Yesterday I read 1.75 books. I also managed to do laundry and get dressed. Miracles do happen.
After being told by my Mom, Dad and brother (for weeks) about The Fault in Our Stars, I finally read it.
Oh. my. word. My brain is in hyperdrive. If you haven’t read this book, stop reading and go get it. (Don’t worry, no spoilers here.)
I feel like I’ve been introduced to an entirely new realm, the world of cancer. This is a world whose culture I have denied and ignored for some time. As loved ones in my life have succumbed to cancer’s dark embrace, I considered these occurrences flukes and kept my focus on life and health. The Fault in Our Stars, however, dares me to think differently. It dares me to enter into the tenuous and ambiguous world of those with cancer. It dares me to love and care and treat people with dignity, as whole people. It contrasts the mundane–fights with parents, video games and awkward make-outs—with the existential. It dares me to face the fact that I, along with every one I have ever known, will one day die.
It is beautifully–and honestly–written.
The story also stirs a primal sense of delight and joy. Of noticing flower petals (“confetti”) and of reveling in a first kiss. More than any romantic comedy, it stirred up the fleeting moments of joyful crisis that is young love. It reminded me of stolen kisses and emotion-loaded glances. At the same time, I heard the echoes of deep love, of being known and of knowing: fully, deeply. I heard the echoes of love that endures messes and inspires courage and embraces through pain.
Oh my. I will need several sink-fulls of dishes to wash as I process this book. And if I’m honest, I may need a moment to get over my crush.