Co-Review: The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

[helloladies]

It's long, it's opinionated, it's full of capslock. It's Ana and Renay discussing John Green's most recent novel, The Fault in Our Stars, only a few months after the rest of the internet has moved on to and past the Olympics, Republican Vice Presidential Candidate slash, and the Teen Wolf Season Two finale. We cover spoilers, cancer narratives, ageism, anti-intellectualism, Immanuel Kant (in translation), the wild descent into poetry as teenagers, and fail to discuss any of the interesting metaphors and easter eggs John left in his novel in favor of explicating the internet. Put on your tl;dr belts and spoiler goggles, because here we go!

Renay: First off, I want to say I was spoiled for this book. Really spoiled! It was not possible to be any more spoiled than I was spoiled for an extremely emotional moment in this story. Not the most important moment, but a pivotal moment that would have been best experienced without knowing about it beforehand and by meeting and knowing Hazel first. I lost my head on Twitter, banned myself from tumblr for months (I am just now inching my way back to tumblr) and mourned the loss of getting to really experience the whole of this book on my own terms.

Not that I'm giving John Green a hard time or anything (since he took the time to tell me they weren't spoilers, because I know he and I have a different idea over what constitutes a spoiler) but um, they actually were! Surprise! And I'm not sure that having an author comfort you over the fake-but-not-really-fake-oops spoilers isn't a spoiler in itself. It was a cancer book, there was absolutely no way I wasn't going to be spoiled for something by myself, but I would have chosen when, where, and how, and that choice was brutally ripped out of my control when I missed clicking on the jesse eisenberg tag on tumblr! Why did I miss? Dear anonymous tumblr user: I hope you get a very robust case of crabs because you were asked nicely not to spoil the book with your early copy and you ignored it. Congratulations! Slow clap. Bravo.

Because of this, I predict we're going to have wildly different feelings about this book.

Ana: Yes, we probably will. Spoilers sceptics always point out that being surprised by the plot is not what reading is all about, but to me that's completely besides the point. I mean, I agree that it's not, but I value the emotional experience of discovering the fate of the characters I have grown to love as I read the book, and I would absolutely hate to be robbed of that. I am so sorry that this happened to you :(

Do you want to tell me a little more about how knowing this piece of information beforehand affected your experience with the book and your relationship with the characters? I thought that might be a good point of departure for an exploration of how each of us engaged with Hazel and Augustus and their stories.

Renay: Generally with stories about cancer, I will introduce myself to the characters, spend most of the book with them and then find out about their fate by spoiling myself. I don't want to walk into a book knowing who has a timer above their head, I want to choose my moment because cancer narratives are difficult for me. Because I was spoiled for Augustus's death, I knew going in what was happening. I couldn't force myself to be charmed by Augustus, or to really connect with his interesting way of looking at the world. I can't force a connection with a character I know I'm going to lose. Every time Hazel had another milestone with him, I kept having to put the book down and go "NO HAZEL DON'T DO IT" Rather than wanting her to get to know this bright, beautiful boy, I wanted her to run the opposite way. Part of her narrative is about how her death is going to affect those around her — imagine that narrative knowing that it's not her death she's got to worry about. She doesn't know, and while she doesn't know, as a reader, I always did. There was an emotional Grand Canyon between me and Augustus.

The moment in question was the plane ride; how much different would that have been for me had I not known? To me it seemed like Augustus letting her know his feelings before he lost the chance to tell her at all. Rushed is the wrong word to use, but the sentiment there, that feeling of running out of usable minutes and hours and days to share how you truly feel? It was all over this scene. I have tried to imagine how that scene would have seemed to me without knowing and can't. I want to see this scene through Hazel's eyes because I know what she doesn't, and can't, and it's so frustrating.

