We stared at the house for a while. The weird thing about houses is that they almost always look like nothing is happening inside of them, even though they contain most of our lives. I wondered if that was sort of the point of architecture. – JOHN GREEN, The Fault in Our Stars

I am left tearful and (just very nearly) speechless, having just finished this amazing book. It contains everything: humour and wisdom, love and death. I believe if every single person currently alive and able to do so read it, this world would be the proverbial better place. I am thankful that John Green – unlike Peter van Houten, the author of An Imperial Affliction, his book-within-the-book heroine Hazel is so fond of – is not fictitious. He is alive and well and may be experienced quasi-live on vlogbrothers, his record-breaking YouTube channel.

Refraining from dissecting The Fault in Our Stars, I’ll merely quote two beautiful passages for you. John Green, thank you for your courage in picking as your topic cancer in teenagers who fall in love, and thank you, great Something with a capital S, for making him be so good at it, elegantly cicumnavigating all the pitfalls of cliché, kitsch and cringeworthyness. Over to you, Sir, and your beautifully simple prose that is as dense as only poetry can be. In this case, Hazel and Gus, the protagonists I am already acutely missing, are in the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam:

After a long time, Lidewij and Augustus pulled me to my feet and I saw what was protected by the glass case: pencil marks on the wallpaper measuring the growth of all the children in the annex during the period they lived there, inch after inch until they would grow no more.

PS: Just devoured The Casual Vacancy, too, thanks to yet another spot of the common cold, courtesy of my KiTa-Kind. Just two words: READ. IT.


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