) Something like this...
Unless and until your needs of the previous level have been fulfilled, you don't even call up almost the needs of the next level. Of form, like all psychological theories this 1 too cannot be generalized or accustomed universally. Because if at that place is one law in psychology then it is that there is no police in psychology, there is no given universal laws for human behaviour or thoughts or annihilation. Every theory has it'due south use and flaws, applicable to some while non applicable to others. And this one is not applicative in this situation. Nope, non at all.
I hate the words, the discussion play in this book... a quantum entanglement of tubes and bodies....triumphantly digitized contemporaneity....
I detest the fact that it made me laugh so much, smile a lot, fall in love so hard only to exact revenge later on on for giving in to the false security of humour and love by making me cry....oh god, cry and then much....so much...
Because that's the matter nigh pain, it demands to be felt.
I become it...totally go it...
I hate the fact that I ever read this sentence...
"I lit upward like a Christmas tree, Hazel Grace..." .
I hate it, I really hate it (forget metaphorical resonances, forget symbolism, I really detest it).
I hate the fact that information technology made me cry so much that the lovers of-god-knows-which-century entwined on my pillowcase were drenched in the torrent of my tears and were probably ruing the fact that at that place was no umbrella during their fourth dimension.
I hate the fact that I stayed up whole night reading this book, half of the nighttime crying, and even after finishing it I couldn't become to sleep, so the residuum of the dawn just pacing in my room with all these haphazard, sporadic stars jumping around in my mind finding absolutely no artery to become constellations.....and my eyes puffy (Notation to self: Exercise non stay up all night or add together crying to it if you lot exercise to avert puffy eyes.)
Why do I do this to myself??
And I admittedly hate this...
I hate that this story is stunningly overwhelming, insightful, irreverent, raw and devastating...and to quote Markus Zusak, it'due south the kind of story reading which "You laugh, you cry and so you come dorsum for more."
Some infinities are bigger than other infinities... ...I'm grateful for having known this footling infinity...grateful for this ballsy honey story of two star crossed lovers....
[image fault]
I like my choices. I hope y'all like yours.
And by hate yous know I meant beloved, right?
I dear this book.
Correct now, my thoughts are besides jumbled up...
Source: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11870085-the-fault-in-our-stars
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