Ana: Yes, the plane ride in particular is a moment where I can imagine already knowing what will happen to Hazel and Augustus making a world of difference. By that time, I was already beginning to worry about Augustus, mostly because of the argument with his parents that Hazel overhears when she and her mother pick him up to go to the airport. But what was going to happen didn't fully dawn on me until the point in the story when the two of them are making their way to Augustus' room in Amsterdam. Having realised it at that moment made for maximum emotional impact: when Hazel and Augustus are about to have sex for the first time, I knew Hazel was also about to be told about his cancer. I was only a few steps ahead of her, but that was enough to make those scenes where I knew but she didn't incredibly moving without ever really distancing me from her. I'm very grateful to have had the chance to find out at my own pace, and I'll join you in the less than charitable thoughts about those who intentionally went out of their way to ruin that experience for others. *glares*

I also wanted to comment on what you said about this spoiler getting in the way of connecting with Hazel's narrative. She spends so much of the story worrying that she's a grenade and trying not to be close to others so that she doesn't end up damaging them in the future, only to end up in a position where she realises that the duration of a relationship doesn't have to be the determining factor when it comes to whether or not it was worth having. She realises that, much like she doesn't at all regret becoming so emotionally invested in Augustus even though she lost him, her parents will not regret having known and loved her after she's gone. Having said that, wanting to avoid that kind of pain is only human - these things are never simple, and one of the things I love the most about The Fault in Our Stars is that it never pretends that they are. So I completely understand going "NO HAZEL, NO!" in your head when you know what's coming from the very beginning. I'm glad I didn't have to be divided between being happy for her and wanting to spare her the overwhelming grief she's eventually going to feel, and most of all I'm glad I was able to follow her emotional journey so closely.

Renay: It's unfortunate, because I told my partner I hoped the spoiler wouldn't impact my feelings toward the characters, but that was a vain hope. It might not have been in any other context than a cancer narrative, but we all bring our own issues to the stories we read.

In fact, unlike characters in other books by John Green that I've loved (Colin and Margo and Tiny), I don't feel like I'm any closer to knowing them than I was before I read the book. There was a wall between me, Hazel and Augustus, born of our positions on opposite sides of the proverbial fence. They were children of parents losing children, and I am the child of a parent I almost lost. When you have been touched by the reality of cancer and the narrative it brings to your life, it changes how all other narratives look (this is why I avoid cancer narratives). In Hazel's experience, so much of her parents experience of her cancer is a mystery to her and she spends, as you point out, the length of the novel coming to terms with the impact her life and death will ultimately have on them. In my experience, the mystery is rather the impact of a parent's cancer on a child, and what the fallout will be when that parent possibly leaves the child behind. It's also one I was ultimately sheltered from, one where I was made to feel guilty for my complicated feelings, one where I was shamed, accused of not caring and being emotionally inaccessible by everyone but the parent with cancer, who was too tired to do anything but take chemotherapy, smoke copious amounts of pot and sleep. Cancer comes with a lot of personal baggage.

However, in our dual experiences, Hazel and I both experience the uncertainty of not knowing the inner thoughts and feelings of our parents. I thought, perhaps, I would find a way to her through that path, but unfortunately it only left me frustrated and sad and ready to stop trying. Unlike Hazel and her parents, my situation has an ostensibly happy ending — trying to unpack a reality where it didn't in order to reach out to Hazel didn't work. I doubt this is the fault of the story itself. At some point, I have to recognize that not every story is for every reader, and ultimately the story of Hazel and Augustus and how they navigate the world and come to terms with the parents they're leaving behind is not accessible to me. There's something to be said for universal human experience and the experience of pain and how we can come together and share it, but in the end some wounds can't be reopened for the sake of a story.

Ana: I won't say I understand because obviously I don't, but your last point makes complete sense to me. I've read posts where readers comment on how The Fault in Our Stars helped them navigate their own personal histories with cancer, but in the end that's not going to happen for every reader. And when it doesn't, it doesn't mean that either party has failed. You're right; we bring ourselves to the stories we read, and it takes a lot of different elements for a story to click.

I'm in the privileged position of not having had any close contact with cancer, so my engagement with these characters was completely different. To me, it was actually interesting that the story gave voice to someone who was going to leave others behind, as this is not a perspective I'd ever seen explored in fiction before. But now that I think about it, there actually aren't that many narratives exploring the complicated feelings of a child who will maybe be left behind, and most of all acknowledging their right to have complicated feelings. I thought Patrick Ness' A Monster Calls did that extremely well, but I also want to apologise for maybe having pushed you to read it in the past without knowing your personal history.

One thing I thought we could address is the way Hazel and Augustus have been perceived: I've lost count of the number of reviews I've seen where they're described as unrealistic because people don't expect actual teens to be that smart, well-spoken or intellectually sophisticated. As I've told you before, this is an assumption that drives me crazy. I know you feel similarly about it, but I would love to see you discuss it a little bit.

