I think I can safely say that I have a John Green addiction.
Since I only started reading his books two weeks ago, and now own all of them, and have read almost all of them (with the exception of “An Abundance of Katherines” and “Will Grayson/Will Grayson” and by extension “Let It Snow”, but I’m almost there people!) By the way, in embracing this new found addiction I feel myself at a loss in picking a “favorite” each one of the books I’ve read so far (TFiOS, Looking for Alaska, and Paper Towns) have all tapped apart of my soul that was previously untapped, so I while I think I can safely classify John Green as one of my favorite authors (and people), I fail to be able to produce a favorite book. Will this change? I have no clue, but I’m reveling in these books and their respective journeys.
I want so badly to be terribly impulsive right now and just pre-order the marvelous set of hardcover John Green novels that I just discovered are going to be a thing in actual existence, but I cannot. I have to wait a bit (hopefully not a terribly long bit), before I can do this. And I hate myself for this terribly inconvenient personality quirk I seemingly have.
book covers → john green
To the Magnificent Bastard John Green,
I appreciate you. I appreciate they construction of your novels. I appreciate the way you shape and mold the teenagers in your novels (so as not to comment on the way that they are, but rather accepting that it IS the way they are - with no apology for that humanity). I appreciate that within a sentence you are able to pack both an incredible amount of humor and wit as well as an indelible punch of human emotion; it’s a remarkably clever thing for a writer to be able to accomplish and you accomplish it with such an incredible zeal that it fucks with my emotions quite beautifully. I appreciate that you write the books you write for teenagers, understanding all the while that they are just as capable of comprehending the complex mastery of your writing just as well as a “well-read” adult of this computer age. I appreciate that your novels engross me in a way that is unrivaled by most anything I’ve ever read (at least in a very long time). Above all, I appreciate that you’ve reignited the intellectual and literary fire under my ass once more - something that I will never be able to thank you enough for.
Yet for all my appreciative nature and mewling I have to say this: Fuck you. Fuck you very much sir, mostly for creating such beautifully rich characters and then killing them off with little to no warning, and leaving me yearning for them to be brought back from the dead (via some psychological Resurrection Spell/Stone (what have you) that I try to impose on the writing as I read). But yeah, for all your talent: fuck you, but at the same time thank you - a thousand times thank you. And I cannot wait to read every single book you’ve ever written and will write, you magnificent bastard.
**And yes, your books have left me with a sort of evangenical zeal that makes me want to share them with everyone I come in contact with at every given moment.**
