by John Green

I have a bad habit of occasionally reading stories in a way that I suspect the author would hate. In the case of The Fault in Our Stars, it started when I gave Hazel, the protagonist, an Essex accent and continued when Augustus, her love interest, became a young Brad Pitt. (Young, of course, to mitigate the creepiness of an older Brad Pitt hitting on a sixteen-year-old.) Hazel’s accent faded as the story progressed, but Augustus was always Young Brad Pitt; I will argue that this wasn’t entirely a fault of my own, as he delivered his lines with a relish usually reserved for a Brad Pitt character.

Moving on to actual points about the actual story, it was surprisingly good. (I kept telling people that I would try to like The Fault in Our Stars, but I will admit that I was a bit nervous that my initial bias against a YA romance about cancerous teens would ruin my enjoyment somewhat.) Green’s treatment of love, life, pain, and mourning, while great, wouldn’t necessarily sell the book when held next to standouts such as Hitchens’ Mortality or Humphrey’s Nocturne. That being said, the author’s characterization is in a league all of its own, specifically with regards to the maturity shown by Hazel from Essex and Young Brad Pitt. Given their tenuous lives, both characters are forced to mature more quickly than others their age. This results in an almost “false maturity,” wherein they use big words and attempt to tackle large concepts, but they are essentially normal teens beneath this demeanour; they’re quick to embrace pretentiousness––as I definitely was at that age, though I’m sure it’s arguable that I haven’t fully outgrown it––and we occasionally catch glimpses of a child coming out, through unfettered enjoyment of simple pleasures and an innocence that most lose with age. But to dismiss this maturity as false or merely superficial is to overlook it; while both teens do have this outer coating that shields the child inside, Hazel and Gus understand more about the world around them than even many of their elders, most likely due to an intimacy with pain and a closeness to death rarely experienced in one’s teens. The end result of such concepts is a couple of characters who I have no trouble believing.

So, it’s good, and I liked it. For those of you who approach YA romance novels tentatively, like me, I hope that the previous analysis convinces you to give The Fault in Our Stars a chance. And, for those of you just looking for an enjoyable read: The story is straightforward, highly readable, and, above all, great.