Renay: ….ha ha, oh boy. The old, "Teenagers just aren't this clever/intelligent/well-spoken!" meme! We have equal levels of ;dslfj;alskfdal;skf;jdskfhasd about it, and mine delve into the fact that this was often a charge leveled at me as a teen. I am not sure why adults meeting me for the first time would never believe my age. "No!" they'd say. "But you sound so smart!"

All of them were ignorant jerks.

I have this theory that adults forget that those years before childhood and young adulthood ends (around the time 30 starts looming and you wake up regretting the night of jägerbombs spiked with 5 hour energy drinks and/or your feet/knees hurt) are like being a walking sponge. We have the capacity, energy, and time while we're young to learn and many of us choose to do so. Yes! We choose to be educated, I know, it's a shock. We read and we listen and we watch and we talk and we engage with the world around us. We're smart, we're clever (although we think we're more clever than we actually are), we have discussions about art and poetry and philosophy and law and economics and great literature and trashy literature life and death and, god, maybe the arrest record of Lindsey Lohan but we still know big words and can use them to say "screw you and your anti-intellectualism!". My theory further posits that people actively seem to believe there's some line between "teenager" and "adult" and once a teenager crosses it it's all "Congratulations! I will now legitimize your ability to communicate inside and outside your peer group. You now have my approval to be as smart and mature as you have been for X amount of time when I didn't consider valid because you didn't meet my arbitrary specifications!"

Is this not the read you get off this criticism that continually crops up? People will hammer the bejesus out of some Aaron Sorkin dialogue (see: The West Wing, The Social Network, Newsroom) but so rarely did I see the criticism of that type of dialogue directly connected to those characters' ages (and by rarely I mean never); a teenager can't talk like that: they're too young, they're too dumb, they're too self-involved, those words are too hard, and on and on. What I see when I see criticism of John Green's teenage characters and the way they speak is flat out textbook ageism.

I have some feelings about this, as you can tell. Am I wrong in my assertion, though?

Ana: No, I really don't think you're wrong. It's ageism, and it's also a convenient stance for some people to maintain. Believing that teenagers are not fully intellectually capable makes it easier for people to justify why they disempower them and don't allow them to make their own decisions (be it when it comes to sexual agency, career choices, peer groups, reading material, or whatever else some adults try to control). I realise that teenagers are not adults and often require guidance and support from those around them; but they're also not children like some people insist. There's nothing more frustrating and enraging than being a fully rational, capable human being who often outsmarts those around them and yet being treated like you know nothing, like what you have to say couldn't possibly matter because after all you're only a teenager. Like you said, there's no magical line to cross - you enter adulthood step by step, decision by decision, not all at once.

Books like The Fault in Our Stars take teenagers seriously, and as a result they force people to confront the fact that they're real, complex human beings with rich emotional and intellectual lives. This makes some adults uncomfortable, so they try to delegitimize these stories by pointing out that they were written by adults who must have forgotten what being a teenager is like. If anyone did forget, I'm pretty sure it wasn't authors like John Green.

Renay: There's a difference between the criticism of "this character sounds too much like the author" (which I have seen and sometimes agree with) and the position most of the criticism seems to be taking, which is to deny teenagers — both real and imagined — the full range of complexity that adults tend to receive by default. I believe it's safe to say that these criticisms say more about the people making them than they do about the characters themselves, for example, from a review at Slatebreakers:

"Here’s the thing about Hazel and Augustus: they are not entirely believable characters. They talk in this elevated philosophical language. They are wildly smart and mature for their age, partially because of what they have had to cope with and partially because it makes them fun to read. Although I know that most teenagers don’t talk like that, I didn’t care. I wanted to read their witty banter and watch them fall in love despite all of the crap the world threw at them."

Emphasis mine.

After reading this, I took a moment to go find my notes from Contemporary Literary Theory, a class where I suffered through many, many, many intelligent and wordy people spouting their own personal philosophies as well as many from whatever school of literary or social criticism they were hailing from. You know who I spent a lot of time reading? Immanuel Kant. You know what I wanted to do after?

It involved jägerbombs.

