Top Ten Books Dealing with Difficult Subjects

This week’s topic for 'Top Ten Tuesday' (yes, I know it's Friday. Whoops.) was ‘Top Ten Books Dealing with Difficult Subjects’ which plays right into my hands actually, because I read rather a lot of books dealing with difficult subjects. I was practically rubbing my hands together because books that are challenging and emotive and punch me right in the feels? Those are the kinds of books I can’t seem to not read.Often I'll be in a bookshop and Helen will call out to me from the other side of the shop, 'hey, Jo, this is a book about Hitler, you'll love it' and I'll be able to feel everybody's eyes on me as I look around cagily and protesting, like some kind of confused Tinkerbelle: I don't love Hitler, I don't, I don't. 

What I do love is being affected by a book. I don't always want to read a book, smile and say 'well, that was good' before moving onto the next one. I like a dystopia that makes me think; I like characters that are raw and funny and human and palpable; and, I like books that break my heart and stay with me for days.

So, have at it. The best of the bunch (today at least):

 Cancer is a difficult subject. Pretty much every person ever has been affected by it to some degree and you can’t get away from the fact that it sucks. The thing I love about John Green – scratch that, one of the things I love about John Green – is that he doesn’t shy away from that. He doesn’t pretend it doesn’t suck.  He doesn’t pretend it’s all going to be ok.  He lets these two very real characters fall crazy in love regardless. It’s a beautiful story, all the more so because it hurts.

 Wasted: This incredible book about Myra Hornbacher’s struggle with eating disorders is the very definition of a book dealing with a difficult situation. It’s raw and hard-hitting, it pulls no punches. It's so brave too. Hornbacher really does bare her soul inside the pages, so it feels.

 

 The Book Thief is one of my favourite books of all time. Set in Nazi Germany, it broke me into tiny pieces. I love it so much I daren’t re-read it.  I have no words.
  

Rape and racial inequality – does it get much more ‘difficult’ than that? This is a book that changes you – it makes you think, really think. The best time I ever had at school was studying this and I’ve read it countless times since. Also, Atticus.

 Aaah, Perks. This is another one of those books that just made me feel so many things. It’s so so so well done.

   

The Cellist of Sarajevo: If you haven’t read this then you should. This story is that of a cellist – based, I believe, on Vedran Smailovic -  who played for 22 days as snipers fought each other in the buildings surrounding him during the Siege of Sarajevo in the 1990’s. It will make you bone crushingly sad but it will also fill you with wonder.

This book actually broke my heart. I finished it, looked at Iam, said ‘I think I’m sad’ and then just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It makes me feel cold just thinking about it. Set in 1941 it follows a teenage Lithuanian girl sent to a work camp in Siberia. It’s incredibly moving; it’s incredibly haunting; it hurts and not even remotely in the good way, it just plain hurts. It feels like ripping open a wound, rubbing salt in it and then jumping up and down on it in spiked shoes. How can I recommend it so highly when I describe it so horrifically? Because it matters, because it matters and because whilst your heart breaks into tiny little pieces and you wonder how the hell this can have happened [ and if you’re me how you didn’t really know: we did a lot on the Nazi Concentration Camps in school but barely even touched on this] you’ll also marel at how love and hope can still bloom even when everything else is so hopeless – the love, the hope, the strength, the determination, the joy. That’s what hurts and that’s what makes this book important.

  Wonder is frank and moving and real and so important. Every child, every teenager, every person should probably read this book. This is a book that matters.

  

Junk won the Carnegie Medal and the Guardian Children's Fiction Award and rightly so. It's the story of teenage runaways who fall into a life of heroin addiction. It's open, honest and upfront - it was slated at the time I think, by critics saying it was encouraging young people to take drugs.  I was a teenager when it eas published and I think it had the opposite effect. Seriously, what Gem and Tar go through, it's not pretty. I think the people that have a problem with books like this really need to have a greater respect for  the target audicence. Drug abuse is a real issue, we shouldn't hide from it and that we need more books like Junk.

