The Fault in Looking for Katherines--ordinary-ness, desire, and why I want to be John Green when I grow up

Not that I have a particular prejudice against Katherines. I do, however, have a particular bias towards John Green's books. During this (dreadfully short) winter break I've gone on a John Green binge, and my reaction to his work went something like me dancing around my house screaming "hdkalejiowaekalfjeoa;ifjewa how on Earth did John Green get so amazing?"

I'm not entirely sure how you pronounce a semi colon, much less how you scream one. I'll get back to you on that.

Now, normally I'm a fan of labels. They make life cleaner, simpler somehow. But one label that angers me is the "YA" title that has been slapped on Green's novels. Yes, the vocabulary constitutes these books as light reading that a middle schooler could enjoy (minus the impressive vocabulary of Colin Singleton who informs his reader about words such as "abligurition"--look it up), yes these books revolve around the lives of teenagers, but they are not purely for the adolescent sort. It's not like once you hit age twenty or thirty, you suddenly stop enjoying the wealth of knowledge that are John Green's books. There are some deep philosophical questions in this light reading, and the YA label makes it no less valid.

One phenomenon Green covers is the experience of being your average, ordinary, fucked up teen. In his book An Abundance of Katherines, Colin guides the reader through a mathematical formula that tries, 1) to predict the next time he will look forward to getting dumped (as many an average teen experiences), and 2) prove his genius to the world. The formula seems less about predicting his future and more about proving that he mattered--that somehow, somewhere, he made a permanent mark of his existence. It certainly seems like pushing himself to be a prodigy/genius wasn't fun, and even that "eureka" moment caused more pressure to be impressive. The fight to be extraordinary is a difficult one--and Green portrays that high school struggle with wit and grace.

The extraordinary moments--and this could just be the realistic fiction geek in me coming out--seems to be the ones that are, in fact, extra ordinary. Colin's mathematical discoveries were intriguing plot points, but when his character truly comes alive is when he's just chilling with his friend Hassan, or laying with Lindsay (his first non-Katherine!) in a cave. The conversation isn't about slaying dragons or finding the cure for cancer--it's about what any of us would've mulled over in high school: relationships, heartbreak, that pesky little thing called emotion. It's in those ordinary moments that we find what's behind the surface of a person. In Lindsay's case, it's her struggle with contradicting personalities (something I can 100% relate to):
"I'm full of shit. I'm never myself. I've got a Southern accent around the oldsters; I'm a nerd for graphs and deep thoughts with you; I'm Miss Bubbly Pretty Princess with Colin. I'm nothing. the thing about chameleoning your way through life is that it gets to where nothing is real" (150).

None of it's REAL!

That scene resonated with my own life. Throughout high school, I've "chemeleoned" myself through many situations, but like Lindsay, I've always had that person who just brings out the true, honest self, even if I didn't see it was my true self at the time. And like Colin, I've pressured myself into believing I had to make a huge production of my existence, when all along, it was those moments you don't think twice about that shaped a lively sort of existence that any accomplishment never could (thought I admit, dancing around my room singing "I believe I can fly" over an A in a science class made for a fun time). The five hour monopoly game with my dad was not some grand act of genius; I didn't get any gold stars for late night talks with my best friend--but that compilation of ordinary moments meant a hundred times more than any extraordinary accomplishment.

Maybe it's just the desire to be extraordinary that makes those moments unappealing. John Green covers the trap of expectations in Looking for Alaska, where he discusses the Buddhist view that desire causes suffering (he also reminded me that the word labyrinth is really cool). But at this moment, I desire to go to bed, and that is a wish I doubt will bring any suffering--as long as I don't dream about a labyrinth.

So we'll save the whole investigation of suffering and expectations when you and I are both alert and awake and ready to conquer the world, one cup of coffee at a time.

Until then, I bid you goodnight.

Namaste.