Icarus
Hey, John. You made me cry about paint. I hope you’re happy. (Seriously though, good job.)
It’d be one thing if I’d only cried once while reading this book of reviews, which ranges in topics from Diet Doctor Pepper to velociraptors. If it’d just been the once, I probably wouldn’t have mentioned it. But it wasn’t just once. (It was like, probably three times, and a fighting back of at least a fourth time. Not about the Doctor Pepper or velociraptors, though.)
Having read all but one of Green’s books over the years, it’s tempting to claim that any of his books is going to do its best to make you cry. But that’s a rather reductive way of putting it. What he’s really doing, which he’s said in his “On Writing” video, is that he’s “trying to understand and speak from [his] deepest self to the deepest self of someone else.” What a great approach to have. My tears, to me, are a mark of success.
And, you know, I think I recognize him in a version of me from a decade ago.
At the tail end of high school, before dropping us into the Great Unknown of post-secondary, our philosophy teacher had us present our ten favourite aesthetics of all time. I was already leaps and bounds more anxious back then than I am today, but generally considered myself competent at public speaking. For some reason though, my voice shook and cracked as I tried to share ten of my biggest joys. (Androgyny, harmonies, and stars, to name a few. Even the Minecraft End Poem, which would still make that list today.)
This fumble of a presentation ended with an awkward silence as I shuffled back to my seat. No one had any questions. I think my classmates were trying to spare me from complete humiliation by pretending they hadn’t noticed. Our teacher asked us to reflect on some of our favourite presentations, and I believe he threw me a small mercy when he mentioned mine. He said, “You know, I think Icarus managed to cram in more than just ten in theirs.”
John Green has likewise crammed his reviews chalk full of his favourite stuff wherever possible. There are handfuls of heart-stopping quotes by poets, which I absolutely had to copy down for my own collection, especially concerning sunsets. And like me retreating back to my desk, Green was scared too. He wrote pieces of this book during the start of the pandemic, which is quickly evident. In the very first essay, he says, “Horror and suffering abound in every direction, and I want writing to be a break from it. Still, it makes its way in – like light through window blinds, like floodwater through shut doors.” And in that fear, I recognize more than one version of myself.
So, yes. This book made me cry multiple times. Throughout, Green is levelly vulnerable, speaking from his deepest self. This is a book about how humans have changed the world, the ways in which we occupy it, the merits of fundamentally flawed traditions, and asks us where we go from here. This last part, of course, is for you to dwell on, and ultimately to live out yourself. We are an active participant in the world, and would do well to remember this.
I give The Anthropocene: Reviewed by John Green four stars.
Hey, John. You made me cry about paint. I hope you’re happy. (Seriously though, good job.)
It’d be one thing if I’d only cried once while reading this book of reviews, which ranges in topics from Diet Doctor Pepper to velociraptors. If it’d just been the once, I probably wouldn’t have mentioned it. But it wasn’t just once. (It was like, probably three times, and a fighting back of at least a fourth time. Not about the Doctor Pepper or velociraptors, though.)
Having read all but one of Green’s books over the years, it’s tempting to claim that any of his books is going to do its best to make you cry. But that’s a rather reductive way of putting it. What he’s really doing, which he’s said in his “On Writing” video, is that he’s “trying to understand and speak from [his] deepest self to the deepest self of someone else.” What a great approach to have. My tears, to me, are a mark of success.
And, you know, I think I recognize him in a version of me from a decade ago.
At the tail end of high school, before dropping us into the Great Unknown of post-secondary, our philosophy teacher had us present our ten favourite aesthetics of all time. I was already leaps and bounds more anxious back then than I am today, but generally considered myself competent at public speaking. For some reason though, my voice shook and cracked as I tried to share ten of my biggest joys. (Androgyny, harmonies, and stars, to name a few. Even the Minecraft End Poem, which would still make that list today.)
This fumble of a presentation ended with an awkward silence as I shuffled back to my seat. No one had any questions. I think my classmates were trying to spare me from complete humiliation by pretending they hadn’t noticed. Our teacher asked us to reflect on some of our favourite presentations, and I believe he threw me a small mercy when he mentioned mine. He said, “You know, I think Icarus managed to cram in more than just ten in theirs.”
John Green has likewise crammed his reviews chalk full of his favourite stuff wherever possible. There are handfuls of heart-stopping quotes by poets, which I absolutely had to copy down for my own collection, especially concerning sunsets. And like me retreating back to my desk, Green was scared too. He wrote pieces of this book during the start of the pandemic, which is quickly evident. In the very first essay, he says, “Horror and suffering abound in every direction, and I want writing to be a break from it. Still, it makes its way in – like light through window blinds, like floodwater through shut doors.” And in that fear, I recognize more than one version of myself.
So, yes. This book made me cry multiple times. Throughout, Green is levelly vulnerable, speaking from his deepest self. This is a book about how humans have changed the world, the ways in which we occupy it, the merits of fundamentally flawed traditions, and asks us where we go from here. This last part, of course, is for you to dwell on, and ultimately to live out yourself. We are an active participant in the world, and would do well to remember this.
I give The Anthropocene: Reviewed by John Green four stars.