  My Sister Lives on the Mantlepiece deals beautifully with loss and what that means, particularly to children. S'good. I think I blogged about it when I read it actually because I thought at the time that it was good at what it did. Children deal with death - grandparents, pets, maybe even a parent or a sibling and it's a hard thing to understand - it's hard for adults so it's got to be a million times harder for children. Books like this definitely have a place. It also handles the topic of racism pretty nicely too.The best thing I think is that it remains accessible: the subject matter is tough but the story itself isn't and that's really important.

Top Ten Books When You Need Something Light & Fun

[Top Ten Tuesday is a weekly meme hosted at Broke and Bookish Here is what they have to say: Top Ten Tuesday is an original feature/weekly meme created here at The Broke and the Bookish. This meme was created because we are particularly fond of lists here at The Broke and the Bookish. We'd love to share our lists with other bookish folks and would LOVE to see your top ten lists!

Each week we will post a new Top Ten list complete with one of our bloggers answers. Everyone is welcome to join. All we ask is that you link back to The Broke and the Bookish on your own Top Ten Tuesday post AND sign Mister Linky at the bottom to share with us and all those who are participating. If you don't have a blog, just post your answers as a comment. Don't worry if you can't come up with ten every time..just post what you can! ]

I stole this idea from Musings of a Bookshop Girl who in turn I believe follows the meme over at Broke and Bookish and thought it sounded like fun.

This is yesterday's TTT, but better late than never, right?

So, here we go: Top Ten Books When You Need Something Light & Fun [in no particular order...]

The Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovoch: 

These books are totally my guilty pleasure. When I've had a ad week, or I'm tired, or I need to not concentrate or let's be real I just need a laugh I turn to Stephanie P,um. Stephanie, grandma Mazur, Ranger - who is super hot inside my head, Joe Morelli the asshat. These books are laugh out loud funny and I love them.
Agatha Raisin - MC Beaton
Pure unadulterated escapism in the Cotswolds.

Angus, Thongs & Full Frontal Snogging et al - Louise Rennison  
Even at 30 years old I still think these books are full of fabnosity. Now, I am away laughing on a fast camel to re-read, because they haven't gotten old yet. I still quote Georgia a lot a LOT.
In fact, on a regular basis I have the following conversation with my BFF.

Me:Helen, do you love me?
Helen:Yes.
Me: Lezzer.

James Herriot
I can remember laughing out loud at these when I was a kid and still love them now.

My Family and Other Animals - Gerald Durrell
See above. A rec from my mum that was totally on the money.

Roald Dahl who surely speaks for himself.

All My Friends Are Superheroes - Andrew Kaufman
This book is clever and witty and adorable and the best way to spend an afternoon.

Weird Things.. - Jen Campbell.
Because JEN and also because sitting in a pub reading snippets of this aloud is the best

The Jackson Brodie series by Kate Atkinson
I love Kate Atkinson and I love this series, Jackson is a literary hero and these books are so easy to read

Alice in Wonderland/Through The Looking Glass - Lewis Carroll
All the love, all the time. ALL THE LOVE. The thing about Alice is that it's absolutely perfectly insane. I love it.

That's it. There's a few past TTT's that I plan to go back and look at so watch this space and let mwe know, of you fancy, what books you think are light and fun.

I'll cross the sky for you...

Warning: this blog post contains spoilers. 

  This book people, I mean it. This book.

“You can be Han Solo," he said, kissing her throat. "And I'll be Boba Fett. I'll cross the sky for you.”

Simply put, Eleanor & Park moved me.

I don't know how else to explain it really. It took my expectations - already quite high - and it blew them out of the water. It's going to have to be something pretty special I think, to steal it's spot as book of my year.

Remember the first time you fell in love? Remember the first time he or she touched you, not in a sexual way, not even in an overly romantic way, maybe just the first time they held your hand? How you thought you might fall apart, how it seemeed like nothing could ever be the same again?

This book is about that. It's about love and it's about loss and it's about finding your place and surviving even when the odds are against you.

He wound the scarf around his fingers until her hand was hanging in the space between them.

Then he slid the silk and his fingers into her open palm.

And Eleanor disintegrated.

God, Rainbow Rowell, you know how to use your words.

Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.

It's just a beautiful, moving achingly intimate story and I came away feeling (and I know this sounds ultra dramatic, but hello, I am quite dramatic so stop acting all surprised please) changed.

It's a simple story. Set it the 80's, (the 80's. woop woop) it is at it's core, a high school love story.

