My library finally got multiple copies of The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, so I was able to snag one a few weeks ago. I finished it in a few days, and I enjoyed it, but I didn’t quite get what all the hype was about.
Hazel is 17 and has terminal lung cancer. She needs to wheel around her oxygen tank to breathe, and needs to be hooked up to a larger machine at night while she sleeps. She attends a support group in the basement of a local church, but most of the time she just makes fun of the other members in her head and with her friend, Isaac. One day, Augustus appears, and he is unlike any boy she’s ever met before. They become instant friends, and although Gus wants more, Hazel is reluctant to get too close to him when she discovers that his ex-girlfriend died.
The book is well written, the story moves along nicely, and while I liked Hazel, I couldn’t get into Gus. His character seemed so forced, like he was trying too hard to be the cool kid. Maybe that was the whole point and I missed it.
I didn’t see what was so groundbreaking about this story, however. Maybe I’m too bitter and jaded in my old age, but I didn’t find a story about teenagers dealing with cancer all that new or spellbinding. Sure, it was sad, but does that automatically make it a good book? If a book makes you cry, does that mean it’s great? I don’t think it does. I cried during parts of this book, and I actually had to put it down and step away because it hit too close to home, but that alone doesn’t put it on my Favorite Books list. It was good, and I would recommend it, but once again I have to say I am not jumping on the John Green bandwagon with everyone else.