I thought I would have more time; that it would take me a few weeks to read through The Fault in Our Stars. The last post I prepared for my blog is already obsolete, though I’ll probably still post them in the proper chronological order. I will try not to spoil the book for those of you who may not have read it, but I’m moved by so many things.
This book tried to express things which I’ve felt for a while now, and the beauty of that connection itself made me a fan of the book, apart from the actual story. It may sound a little absurd, but it’s the truth. The story is wonderful, and terrible, and life. There are sentiments I wish had been brought into the book, but that’s just my personal philosophy. I liked that there were longer sentences than the usual ones to which we are exposed.
I learned about myself as I read about fictitious characters, and at the end of the book my first thought was that I should write my name in it. This may seem disjointed but I realized that in my own strange way, leaving my name in my favorite books is my personal method for leaving a literal mark upon the world. For those who care about my name in books, it is an insight into the types of things I value and perhaps the type of person I am.
And yet like the rest of my life, putting my name on the inside of the book isn’t enough. Putting my own words down is also devastatingly insufficient. The finite and the infinite are parallel paths until they are not. What is, is. And then thoughts begin to seem alarmingly similar to those found in the pages of Alice in Wonderland. The only thing—I think—that we can try to do is forget our sense of entitlement, but there is something deep within that knows we are supposed to have nice long lives. Death is inevitable for everyone, it’s just that our paths are finite and we never know exactly when they’ll end. The problem isn’t so much that life ends, but that we feel entitled to it, and to certain things that many experience during life. I think it is quite impossible to not take life for granted. Childhood is both the time when we take life most for granted, and yet when we least take it for granted. We are not old enough to understand all the complexities and perils of life as children, so we cannot fully appreciate our lives. At the same time, we live each day one at a time, savoring each moment because we’ve had so few moments in childhood that each one seems new and important.
Well those are some of my immediate thoughts, and I’m sure the book will be one that I reread many times during the remainder of my life. Hope you read it, and that you have a great week ahead of you!