Eleanor - bullied for her weight and her appearance and her background and Park - token Asian kid, except he's only half-Korean,  meet by accident on the school bus. What unfolds is one of the most incredible love stories I've ever had the pleasure of reading. As in actually ever. These are not your typical romantic leads and this is not your typical love story. There are no fireworks, no falling hard and fast. It's gentle and slow-building and at it's crescendo it takes your breath away. It's intense and it's intimate and it's so so real; it reminds you exactly what it's like to be young and to fall in love and the language, the narrative voice,  the descriptors, are just beautiful, so beautiful.

The way the story develops, from nothing, made me so happy, it hooked me in and it refused to let go. I barely breathed til I'd finished it, and when I did finish I was in tears. It's a story that perfectly shows how incredible first love can be juxtaposed against the awkwardness, the uncertainty that goes hand in hand with that. Likewise the depth of feeling between Eleanor & Park, the cautious way in which they move forward with each other is made all the more poignant when shown alongside the ugliness of some of the other storylines: the cruelty of teenagers; the ugliness of Eleanor's home life;  the way Eleanor and Park struggle to find their place: Park desperate for his Dad's approval and Eleanor desperate to be invisible.
It's all just so raw. The beauty of what is good is raw, the ugliness of what isn't is raw, the way these two teenagers navigate their lives and each other is raw.

It's raw, but it's perfect. Yeah, I'm saying that word. The 'perfect' word. I loved this book that much.

"You know?" he repeated. She smiled, so he kissed her. "You're not the Han Solo in this relationship, you know." 

"I'm totally the Han Solo," she whispered. It was good to hear her. It was good to remember it was Eleanor under all this new flesh.

"Well, I'm not the Princess Leia," he said.

"Don't get so hung up on gender roles," Eleanor said.”  .

Since I found it initially via John Green's review in the New York Times, it seems fitting to use a quote of his, from TFIOS, to describe it:

“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.”

That is exactly how I feel about this. Please read it. Please.

“Bono met his wife in high school," Park says.
"So did Jerry Lee Lewis," Eleanor answers.
"I’m not kidding," he says.
"You should be," she says, "we’re sixteen."
"What about Romeo and Juliet?"
"Shallow, confused," then dead.
"I love you, Park says.
"Wherefore art thou," Eleanor answers.
"I’m not kidding," he says.
"You should be.” 

how to surprise an introvert

You probably know, if you know me, that I am somewhat introverted. I’m a bit of a nightmare I guess, [I know I drive Ian crazy sometimes!] but it’s not my fault and it certainly doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It just means that I don’t deal well in some social situations. I’m not like, a recluse or anything; I have friends and I go lots of places and do lots of things, I just find some things harder than others.

Like the phone.

The telephone is not my friend.

My iPhone is my friend, in fact if I lost it I think I’d curl up in a ball and just cry but the telephone as a means of communication, the part that means answering a call and actually talking to people?  If I could permanently disable that then I would. In fact, if you’re not my Mum, or my boyfriend, or Helen then if you call me then I likely won’t answer.
 It’s not because I’m being rude it’s because when my phone rings my immediate reaction is one of panic: Who is calling? Why are they calling? What will I say? Can I get away with not answering right now? By the time I’ve answered all those questions it’s likely gone to voicemail anyway and I heave a sigh of relief. And then send a text asking if you’re ok. I send a text because I do want to talk to you, I just prefer to do it in a way that makes me feel less pressured: it works in your interest too – you’ll get a lot more out of me on text or email than you will in a phone conversation because unless I already feel totally sure of myself around you, if you try and talk to me on the phone I’ll just feel awkward and spend the whole time not sure what to say, with no idea how to punctuate the pauses, and trying to find a way to hang up.

Likewise if I text you first then I respond much better to a text reply. Those people that call and say ‘it’s just so much easier this way than sending texts back and forth’ are wrong: it really really isn’t. Also, I very rarely pick up the phone and make a call – not even to the people up there I said I can happily chat too, so if I never call you, please don’t take it personally.

