And we both mean that in the best way possible.
I finished The Fault in Our Stars a few weeks ago after casually grabbing it off the shelf in my co-worker’s office. “Hey, I’ve been wanting to read this,” I said. “Take it.” No warning. Nothing.
I devoured it. It is so well written. You forget you are reading YA. Yes, teenagers don’t talk like that. But do you want to really read a conversation between 16 and 17 year olds? Do you remember how you sounded when you were 16? Not as intelligent as Gus, I promise.
This book is about cancer. And love.
I’m not going to spoil anything for you. Just go read it. With a giant box of tissues. And not in public. There: I warned you.