As I am sure the majority of my generation and I suppose younger and older folks could be included in this, have read the book by the ever so popular, John Green. Ah yes, the book I am referring to is, The Fault in Our Stars.
I have not yet finished reading it, but in an effort not to spoil anything for the people who live as Patrick Starr under a rock, I will just say this, I am crying like a fool alone in my room. So, please, just don’t ruin anything for me if you’re reading this, if you have indeed finished or re-read the book like my sister, who squeals every time the book is mentioned.
I just had to write something because not only is the book fantastic, but it also is extremely inspiring to the writer in me. I absolutely love Green’s writing style. Because not only is it easy to read, but the big words he uses for the characters makes me want to ‘google search’ the definition… is that weird? It makes me feel like the way I speak is that of a blithering moron. But alas, maybe if I was dying of cancer I would have more time to study the dictionary. (Thank my lucky stars that I am healthy, and I have a long life to live, and I am deeply saddened by anyone who does not have the same opportunities as I do. However, I do know, even before I read this book, that sick people do not want to be treated like sick people. I know that I would despise being talked to like a dog or an infant for the entirety of my life that I had to live.)
Anyways, the reason I wanted to write this is because goddammit is it sad. Like I mentioned, I was bawling my eyes out just five minutes ago. So it made me think about the power someone’s words have over us. I’ve never met anyone so young who was dying of cancer, so I don’t have any kind of real life connection to the story other than Augustus’ need to feel like he left some kind of a mark on the world. But the very very main thing is that, this book as I read alone in my room, transports me to some kind of limbo where time feels as though it’s not passing, even though I spent the last 3 hours reading and never looking up from the page.
Movies have the same effect, even if they aren’t based on a book… side note: I think that books that you have read and had some kind of obsession with them, that are turned into a movie, that you obviously go to see, have an even bigger effect on us afterwards… When the movie is over it breaks my heart. You get to see real people acting out the words from your favorite book, you see it in a completely different way. Are the characters like you imagined? Are the locations visited portrayed as you envisioned them in your head? From experience, they hardly ever are. The only person I thought ever was portrayed as I envisioned was Katniss Everdeen, by Jennifer Lawrence.
So basically, just as everyone already knows, the books are always better than the movies, because no one will ever be truly satisfied with how it all comes to life on the big screen.
So basically, I hate books and movies because I hate the effect that they have on my heart. I can’t handle the death of my favorite characters, I can’t stand it when someone who I adored turns out to be the villain, or my favorite couple breaks up. If any of you are One Tree Hill fans, you will probably understand this reference; when you go to a movie, and you are so invested in the story and then when it’s over and you leave, reality smacks you in the face. We’re forced to turn our cell phones back on, if you’re one of those people who actually turn off your phone. It’s like everything we suppressed while we watched the characters on the screens live their lives, suddenly hits you like a wave of emotion. Books have the same effect on me, I look up from the page and see my room, it looks the same as it has for the past 7 years or so. I look the same, I feel the same, I am still in my insignificant south suburb. The familiarity settles back in.
That my cyber friends is why I hate books and movies. But in the best way possible, if that makes any sense at all.
“Augustus, perhaps you’d like to share your fears with the group.”
“I fear oblivion,” he said without a moment’s pause.
“I fear it like the proverbial blind man who’s afraid of the dark.”
“There will come a time,” I said, “when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species every did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did will be forgotten all of this”- I gestured encompassingly- “will not survive forever. There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that everyone else does.”
If that does scare the shit out of you, I don’t know what else could.