I struggle with small talk. Unless it’s not about me. I like to listen, I’ll sit and let you talk about you for hours but as soon as someone utters the dreaded words ‘so, how are you’ or ‘enough about me, let’s talk about you’ I dry up. I’m like a deer in conversational headlights and I’ll fumble over my words and the silence will be so awkward you can taste it and I’ll just know you';ll think I’m boring when actually I don’t really do all that well when I have to just talk. I’d much rather listen to you than panic over what I’m meant to be saying.

[You know when you’ve won me over because you won’t be able to shut me up. We’ll talk shit on the phone for hours and you won’t be able to get rid of me. There are not many of you around.]

I would probably, nine times out of ten, choose my own company over that of most other people because it’s just easier. There is zero pressure on me when I’m on my own. I don’t have to worry about how I look or what I’m supposed to say or do, or who else is going to turn up and throw me off guard and am I going to be introduced to new people and end up looking like a fumbling idiot whilst they smile politely and wonder why whichever friend I’m with puts up with such an imbecile.

I’d pick a restaurant or a quiet bar over a club every single time because I am much more comfortable with an intimate gathering than in a big crowd of unknowns; I’d rather meet you for coffee [with my book safely in my bag] over pretty much anything else because it’s safe and easy and I am well within my comfort zone. I will leave my comfort zone, but you have to let me know well in advance – don’t text me [defo don’t call me ;) ] at 8 and ask me to meet you in a bar with ten folk I hardly know at half past because I won’t be able to make it. I’ll be busy sticking pins in my eyes.

Those people that make plans with me and say things like ‘bring your book’ or ‘don’t forget your iPad’ are the ones that know me best. Those people that see I’ve had a bad day and settle me on the sofa with a glass of wine and a film and no effort to make me talk about it are the ones that know me best. I will talk your ear off once we're close enough, but I'll sit in comfortable silence with you just as often. And I'll love that you'll let me do both.

When it comes to going places and seeing people I like to plan, I like to be prepared, I like to know who I’m meeting and when and where and for how long, so if the people I’m meeting aren’t in my immediate circle I can gear myself up to it. If I get the chance to prepare myself then I’m fine; I’m more than fine – I often have so much fun. It’s when things that are supposed to be fun are dropped on me that I struggle.

That’s what made this weekend so strange. Tomorrow is my birthday; this weekend has been full of surprises. This is a problem for me: generally, I dislike surprises, something to do with the not being prepared thing, so I’ve been a little apprehensive about what this weekend would hold. It’s not that I’m ungrateful – far from it.  I love that there are people who care enough about me to make that kind of effort. I am beyond touched. I could cry – I very nearly did. It’s just that surprises make me nervous; the unknown makes me nervous so knowing that my Friday night and Saturday day this last weekend were to be taken up by surprises? It made me nervous. I didn’t know what to wear, I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing and when I was picked up at 6pm on Friday night I had a knot in my tummy and I was so scared that I wouldn’t be able to do it – that I’d lose my words and my smile would look like a grimace and I’d come off as being utterly awful and ungrateful when I actually I was so touched at even the gesture that I didn’t quite know  how to express it. When 6pm came around I actually felt sick.

The surprise turned out to be a drink with Ian’s Mum and sister followed by a surprise meal with my family: my parents, my brother, Ian, his family, my niece and nephew. It was perfect. It was a group of people I know and love. There was a cake shaped like the Mad Hatter’s Hat. I walked into the room and Daisy launched herself at me and my parents were smiling and I just wanted to cry. I had the best night.

On Saturday I was taken for a massage and a haircut and then lunch with Ian’s Mum and sister – again a surprise, again I was nervous, and again I had the best time and then on Saturday night I turned up to an apres ski night organised by Sooty only to find Ian had organised a party. A surprise one. My worst nightmare. Except, my boy knows me. It was just in the small room at the back of the pub. It was just Ian’s sister and her husband, Helen and Dan, my brother, my Mum and a handful of other friends that I’ve known for years. There were maybe 12 people all arriving and leaving and different times,, all of whom I know and love. It was the best.

I still slept the best part of yesterday afternoon, because as odd as it sounds no matter how much fun I’ve had, I always need to curl up in my bed and recharge for a while afterwards, but I exceeded my expectations of my own self. I did not fall apart at the seams at the thought of a surprise even though I was texting Helen about my nerves.  My entire weekend was unknown and I loved it. I loved it because I am lucky enough to have people in my life that care enough about me to make the effort to make my birthday special and that know me well enough to know what special is, to me.