Immanuel Kant, for those not in the know, was a German philosopher. Kant significantly influenced Romanticism, and wrote some critiques (look them up and give them a read! NO, REALLY. I won't laugh.). Kant argued that we can never know, what he cites in original German, das Ding an sich, which means "the thing in itself." It's interesting, but only if you really, really like philosophy or are looking for reasons to become an alcoholic. Here is a quote from the introduction of the Critique of Judgment:

Philosophy may be said to contain the principles of the rational cognition that concepts afford us of things (not merely, as with logic, the principles of the form of thought in general irrespective of the objects), and, thus interpreted, the course, usually adopted, of dividing it into theoretical and practical is perfectly sound. But this makes imperative a specific distinction on the part of the concepts by which the principles of this rational cognition get their object assigned to them, for if the concepts are not distinct they fail to justify a division, which always presupposes that the principles belonging to the rational cognition of the several parts of the science in question are themselves mutually exclusive.

So that's how a philosopher — a very important philosopher, in fact, although to be fair he's in translation — communicated his ideas. I spent about four months with some folks just like him, long enough to convince me to reject all further invitations into the rabbit hole of philosophy and literary criticism. So perhaps I simply have a more robust (for someone who chose to run screaming away from this stuff on Level 1) personal definition of "elevated philosophical language" which here seems to have little to do with an engagement of what people means when they invoke philosophy, and instead means "they talk too good." It's directly connected to their age and denies their experience, their level of curiosity, and perhaps even their humanity because of the words they choose to use and how they string them together. Teenagers don't have the capacity of vocabulary, the determination, the will to begin to understand philosophy, much less use it in their own speech and to engage with the world around them. Right?

Years ago, when I read Nerds, Who They Are and Why We Need More of Them, part of the argument of that book as to why the U.S. struggled in our leadership of the math and science industries, was because so often kids spend time shaming each other for being smart, for working hard to learn and grow and be people who can have complicated conversations. The author argued that kids like this have their love of learning and intellectual curiosity (especially when encouraged by adults) socialized out of them in order to fit in. It's a shame I see reviewers, who ostensibly love teenagers and young adult literature, doing the same thing.

Or this, from Bloggers Heart Books:

[...] the fact that most of the characters could get a bit Dawson's Creek-ish with their dialogue at times and be overly philosophical/smart...which I don't mind, it just makes them less convincing as individuals - one or two characters being like that is fine, but not most of the characters being that way) but no book is entirely perfect [...]

What in the...are these people for real? Be smart, but not too smart, otherwise you might get pegged as a philosopher! Please correct me if I'm wrong, but is this actually saying that if you seem too smart you become less real as a person? Being too educated and too witty and too verbally talented means that people can discredit you as a person?

It doesn't stop at ageism, you know. It follows that road and then makes a wild turn onto Anti-Intellectualism Avenue. I am astonished.

Ana: You're absolutely right about the undercurrent of anti-intellectualism behind this kind of criticism. I read part of Nerds for my MA dissertation (on your recommendation, I believe) and found Anderegg's arguments really persuasive as well. But as responses to this book have shown, it's not only teenagers who shame each other for being too smart and intellectually curious: adults may do it in slightly more subtle ways, but they do it nonetheless. For example, the reviewer at Hitting on Girls in Bookstores says:

I had one problem with TFiOS. It being that this novel contains John Green's standard book formula. The Quirky Unrealistic Teenage Girl meets a Quirky Unrealistic Teenage Boy and go on a Quirky Adventure in which there is self-discovery and ocean deep conversations and witty dialogue. They even discuss poetry.

The "even" here is really quite telling. It's funny; the years of my life when I read the most poetry were by far my teenage years. And this wasn't an unusual quirk of mine - in highschool my friends and I passed around poetry books, underlined passages, tried our hand at writing really terrible poetry of our own, and had a whole lot of fun while doing it. But Hazel and Augustus' interest in poetry is brought up here as a particularly striking example of why they're so very "quirky" and "unrealistic".

And then there's my personal favourite review:

I think that my largest complaint about this book was the characters- I understand that Hazel and Augustus have had to mature quicker than their peers because of their circumstances- but seriously? I would consider myself to be a somewhat educated person and I had no idea what they were saying half of the time (admittedly, I did pull out a dictionary here and there and I did reread entire portions of the book multiple times to have a better comprehension of what was going on). At time while listening to their speeches I felt like I was sitting in one of my lectures with one of my pretentious forty + year old (NOTE: not 16 year old) professors droning on and on about something inconsequential that they think is profound.

