Our Little Infinity

I make it a priority to stay up to date on literary pop culture. I make it my mission to read every single novel or article that is even remotely popular at the moment. And because of my fixation, I've encountered some amazing authors and some even more incredible fictional worlds (The Hunger Games, the Goldfinch, Fifty Shades of Grey, etc.). In keeping with my usual pattern of gobbling up bestsellers, I recently finished reading John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars. And while I won’t give away any spoilers pertaining to the story, I can honestly say that TFIOS is one of the most well-written and inspirational novels of our generation.

That being said, our generation isn't particularly known for producing masterpieces of literature. We mostly churn out grammatically lax stories of dystopian adventure that merely manage to enthrall readers for a couple of days at most. But every now and then, an author comes along who shakes up the literary world with stories that take readers on an emotional and mental roller coaster ride of self-discovery. John Green, an immensely under-appreciated author, does just that. He is a writer truly in touch with the questions humans (particularly young adults) ask themselves at the most subconscious level.

Throughout the novel, Green repeatedly makes the argument (in beautiful and realistic prose) that humans, in spite of all the unfair and devastatingly depressing obstacles that are thrown our way, are capable of finding joy. Green tells the love story of a pair of star-crossed cancer patients that is both tender and encouraging.

"I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward the consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it...is temporary?"

However, I can’t help but be disturbed by the amount of people who think this novel is simply a story about love and death. I've read countless tweets and Facebook statuses saying, “Finished The Fault in Our Stars in three hours. I cried so hard” or “I want to love like Hazel and Augustus” or “Like, oh my god, Augustus Waters is literally the perfect man.” Aside from the fact that these responses are incredibly idiotic in their evaluation of what’s important…they also completely miss the point of the novel. (and would most definitely cause Hazel to ironically sigh at their sheer ridiculousness, amiright?)

Yes, the story is entertaining. Yes, the love expressed by Augustus in the novel is the dream of every woman who ever envisioned a romantic future for herself. Nonetheless, Green approaches deeply important existential questions that people should legitimately be asking: What are we supposed to do with the time we’re given? Will I be remembered for anything, anything at all? Should I be afraid of oblivion? Does God exist? What about True Love? How do I know what to believe in?

 I don't even think John Green has the answers to the questions he poses.

But I also don’t think he is trying to simply entertain readers with a sob-story. Instead, I think he wants us to know that we are not alone, no matter how insignificant we think we are. He wants us to question the world, to fill the Earth with intelligent curiosity. He wants us to re-examine how we approach illness and its accompanying stigma. But most importantly, I think he want us to celebrate life and all of the experiences that come with it.

The Fault in Our Stars is a novel that addresses the infinite (see what I did there?) depths of human consciousness. John Green has presented the world with an opportunity, by way of the written word, to get a glimpse into the great beyond, whatever that may be. This novel, in its brilliance, will be read for generations to come. 

Shouldn't we at least try to really figure out what it’s all about?

"My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations" 

-Augustus Waters

Mischief Managed

Growing Up with Harry Potter

J.K. Rowling's fantastical coming-of-age series has taught me some of the most important life lessons one could ever hope to learn. Even as a child of ten, I knew there was something special about Harry Potter, that every magical (see what I did there?) sentence I read was full of a certain transformative wisdom that would stay with me for as long as I lived...and read. 

While I curse every day that passes without my receiving a Hogwarts acceptance letter, I still count the Harry Potter series as the collection of books that most changed my life. I passed hundreds of sticky summer hours sitting amongst the cool branches of the Bradford Pear tree in my front yard, consuming the pages of Harry Potter like a toddler scrambling for the crumbs of a stolen cookie. Through the story of The Boy Who Lived, I was able to transport myself to a world of wands, spells, broomsticks, and butterbeer. For a little girl terrified of being bored, reading was the perfect escape, especially when it involved learning of a world so very different from my own. Each character and adventure gave me a new perspective on the world and on the nature of humankind. 