Once again I am here thinking that I truly am so very blessed and once again I am reminded why I prefer to keep my circle of friends so small: the people in my life are diamonds, and I’d have a handful of diamonds over a mine of coal any time.

Thank-you people that I love, for letting me love you and for loving me in return. 

In which I have nothing much of import to say about anything.

What have I done since my last blog update?

I've eaten too many Malteser MaltEaster Bunnies, which have replaced Creme Eggs as my seasonal treat of choice and who thought that would ever happen?

I've hung out a little with these cuties:

The baby is my niece Daisy. She's the best. The puppy is the new addition, Charlie. He's a 13 week old retriever and is made of love and fluff and happiness.

I've read Will Grayson, Will Grayson and had a lot of happy feelings about it. You should probably go read it, because a: John Green and b: it's really good.

I've watched Magic Mike and had a lot of unhappy feelings about it. Seriously though, oh very deary me. It's terrible.

I've been to an 'introduction to patchwork' class as 2013 is going to be the year of craft. That was fun, actually.I felt rather accomplished by the end of it! I shall never be a huge quilter like my Mum or my Granny, but it was a fun way to spend a Saturday and I can see myself making the odd bit of something as time goes on. It's good to know I can if I wish.

I've taught myself to crochet. That was last night, in bed. Wow. I am so rock and roll. Again though, year of craft. I wish to crochet myself a massive blanket like the one my Mum made last year that I have been trying (and indeed failing) to steal! So far I am part way through a scarf for a borrower so it might take me a while but still, watch this space! Maybe by next winter I will be snuggled under my own crocheted blanket and everyone will be jealous.

I’ve fangirled over John Green. I love him. [here he is making dinnerwith his son Henry, tell me it’s not adorable.]

I’ve cried at Les Mis. More than I did at the stage show, actually, which surprised me. The film gave me actual tears from Fantine dying onwards where as on stage I just had a lump in my throat til Val Jean croaked it. Go figure. Also Jackman? Super hot.

I’ve almost finished reading Ian McEwan’s ‘Sweet Tooth.’

I’ve downloaded ‘The Silver Linings Playbook’ to my Kindle ready to read next week after the above book is finished. I have done this because Jen said so and if I have learnt anything it's that if Jen says I should read a book then probably I should read it. Also, I want to see the film and the law dictates I read the book first. Who would see the film adapatation without reading the book first? What kind of crazy is that? *cough*youknowwhoyouare*cough*

I’ve worked. A lot. But that’s not all bad because there’s a cute new coffee place opened in town and I went for coffee and cake last week under the guise of ‘business meeting.’ All important meetings need cake. This is a fact of life.

I’ve drunk too much coffee. This is not just recently, this is always all of the time.

I’ve facetimed Helen and gone for dessert with Jane and emailed with Jen and Sue and realised that actually, my friends are the best. I am beyond lucky and if you are in that little circle of people I hold most dear I hope you know I am grateful for you, each and every day.

I’ve also practised the art of procrastination, proven by the exsistence of this very blog post.

in which Rochester is super hot and a scratched DVD is 'a bad thing'...

On Wednesday this week Helen and I decided to have a DVD night. We had a catch up and ate fish pie and then curled up in her lounge under blankets for a couple of hours of movie-watching bliss.  This made me happy - Helen is one of my favourite people to watch a film with: she laughs at the things I laugh at, gets angry at the things I get angry at - although granted, usually on a lesser scale - and is always ready to IMDB those faces I can't quite place. It had been a toss up all week between Magic Mike [naked Matthew Mcwotshisface] and Jane Eyre. A back and forth that I feared would never reach a conclusion.

Helen: What shall we watch? You choose.
Me: Oh. I dunno.
Helen: Have you still got the list [yes, we do have a list of films we want to watch. We like to call it organisation.]
Me: Erm....no?
Helen: What about Magic Mike? Matthew Mcwotshisface.
Me: Yes.
Helen: Or Jane Eyre?
Me: Yes
Helen: Which?
Me: Yes.

You can see how we might have had a problem. Anyway. We're literary girls at heart so obviously we plumped for Jane Eyre, which was always going to be fine with me - have you seen Michael Fassbender? Super hot. Also, I might be the only person I know who likes Jane Eyre.

