Well-Read Wednesday: The Fault in Our Stars

I read John Green's The Fault in our Stars for 3 reasons:

It had a cool cover. It had an intriguing title. It was by John Green (author of Looking for Alaska, which I recently read and loved).

I knew NOTHING about the book, or the rave reviews it was getting, or what it was about. I didn't even read the flap copy, I just dove in. And now that I've finished it, I might just declare it the best book I have ever read.

I'm not kidding.

When you read one of the best books you've ever read, well it is hard to describe it. You find yourself thinking and thinking about it. This book just took my breath away. I laughed out loud, I cried out loud, I mourned the loss of it when I'd finished. I fell in love with characters and places and dilemmas that were not real, except they are.

I'm not the only one who loves this book. To date, it has no less than 4 star reviews on amazon.com. That is amazing.

It is wonderfully well-written. The plot is both heartbreaking and humorous. The characters are flawed and love-able and real and dying, which is partly what the book is about. Hazel Grace has terminal cancer, and yet is not a just a cancer book. It is a book about loving and being alive. Hazel feels guilt for the financial burden she's been to her parents. She mourns that, having spent most of their time and earthly energy fighting a disease, she'll probably never change the world. She'll be remembered only by those who love her. It is the plight of most of us: we are obscure, and yet, we aren't. None of us are.

I could go on and on about this book, but I won't. I'll just tell you to read it and read it now. It will change you. Good fiction can and does.

Cassius: 

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

But in ourselves, that we are underlings."

                                                                       -- Julius Caesar (I, ii, 140-141)

Un-Bucket List #8: Climb Mount Whitney

Mt. Whitney in California is the highest peak in the lower 48 states with the summit at 14,505 ft. It is a 22 mile day hike with an elevation gain of over 6,000 feet. It has 97 switchbacks, but does not require any technical climbing: meaning you can walk up it. . . I mean, hike up it.

I've climbed Mt. Whitney.

It was never something I planned on doing; it wasn't on my bucket list. However, my husband, who loves mountains, thought it was a good mountain to go climb. Maybe it was on his list and so, by default, mine. It was a hike we could do together. I don't like rock climbing and I don't like exposed summits and Mt. Whitey had neither. It was a no-brainer. We took my husband's brother and sister with us. I read "The Green Mile" as we drove down to California. I've never cried so hard reading a book before. I was 2 months pregnant (no one knew) and my mother was having surgery to remove some cancerous tumors.

After visiting the visitor's center and learning about the dangers of the local bears who will eat you in your sleep especially if you have smelly things like makeup or Chapstick in your tent, we set up camp and went to bed. My brother-in-law Todd insisted on sleeping with Chapstick in his pocket. His sister and I were not amused.

We started climbing between 2 and 3 in the morning. I like hiking before the sun comes up because it is sort of like you don't even count those miles done in the dark. I mean, you can't really see anything and so you sort of zone out and you just walk. It was a challenging hike. A long hike. Those 97 switchbacks went as far as the eye could see, and I thought we'd never reach the top, but we did. It was a rewarding hike. We passed a older man and his son who were doing the hike together (it was on his father's bucket list) and though the father was healthy, he was well advanced in years. I was amazed at them: a father and a son, fulfilling dream while there was still time and opportunity to do so. They hiked slow and deliberately and they seemed to look around more than the rest of us. I knew it meant something special to both of them.

There was bagpiper on the summit (cool!) and the highest outdoor toilet in the lower 48 (should using it have been on my bucket list?). The summit was also COLD. And me--thinking it was California and summer time--well, I was unprepared for the frigid temperatures up there. It was then that my husband starting pulling things out of his pack: a hat, a fleece jacket, gloves. Unbeknownst to me he'd planned and packed and carried items for me to be comfortable on the summit. It was sort of sweet and thoughtful of him.

We returned to camp tired and exhausted. It had been a long day, but I'd loved it.

I loved climbing that mountain.

We rested for a while and then drove into town where I made a phone call home. I sat on the ground at a pay phone and learned that my mother's surgery that day had been unsuccessful. Her tumors, surgically removed just weeks earlier, were back larger than before and were growing quickly. I sat in the dirt and I cried and I cried.

I didn't know that it was possible to be so very high and so low in the same day. It is.