Oh, John Green. I think you're a nice guy who really believes he's delving into some super deep issues with his novels, like depression and isolation and having a terminal illness. But you're not. You're glorifying sadness and you're glorifying illness, and it makes me sick. 
 Oh, wait, I AM sick. That's right, I have cancer. I was eighteen when my abdomen turned into a puffer fish and I almost died in the course of a week. I underwent several procedures to remove the liquid from my abdomen and began chemo immediately. I've had a picc line, MRI's, CT scans, blood draws, hair loss, mucositis, debilitating nausea, and an endless line of pills to take. The experience is hellish, and I did not see it in The Fault in Our Stars. So I can legitimately say I'm not poo poo-ing cancer because "I don't understand." 
 This is not a book about cancer, not really. It's John Green using cancer as a way to make his relatively vapid characters seem tragic. Hazel is the Mary Sue of Mary Sues. Her name, her attitude, her book - they're all incredibly pretentious, so I can't sympathize with her or identify with her, even though we're both in the cancer boat. Hazel is white, seemingly well-off, and narrates in purple prose. Shockingly, Augustus is all of those things as well. John Green seems incapable of writing about any other types of people. And this is not John Green hating - his Civil War videos helped me pass my IB history test. He just doesn't get what he's doing; at least, I hope he doesn't get it, because whether it's making Alaska's depression irresistibly attractive or making Hazel into a special snowflake, Green glorifies illness. It's gross. Cancer does not mean spouting metaphors, finding your soulmate, and taking vacations to foreign countries. Cancer is having your hair fall out in clumps. Puking at 3 in the morning. Not being able to get out of bed to see your grandparents. Yes, I know Hazel isn't getting chemo anymore, but this is awfully convenient for the plot and for making out. 
 Frankly, I find it offensive to write about cancer in a way that is so obviously not about cancer. I'll be generous and say that Green is exploring the idea of impermanence and how people deal with death, and that he legitimately thought cancer was a good way to do that. Why didn't he write about the ACTUAL EXPERIENCE THEN? What about writing about being in the hospital, or the wonderful people you meet along the way, or acknowledging how good it feels after the effects of chemo have worn off? It takes a few conversations and a bit of research to figure out the basics. There were no scenes that truly showed common cancer experiences like radiation, surgery, or chemo. You know, the old burn, cut, or poison. You were lazy, Mr. Green, and for the sake of all the children who have cancer, I find this unforgivable. 
 I could discuss how contrived the romance is, how ungrateful Hazel is towards her parents (I know how taxing it is on mine, so I find her attitude unpleasant, especially since so many people consider her wise), how flat both of the characters are, how silly their dialogue is, how the jibe at the support group probably hurt people who've found a lot of comfort in those, how the track and field jibe about the hurdles really pissed me off, and how the ending is incredibly bothersome. Luckily, many other people have done so incredibly eloquently, and my two cents really has more to do with Green's portrayal of cancer. I've been touched by the cancer stories I've witnessed and by the grace with which people tackle a sad, painful, and difficult disease. So why miss an opportunity to make this real, Green? Why not have Hazel and Augustus struggle with the betrayal of their bodies and the journey it takes to forgive those bodies? In fact, why not take out Augustus entirely, and make it a story about finding yourself in the midst of a confusing and inevitably tragic journey. I would have read that. 
 Stop making illness so beautifully tragic to advance a theme that doesn't have much substance anyway, because it's been done before. We all contemplate our demise, terminal illness or not, so next time don't use cancer as your crutch. Maybe you'll finally write a book that proves me wrong about you, but I think you'll flaunt your vocabulary and ability to create pretentious quotes for the rest of your writing career, and continue to use illness and sadness as a way to legitimize it.