Cover to Cover: The Fault in Our Stars, Ch. 22

Guys, I’m so glad this book is almost over, because I’m close to giving up.

Big surprise, it’s a week late again. At this point it’s practically a biweekly blog.

Honestly, I’m worn out. I don’t know how many different ways there are to say that Hazel is a hateful brat, that I still don’t care Gus is dead, that apparently people with cancer have a monopoly on feelings about death, that John Green is either a narcissistic douchebag desperately trying to prove his relevance to the literary canon or a narcissistic douchebag desperately trying to prove his relevance to tweenage girls via so much pandering.

You’re tired of hearing it, I’m tired of saying it; Lord knows we’re all tired of reading it.

I mean, this chapter is almost exactly the same as the last one, just . . . longer. And less plausible.

Oh well, let’s just pick ourselves up by our hideous bowties and stagger through the third-to-last chapter of this endless novel. It’s what Mr. Psycho would’ve wanted.

Celeb Herman
Hey, Green’s basically written the same chapter over again; why can’t I use the same jokes?

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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


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.


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 —


— 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

Cover to Cover: The Fault in Our Stars, Ch. 19


This is a long gif. I’m not complaining.

So in case you didn’t notice, I wasn’t here last week. I wish I could say it was because I was horribly ill or my pet cockroach died or something, but . . . I was just lazy.

In my defense, I wrote a paper about social classification as opposed to controlled vocabularies for use in thesauri to organize metadata, so hopefully you’ll forgive me for not having much brainpower to spare for The Fault in Our Stars.

This was me all last weekend.
This was me all last weekend. Actually, this is me right now, but I’m trying to push past it.

So Chapter 18 was . . . the worst. Green basically admitted that he wrote this book to show how much better he is than other writers — and no, I’m not kidding. Remember that interview I linked to last time? Well, I read a bit more of it, and I’m willing to give Green credit, because he thought more about stuff than I originally assumed, and sometimes I accused him of being stupid when he was intentionally setting things up to look dumb. (That doesn’t mean they weren’t poorly executed, but at least he was trying, and I suppose that counts for something.)

But then we come to this bit:

More generally, I wrote this book partly because I was tired of reading stories in which dying or chronically sick people served no purpose in the world except to teach the rest of us to be Grateful For Every Moment or whatever. Making the lives of the dying about the betterment of the social order for the well really offends me, because it implies that the dying are already dead, and that their lives have less intrinsic meaning than other lives.

giphyWell thank you, Green. Whatever would we do without your insightful understanding of the human psyche and your capturing it so beautifully? Literally no one is as talented a writer as you are. You are the best. You are God.

Well, why don’t we start reading The Best Book Ever Written, huh? Continue reading