…

I think I need a second to recover from this.

I don't want to shame anyone for not being able to follow The Fault in Our Stars or for needing a dictionary to make sense of certain parts. That is perfectly fine, and I don't think it necessarily signals that the reviewer in question is unintelligent or anything like that. The same has happened to me before with books I'm sure other people would have no trouble at all following, and I know how frustrating it can be. Sometimes the problem was that I lacked the background for that particular book; sometimes I was just tired or distracted or whatever. It's fine to find that kind of experience frustrating - what I have a problem with is the fact that they react to this personal struggle by becoming aggressive and condescending. Suddenly we go from "I didn't always understand the ideas the characters were discussing or the language they used" to "this is all boring, pretentious, inconsequential and pseudo-profound". It's like they felt threatened and decided to lash out by dismissing the characters and their concerns as unimportant and ridiculing them - which is, in a nutshell, how anti-intellectualism works.

I imagine that some people might respond to the points we're making with something along the lines of, "We're not saying that teenagers like this don't exist! But because they're so atypical, it's unrealistic to have so many in a book", much like the second reviewer you quoted did. To which I'd say: first of all, there's no such thing as a "typical teenager". Secondly, even if you only had, say, ten smart teens out of a hundred in a school or town, it would make sense that they'd gravitate towards each other and become friends, like the characters in The Fault in Our Stars do. And thirdly and perhaps most importantly, when exactly did statistical frequency become a requirement for deciding who gets to have their stories told anyway? Do we now demand that our characters be average in every possible way before we deign to engage with their stories? Seriously?

One last thing: people may think that finding these two characters so atypical that they're unconvincing is not a form of shaming or dismissal of the real teenagers who share their curiosity and intellectual interests; but the fact is, it most definitely is. You're basically telling real kids like Hazel and Augustus, "Wow, you're so strange that I can barely make myself believe you could exist! You won't find peers like yourself or ever belong anywhere because poetry? philosophical discussions? witty language? Not the stuff of teenagers' lives." What a lonely and horrifying thing for a smart young person to be told by the adults around them.

Renay: Amen. To go back to the poetry thing for a moment: I spent a year with a friend when I was 13 or 14 reading all the poetry we could find. I took a Creative Writing class twice (once as Creative Writing and once as AP English) where writing poetry was a defined and known part of the course. Of course it was all terrible. I've rarely ever engaged with poetry as an adult. The last poetry I indulged in was Atlas, a beautiful book of poetry gifted to me by Chris, and before that, at least twelve years between me and any poetry. My most extensive interactions with poetry and the culture of poetry were as a teenager. I don't think reading and writing and talking about poetry necessarily made me smarter, but it did make me curious about language, about the sounds of words, and how we as a species use them to invoke feelings. Poetry made me pause in a way no other literature has ever done. Is this a cultural difference? A gender difference? If we replace poetry with something else — Justin Bieber or Hannah Montana or give Augustus a Supernanny addiction or Hazel a subscription to STAR! — does it make them more "real"? What makes a person "real", exactly?

I remember when I reviewed Reading Women and definitely did feel that sense of frustration and disappointment that I didn't get it, that I was missing something, that I had to stop and look up context for the things I failed to learn and didn't know. But it wasn't the fault of the book or my fault. Hazel and Augustus knowing things and experiencing the world differently from me wasn't a negative thing. It didn't make them too smart or me too dumb, it just made us different. It meant that I had something to learn from them, as we all have things to teach one another. That's pretty twee, but it's life: there are going to be people who are more educated, more knowledgeable, interested in big words, philosophy, pretentious discussion, American's Next Top Model, literature, and they may, in fact (get the smelling salts), be younger.

Ana: Exactly. And although it's only human to sometimes feel insecure when faced with something like that, it's important to take a deep breath before we become defensive or lash out at the books, characters or real people in question.

We spent as much time discussing reactions to The Fault in Our Stars as we did the book itself, but I regret nothing: this is, after all, an important conversation to have. But since we're now dangerously close to the 6000 words mark, perhaps it's time for our closing remarks. Want to go first?

Renay: I can't believe you don't want to reach for 10,000 words, Ana. I could have some more feels about anti-intellectualism, if you want.

