Cover to Cover: The Fault in Our Stars, Ch. 21

It’s time, kids. Put on your Sunday best and grab yourself some professional mourners, because our dear Augustus Waters is dead.

No, really.

Also, there really are such things as professional mourners. Today. What the hell, UK?

Augustus Waters died eight days after his prefuneral, at Memorial, in the ICU, when the cancer, which was made of him, finally stopped his heart, which was also made of him.

That reads like it was put together by someone who only has a vague idea of how words work. But we’ll let that go, because the important part is that our hero is officially worm food. Literally a page after we had that fake funeral.

It’s a little abrupt. I mean, I’m all for it, considering it spares us 8 days of listening to “Augustus was so perfect and wonderful, except he wasn’t because cancer patients aren’t perfect and wonderful which is why you should think this is the deepest book ever, except he is because I need you to fall in love with him so you cry when he dies . . .” So, thank God for small favors.

But still, is this it? I mean, we have about 3,000 pages of “romance,” a couple chapters of cancer, and then thud. I’d say Green was being deliberately cold — you know, this isn’t like those sappy “cancer books” — if I didn’t think this was supposed to be the point where I start crying.

But whatever. We’re only at the first sentence.

We're only at the first sentence.
Sweet Moses, we’re only at the first sentence!

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Cover to Cover: The Fault in Our Stars, the eulogies

Hey all! We just finished sending Augustus Waters to his fake grave, but I couldn’t fit in everything that our amazing posters had to offer. So I’m sharing the full eulogies here so you can enjoy the hell out of them! If I get others from commenters, they’ll go here as well.

Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to say goodbye to a beautiful man known by many names: Augustus Waters, Gus, Mr. Psycho, Edward Cullen, Pee Wee Herman.

And we’d like to tell him how little he means to all of us:

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Cover to Cover: The Fault in Our Stars, Ch. 20

DON’T MAKE ME DO IT, PLEASE!

Fine, I'll finish the damn post.

I’ve been procrastinating for so long because I don’t want to talk about this chapter. And why would I? It’s boring, it’s stupid, it’s manipulative emotional porn geared at hormonal teenage girls, it’s a massive waste of my and everyone’s time . . .

In other words, it’s classic John Green.

Thank you, Tom. I needed that.
Thank you, Tom. I needed that.

Last chapter we met Gus’s evil family, and the horror of their disgusting conformism — they’re bankers, for God’s sake! — left me so traumatized that I spent the next two weeks talking about literally anything else.

Never forget.
Never forget.

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Bibliomancy for Beginners: Nostalgia Junkie: Pendragon: The Merchant of Death by D. J. MacHale

Hello my lovelies! I know I haven’t been around to blog and crap, but I’ll do that tomorrow.

No, I mean it!
No, I mean it!

But in the meantime, you can watch myself and another wonderful book blogger, The Pied Piper Calls (a.k.a. Michaela), chat about another YA book that sucks considerably less: Pendragon, a kids’ series by D. J. Machale that’s . . . kinda silly, but relatively fun:

And in case you don’t feel like watching an almost-hour-long chat, I decided that having a life is for losers and transcribed the whole damn thing for you. Well . . . some of it. An abridged version. It’s really long, guys, and my back hurts from being hunched over a computer for almost an hour.

But I’m doing it anyway. Don’t say I don’t love you, kittens.

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Ode to Lemony Snicket: A sort-of review of All the Wrong Questions, and not at all a review of Shouldn’t You Be in School?

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Hi, guys.

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I know, I know, this is my second week-late post in the last . . . period of time, and this week I’m not even giving you any Green-loathing goodness to make you less mad at me. If I had more than 1 regular reader, I’d be really worried you guys were going to come after me all pitchforks-and-torches style.

But it’s not like I was having a great time, okay? On Thursday I finished 6 grad school credits in 6 weeks, which were exactly as riveting as you’d expect —

WOOO! TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!
WOOO! TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!

— started a new job, finished moving into a new house, looked into leasing a car, realized I couldn’t afford to lease a car, cried quietly for several hours, and then gave up on leasing a car.

With all that going on, is it really fair of anyone to ask me to also talk coherently about why Green is the worst of everything?

No. No, it is not. So instead I’m going to review an actual good book, at least in part to prove that I read those sometimes. Continue reading