“Before. Miles “Pudge” Halter is done with his safe life at home. His whole existence has been one big movement, and his obsession with famous last words has only made him crave the “Great Perhaps” (François Rabelais, poet) even more. He heads off to the sometimes crazy, possibly unstable, and anything-but-boring world of Culver Creek Boarding School, and his life becomes the opposite of safe. Because down the hall is Alaska Young. The gorgeous, clever, funny, sexy, self-destructive, screwed-up, and utterly fascinating Alaska Young, who is an event unto herself. She pulls Pudge into her world, launches him into the Great Perhaps, and steals his heart.
After. Nothing is ever the same.”
I tried really hard to like this book, but I have to say–I think the synopsis is more inspired than the novel it’s trying to sell. But this is just me. I know people who will swear by this book. I just don’t see it.
Come to think of it, prior to reading Paper Towns, I wasn’t really interested in this book at all. But because I liked that book, I decided to give the other John Green novels a chance. Clearly, I have not learned from my Twilight mistake. Never buy books by bulk. Only get the ones you’re really interested in. Don’t be fooled into complacency by one good book.
That said, I’m not saying Looking For Alaska is bad. It’s not. A little talky, yes, but not bad. Thing is, while reading it, my mind kept flashing back to Paper Towns. Both are novels about self-discovery, about growing up–I just think Paper Towns did it better. And with that mindset, I guess Looking for Alaska was doomed midway through.
Also, call me a prude, but I’m not really a fan of novels that have teens getting hooked into vices. In this book’s case: drinking and smoking. And I know that it’s part of growing up. Supposedly. But I just find myself giving negative points to books/stories that have this character devolution. I mean, development.
Of course, this doesn’t really factor in when I find myself engrossed in the story. Or even if it does, I tend to forget about it when the book is really, really good. Which, in this case, it’s not. Not for me, anyway.