Helen does not like Jane Eyre.


She thinks Jane and Rochester are both unlikeable characters which you know, is fine; I'm not the boss of her, she is entitled to her own opinion and besides, I kind of agree with her. They kind of are unlikeable, although I feel a little bad for Jane. She's not exactly had the easiest of times has she? [Neither has Rochester but you could argue he brought it all on himself.]
The thing is, one of Helen's favourite books is Wuthering Heights and if we're going to talk about unlikeable characters well, surely that book is a good place to start. Wuthering Heights, you know, the one with Heathcliff AKA the meanest man in literature. Maybe. [I feel a debate coming on: who is the meanest man in literature? Fun.]
Don't get me wrong, I like Wuthering Heights, it's a really great book and the characters are all really well developed and the imagery is wonderful but let's be honest, great epic love story it is not. It's always seemed to be more about revenge to me than anything else. I really struggle to excuse Heathcliff's absolute asshattery as coming from a place of love. He's bitter and twisted and needs some anger mangagement, frankly. Yeah, it's all really terrible when Cathy has a total personality transplant and then winds up dead, but does that make it fine to keep the other Cathy a prisoner at his house til she agrees to marry someone she doesn't want to marry? Does it make it fine for him to do all of the bad things [which I shall not list because it would be akin to writing out the whole book.] I'm going to say no. His being a bit of a psycho for the best part of the book kind of makes people forget about the whole awful life he had prior to the psycho - the parts that are meant to make him seem like a victim - and just make him, well, a little bit frightening. He's a super character and mistreated and misunderstood and broken-hearted he might be, but he's not likeable. He hardly has you swooning.
I mean, I get that Jane is the kind of character you just want to shake and I'm absolutely not denying that Rochester is a bit of a dick but I don't know, I can totally see Jane Eyre as a love story more than I can see Wuthering Heights being the same...

Rochester kind of reminds me of Darcy a little bit, in a way. He's kind of arrogant isn't he, and he's all brooding and domineering which is exactly how Darcy comes across at first and the way Darcy is with Lizzie; the way she is with him in return actually, I can see a little of that in Jane and Rochester. Lizzie is headstrong and opinionated generally ,which makes her perfect for Darcy, whereas Jane is seemingly more quiet and submissive, but still, she stands her ground with Rochester even when it means turning her back on him. I love the courage she has in her own convictions. She loves Rochester so much and she knows he loves her and it would be so easy to just be with him, but she has beliefs and self-respect and she refuses to be his mistress, refuses to live in sin, even though doing so means losing him all together. Good girl Jane.  I'm not saying they're the same, as if I would ever, but I can defo find things that are at least similar and that makes me like Rochester and thus Jane Eyre a little more. P&P is my favourite. & the whole love story of it all, Darcy, oh, he struggles in vain IT WILL NOT DO and that's not all that different to Rochester falling in love with Jane, not even caring that she's 'just' a governess, being prepared to turn his back on all the ladies who society would describe as a 'better match' because he loves her and she is all he wants. *swoon* There's a moment in the film when he's realsing he's fallen in love with her and he's all sexy and brooding and 'you have transfixed me, quite.'  It pleases me.

Yes, alright, I hear you. It all goes downhill after a while, what with the crazy wife in the attic and the pretending to be a gypsy to try and convince Jane she's fated to be with him - s'all very odd that bit and isn't in the film - and the half dragging poor Jane off to marry him right quick before anyone can tell her about his other wife [the crazy one, in the attic.] None of that is either romantic or socially accpetable and okay, like Heathcliff he is a bit of a dick but this, kids, is why there is only one Fitzwilliam Darcy. Darcy has no secret wife in the attic and he's not got anger issues a la Heathcliff and he looks like Colin Firth. Win win win.

Anyway, I have digressed. The film. S'all good.  I think perhaps Helen and I weren't taking it as seriously as we might. When do we ever. We laughed a lot and God knows it isn't a comedy - poor Mr Mason gets attacked in the night and we were too busy being mean and giggling to offer him any sympathy. Not as mean as Jane though, she just leaves him bleeding on the sofa whilst she goes peering behind a tapestry. Not cool, Eyre. There was the token IMDB moment [the kid from Billy Elliot plays St. John if you were wondering] Judi Dench is awesome as Mrs. Fairfax and Rochester is an attractive man. I don't know what it is about arrogant obnoxious men but you'd choose Darcy over Wickham or Bingley any day, right? - and what is there to say to Fassbender really other than to congratulate him on his face? It was a nice time. Until 15 minutes before the end when it stopped.

Here's the thing. When a DVD stops before the end, it's not ok. So we grumbled and we laughed and it turns out the DVD was scratched so went upstairs to try in on the DVD player up there - no luck- and tried to download it from LoveFilm - no luck - and eventually gave up and resigned ourselves to a fate of never knowing how it ends, which is the worst thing.

Except of course we've both read the book. It ends like this: Jane goes back to Thornfield only to find crazy Bertha has burnt the place down and Rochester has moved [because nobody wants to live in a burnt out house, right?] Jane goes looking for Rochester because she loves him reals bad but Rochester [probably still looking fine] is blind - because of the fire. Bad times. Jane and Rochester are reunited, Jane doesn't care if he's blind [maybe she likes him better, maybe sees them more as equals since he has to depend on her a bit and she's always had an issue with his superiority, I don't know, I'm not going that deep] and it's all lovely.

Reader, I married him etcetera.

BUT, if we hadn't read the book then the above would have been an accurate description of our fate. Ian probably would have gone all Heathcliff crazy if he'd been there.

It's made me want to read it again actually, as an adult rather than a 16 year old girl. Probably I should do that.

In summary: Fassbender is hot, Helen still doesn't like Jane Eyre, I still think Heathcliff is an asshat, we both found the Yorkshire accents more amusing than probably intended and Darcy is a king among men.

in which cancer sucks but John Green doesn't.

- Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.  And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can’t tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.

If I say nothing else about this book then I at least need to say that this ^^ is possibly the best quote about books and reading that I’ve seen.

Who am I kidding, though. Of course I’ve got more to say.

I’m still in a funny place with The Fault in Our Stars. I can’t get it out of my head. I keep finding myself thinking back to it, and grinning or getting a lump in my throat; I gave it 4 stars on Goodreads because even though I really loved it, I wasn’t sure if I could give 5 stars to a book that broke me.  I was in tears for 26%. Does that deserve 5 stars?  I’m contemplating upping to a 5 anyway because it’s a week down the line and I’m still thinking about it. It just, it resonated with me on a lot of levels.

There seems to a lot more good YA fiction around these days than there was when I was a young adult, which sucks for the me that was around 10-15 years ago [or, is it just that when I was a young adult I was too busy trying to pretend I wasn’t and so missed it all out trying to be grown up? That’s a definite possibility…] and God, I am so not part of the demographic these books are aimed at but I can’t not read them.

I read an interview recently with John Green [who I love, by the way] where he says something about always being annoyed when adults insult the intelligence of teenagers and that is so on the money and is exactly why someone like me [almost 30 and when did that happen] can still get a hell of a lot out of a book marketed as being YA fiction, because, if well-written it can be just as intelligent and though-provoking and cleverly told and well-woven as any other novel. I think TFiOS is one such book. Hazel and Augustus are two of the most wonderfully crafted characters I’ve read in a long time, and everything about them is so real, not just the cancer of it all but them, as teenagers and as people,

You may or may not know that I lost somebody very very close to me to cancer back in 2005. I don’t talk about it often, because it was a bit shit and it’s easier not to somehow and because I don’t want it to define who I am, and I’m not going to dwell on it now: if you were around back then you know the story and if not, well I don’t want to talk about and you don’t want to read about it but it’s worth mentioning because it feels relevant to my interpretation of and my reaction to this book; I wonder if it’s perhaps why TFiOS has gotten so deeply under my skin. Is it because it’s a genuinely moving book, or, is it because I can relate to it?

I don’t read books about cancer, I put off reading this for a long time. I’d picked it up a few times in bookshops but always put it down, I’d read blogs singing it’s praises [he has a massive massive fan-following our John Green, it’s kind of inspiring] but always thought it wasn’t for me but then curiosity got the better of me. I was reading about this book everywhere and in a completely opposite reaction to the Fifty Shades phenomenon, this time I wanted to see what the fuss was about. I’m still not sure if I’m glad about that or not. I honestly have no clue – even a week after finishing it – how I feel about it. Some of the story is so subtle, so clever that you don’t even realise that’s another of your heartstrings snapped right in two until it’s happened. There’s this one line for example, a simple ‘he’d taken the elevator’ [which means nothing out of context I am aware and I apologise] and I read it and I had to take a really massive breath because wow, that hurt when I wasn’t expecting to be hurt and you totally snuck that in there Mr. Green, and that’s what good writing is about, right? The ability to say so much by saying not a lot at all?

The book tells Hazel’s story and Hazel is incredible. She knows she’s dying, she knows she’s going to die and she’s accepted it. She thinks it sucks, but she’s accepted it; she talks about when she’ll die and not if. She’s dying this kid, and you better just deal with it because I am telling you now and this is not a spoiler: magical cures do not exist in these pages.

And then Hazel meets Augustus at a cancer support group, Augustus Waters who makes her see herself in a different light, makes her see her life in a different light and the slow unfolding of her relationship with him is so raw and so honest and so beautiful that it makes your chest tight. Hazel is adorable and God, I know I’d have been in love with Gus when I was 16 [I love him so much now] and watching them grow together, discovering the depth Green brings to their characters and to their relationship, it kind of felt like an honour.

He’s funny too, John Green -  he had me laughing out loud even though my eyes were stinging but it’s no light-hearted comedy; when it needs to be sad it’s really freaking sad. I’m talking actual sobs, tipping my head back and closing my eyes and counting to ten because I just can’t. I’m talking wet neck people, wet neck. This book is capital letter SAD.

The thing about cancer is it’s fucking awful. It’s ruthless and it’s angry and it’s devouring and it just takes takes takes til there’s nothing left and when it’s taken everything it hangs around and it haunts the people it’s left behind. Green seems to get that, he gets what it does and he gets what it’s like to watch and he does not shy away from it and it gives me goose-bumps even now thinking about the way in which he’s approached it – and how brave because it’s a subject so close to so many, that people see so personally. He did it justice though I think, more than. These two kids, Hazel who is terminally ill and so damn sassy and Augustus who is in recovery and has this mindblowing zest for life falling in love and knowing it’s not going to last as long as they want but being unable to do anything about it and wanting to just make the most of whatever they have is so beautiful. The last quarter or so of the book is perhaps the most painful piece of writing I’ve ever read. 

Let’s be real here.  This book broke me into pieces; I thought I could handle it but I couldn’t and you know what? It wasn’t all because of the memories it awoke, or because I was crying for myself. It wasn’t. I mean yeah, some of it hit home harder because of that, some of it hurt a little more, some of it was harder to read because of how true it was and because I remember what that was like,  but most of all I hurt for Hazel and Augustus and for Hazel’s parents [Hazel’s Mum and Dad are very well-written, which I liked because often in YA fiction the adults aren’t as fully fleshed so well done Mr. Green]; most of all I was just lost in this beautiful awful wonderful heart-breaking story and I’m reminded a little bit of Love Story, which I stupidly read when I was about 14 and God, I thought I’d never be happy again and I still can’t talk about it without crying. [“What can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. The Beatles. And me.” And  love means never having to say you’re sorry and the fact that Jenny’s last words were thanks Ollie and who gave you the right Erich Seagal, who? I am still not over it.]

TFiOS is better than Love Story.

I finished reading at 1.30 in the morning with tears streaming down my face and didn’t sleep much and was sad to my very core. And then I got up and went to work and was ok, and thought I was fine, and then a few days passed and I was sat at my desk yesterday and just remembered:

“Hazel GRACE!” he shouted. “You did not use your one dying Wish to go to Disney World with your parents.”
“Also Epcot Center,” I mumbled.
“Oh, my God,” Augustus said. “I can’t believe I have a crush on a girl with such cliché wishes.”

I emailed Helen who was about ¾ of the way through and tried to tell her I had a sad but tried not to tell her why and I realised I wasn’t ok. I was drowning in feelings, so here I am blogging it out and trying to make some sense of how I feel and quite honestly getting nowhere other than it’s a good book and it’s a funny book and it’s a sad book and I don’t know whether I think you should read it or not and cancer sucks.

Thank-you for your time.