Closing remarks...I liked this book. I think my initial impression, my failure to emotionally connect with the characters is not a flaw in the book, but in myself. I loved the parents, I loved Isaac, and in Hazel I found a narrator you can clearly track the change from beginning to end in several relationships throughout the text, not only the central relationship. It was so rewarding to see the integration of other lives with Hazel's, beyond Augustus, and to feel like these characters are just as rich and deep that you would only really need to spend a few chapters with them for their stories to become just as interesting. That's a hard sell for me with supporting characters, but John Green continues to get better and better at it for this reader.

It wasn't my favorite John Green novel, but I am not greedy enough to think that every single time he writes a book he needs to impress me to the point of my fawning adoration (I have followed him since March 2007; he is going to have to work really hard to surprise me at this point, ha). An Abundance of Katherines remains unchallenged in its place of honor (I never expected differently, given the subject matter of TFioS), but really, what is a favorite book but one that speaks to you about something in a such a way that it's inescapable, like recognizing like? I connected with Hazel and Augustus intellectually, not emotionally, but there is real value in that exchange and I appreciate the chance.

Ana: I love your point about how Hazel's other relationships are presented as every bit as important as her romance with Augustus. Also, can I just say how much I love that your favourite John Green is An Abundance of Katherines? I thought it was brilliant, too, but for some reason it doesn't seem to get anywhere near as much fan love as his other novels. My absolute favourite is still Paper Towns, but like you I don't think my favourite authors have the obligation to surpass themselves in my estimation every time they publish a new book. So... see you here in a few years for whatever John Green publishes next? ;)

Renay: An Abundance of Katherines was the first book by him I read. I often tend to walk on the wild side of favorite books. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in my favorite Harry Potter book, A Wind in the Door trumps A Wrinkle in Time for me, and so on. But yes, I am definitely interested in meeting up again to discuss John Green's next story, which will have been mostly written while walking (impressive!).

You know what this means, though. We have to revisit our "Read John Green's Books In This Order" list and revise it. We should make a flowchart. ;)

---

Other Reviews:
The Written World, things mean a lot, Tempting Persephone, My Friend Amy, The Book Smugglers, The Literary Omnivore, The AV Club, NPR, Reading Writing Breathing, Bookish Comforts, Guys Lit Wire, Novel Thoughts, YA Bibliophile, Reading Rants!, books i done read, Book Harbinger, Bart's Bookshelf, The Bluestocking Society, slatebreakers, Hitting on Girls in Bookstores, Olivia's Opinions, Avery's Book Nook, S. Krishna's Books, Bloggers[heart]Books, One Librarian's Book Reviews, Rhapsody in Books, Stuff as Dreams are Made On, Steph Su Reads, Becky's Book Reviews, Book Addction, Fyrefly's Book Blog, The Alcove, Bart's Bookshelf, Care's Online Book Club, The Avid Reader's Musings, Bookshelves of Doom.

(Yours?)


Supplemental Material:

• David Anderegg - Nerds: What are they? — "Stop apologizing for complexity."
• The Fast-Talking Smarties
• TFioS Questions Answered
• John Green Talks The Fault in Our Stars on The Interview Show
• Author John Green | Interview
• Booklist Interview with John Green
• Nerdfighter and author John Green comes home

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

I would not have thought it possible that I could fall more in love with the two of you...but I did! So much awesomeness in this conversation. So. Much.

[nymeth]

Debi, right? It just sounds like you :P Thank you, m'dear *hugs*

[renay]

I demand makeouts when people fall in love with me.

[myfriendamy]

It sucks that you were spoiled. It's weird how much being spoiled can affect the experience of a narrative and I totally understand why you were upset to have the control over spoiling yourself taken away!

and yes to everything about the teens being smart. This continually bugs the crap out of me...not only that people feel that way but that i regularly see people qualify the book with it...as in, "well Green tends to make his characters wise beyond their years (or whatever) but it's still a good book" Like, I don't know that I see qualifiers like that EVER on adult lit. But whatever, at least I know there are smart ppl like you guys out there telling it like it is. :)

[renay]

Well, needless to say I have learned my lesson about tumblr and spoilers, i.e. DON'T GO NEAR TUMBLR IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED.

[myfriendamy]

Yes tumblr is the worst. I mean, once normal TV season starts again I can't go on bc the east coast/rest of the world gets gifs up so fast I'll be spoiled.