The Golden Trio (Harry, Hermione, & Ron) taught me that true friendships, the kind that last a lifetime, are pleasantly uncomplicated and ultimately better your inner being. 

Severus Snape taught me that love has no boundaries. Loving someone, whether romantically or platonically, whether mutual or unrequited, means cherishing that person in every way, in spite of their flaws, because real love lasts: "always."

Luna Lovegood taught me that being weird is okay. Who we are should be celebrated just as much as who we want to be. 

Fred and George Weasley taught me that the power of laughter is eternal and can bring light into the darkest of places. 

Draco Malfoy taught me that while we are all victims of our circumstances, it's possible to rise above our limitations. 

Dobby taught me that freedom is a gift, not a privilege, and should be treasured.

Neville Longbottom taught me that our inadequacies do not define who we are. Our strengths may surprise us. 

Albus Dumbledore taught me that real wisdom is gained through experience and is always bought with a price.

Lord Voldemort taught me that while there is evil present in the world, it cannot exist in the presence of true love.

And lastly, JK Rowling taught me that magic does exist, most especially within our hearts. 

Thus, while the Harry Potter series is finished, the story of The Boy Who Lived will continue to be a source of fascination to me and countless others. Harry Potter will endure because it is brilliantly written, overwhelmingly relatable, and enchantingly real. 

And in the words of our favorite long-nosed Weasley, "don't let the muggles get you down." Because there's a bigger world out there and it's full of wonderful lessons to be learned. 

"Words, in my humble opinion, are the most inexhaustible source of magic we have"
-Albus Dumbledore

The English Major's Tale of Woe

While the majority of millennial-age college students are dedicating four (or more) years to the studies of business, medical science, psychology, or some other career-confirmed pathway to success, there are a select, questionably sane few who choose to take the road less traveled and major in an area of the liberal arts. While I may inadvertently defame my own career path in the process of writing this, I in no way regret the choice to join the elusive cult of English majors. In fact, I love that I chose a major that requires centuries-long hours in the library writing 10-page essays on why the color yellow in Crime and Punishment is a symbol of Raskolnikov's struggle with the conflict between morality and mental illness. Exhilarating stuff, right? But in all honesty, choosing to become an English major was one of the easiest (and most rewarding) decisions I've ever made.

As a child who would rather sit in a corner reading Jane Eyre than play Capture the Flag with the rest of the neighborhood kids, I was always singled out as a little weird. And while I am an extrovert in most areas, I also happen to love the solitary aspect of the written word. I have a rather idealistic view of the world and I honestly believe in the good in everyone. So maybe that's the reason I am so easily able to lose myself in a novel for days on end. Or perhaps it is why I enjoy writing poetry and short stories that no one but myself ever reads. Everything I read or write is for myself. 

Therefore, becoming an English major was the obvious choice. Choosing what I wanted to accomplish with that major, however, wasn't so easy. I knew from the beginning that I would be forever bombarded with questions like, "English Major? So you want to teach?" and "Oh...English. How are you going to make a career out of that?" But I've always been the type of person who does exactly what she wants, when she wants, regardless of the thoughts of others. (Not exactly the best character trait to possess but, I digress). Because the field of English is stereotypically designated to prim librarians or those crazy cat-lady literature professors, I've decided to take a less conventional route and work my way into editing and publishing. I can very well picture myself sitting in a corner-office reading the manuscript of an up and coming author, deciding whether or not his or her work has the potential of becoming the next Great American Novel. Books have staying power despite how technology-dependent our society has become. There is no greater feeling than cracking the spine of a freshly printed novel and smelling the crisp, acidic smell of the pages. Novels, poems, magazines, blogs, news articles, and short stories all have one thing in common: their ability to transport the thoughts of the reader somewhere else. And I so desperately want to become a part of that process. 

Plus, I figure that if I have to correct grammar for a living, I'll have something solid to blame my coffee addiction on. So there's that.

So while others may not understand my choice to major in an area with no direct path to prosperity, I will have my reward. Because as Winston Churchill once said: "Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts."