I’m sure this will upset a bunch of people: this was not my favourite John Green book. I know that for many it is, but I just had a hard time connecting with it.
Perhaps it was that I figured out the “Before” and “After” gimmick almost immediately; I thought Alaska was effectually a ‘manic pixie dream girl’; and that the obsession with people’s last words was the only part of the novel I really enjoyed — it was an odd ‘quirk’ and could have easily felt forced, but I liked it.
I don’t know. It just wasn’t for me. I can sit here objectively and call it a good book — basically a case of “It’s not you, book…it’s me.”