
As some of you know I was an enormous fan of John Green's latest novel when I read it the first time. When I started re-reading TFiOS I was motivated almost entirely by a desire to rekindle some of that magic that I felt during my first reading of the novel. A secondary motivation, however, was also present. I know a few people (not many) who think this book is super overrated, and I wanted to read it with a critical eye in order to prove to myself that these critics were indeed on crack, and that I was completely correct in hailing this novel as one of the finest I've read in the past three years. So how did TFiOS bear up under my increased scrutiny? Was I able to recapture the magnificence of the first reading? Did I independently determine its timeless literary merit in the face of countless (one) detractors?
Basically the answer to both of the above questions is yes...and no. I found it easy to engage in the story, just as I had the first time. I still found the characters likable and the emotions accessible and real. It still tugged at my heartstrings, made me smile, and kept me up later than I'd have liked. However, some of the magic was gone for me. I enjoyed it, but I didn't fall in love with it all over again. This brings me to my second point: the book's literary merit. On the second reading I was freed of the tension of finding out what happens next. Some of the emotional cachet was gone for me, so I had more mental resources to put into looking at the book as an actual work of literature and not just a vehicle for visceral emotional reactions. What I discovered was slightly troubling, though in retrospect not unexpected. As a work of literature the book is decent. The themes aren't subtle, the characters are a bit exaggerated, and the writing feels a little stale after a while. The dialogue between the characters feels somewhat unnatural as well, which is a claim I'd heard from others that I hadn't given any credence to in the past. I've spent enough time with teenagers by now to realize, however, that no sixteen year-old has the term "toe-specific dysmorphia" in her lexicon. These issues essentially amount to a few literary quibbles. They don't make it a bad book, but I think they do keep it from being a truly great book. The story is still lovely, the messages are interesting and thought-provoking, and the emotions the book elicits are valuable and cathartic, but I'm not sure this book deserves a plinth in the pantheon of Greatest Books Ever. It's a book that is deserving of the elevated position it currently holds, but which will likely not withstand the test of time in the way the true greats have and will. If you haven't read it already, I still give it a strong recommendation. If you've already read it once, it might be better to enjoy the memories.
Redux Rating: 8.5/10