Paper Towns John Green
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Title: Paper Towns
About the book "Paper Towns" by John Green
Where is the line beyond which a teenager becomes an adult? Does the teenager feel that he has already crossed this line? You can try to find answers to these questions in the novel “Paper Towns” by John Green, written in the style of young adult.
Quentin (Q) Jacobsen is an ordinary teenager on the verge of final exams. Next door to the guy lives a girl, Margot Roth Spiegelman. Quentin and Margot are familiar with early years, and since childhood, Q has had strong feelings for the girl. As the years go by, their social circle and outlook on life begin to change, but this does not affect Q’s feelings in any way. The turning point comes when one evening Margot enters Quentin’s room through the window and asks for help to take revenge on her enemies, namely her boyfriend and close friend who were caught in connection. Q is unable to refuse the person he is in love with. The next day, our hero learns that the girl has disappeared, but not without a trace. She leaves Quentin little clues that should lead him to her. Q and three other friends go in search of Margot, finding more and more clues.
Although the book is written in the style of young adult, it touches on topics that will not leave indifferent not only teenagers, but also adults: money, social inequality, thirst for self-realization. The main characters, Q and Margot, do not want to obey social stereotypes, norms and rules. Each of them is dissatisfied with their lives and struggles with it in their own way.
Margot tries to get rid of routine by inappropriate behavior and constantly running away from home. Quentin, on the contrary, delves into dreams of a stable, albeit not rosy, future. Dreams of going to college, then finding stable work and generally tries to be a “good guy.”
The book has such a title, of course, for a reason. Margot herself explains to Q in the book that people burn their dreams of the future in the oven in order to warm their present now, and she does not intend to do the same. The girl shares her views with him, but will it affect him? Will he understand what she means and how it will affect his life?
The novel "Paper Towns" is fifth on the list best books according to the New York Times, and in 2009 he was awarded the Edgar Allan Poe Award. He certainly deserves attention.
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John Green
Paper cities
With gratitude to Julie Strauss-Gabel, without whom none of this would have happened.
Then we went outside and saw that she had already lit a candle; I really liked the face she carved out of the pumpkin: from a distance it seemed like sparks were sparkling in her eyes.
– “Halloween”, Katrina Vandenberg, from the collection “Atlas”.They say that a friend cannot destroy a friend.
What do they know about it?
– From a song by the Mountain Goats.My opinion is this: Some miracle happens to every person in life. Well, that is, of course, it is unlikely that I will be struck by lightning, or that I will receive a Nobel Prize, or that I will become the dictator of a small people living on some island in Pacific Ocean, or I’ll catch incurable terminal ear cancer, or I’ll suddenly combust spontaneously. But, if you look at all these extraordinary phenomena together, most likely, at least something unlikely happens to everyone. I, for example, could get caught in a rain of frogs. Or land on Mars. Marry the Queen of England or hang out alone at sea for several months, on the brink of life and death. But something else happened to me. Among all the many residents of Florida, I happened to be Margot Roth Spiegelman's neighbor.
Jefferson Park, where I live, used to be a base navy. But then it was no longer needed, and the land was returned to the ownership of the municipality of Orlando, Florida, and a huge residential area was built on the site of the base, because that is how the free land is now used. And in the end, my parents and Margot’s parents bought houses in the neighborhood as soon as the construction of the first buildings was completed. Margot and I were two years old at the time.
Even before Jefferson Park became Pleasantville, even before it became a Navy base, it actually belonged to one Jefferson, or rather, Dr. Jefferson Jefferson. An entire school in Orlando was named after Dr. Jefferson Jefferson, and there is also a large one. charitable organization his name, but the most interesting thing is that Dr. Jefferson Jefferson was not any “doctor”: incredible, but true. He traded all his life orange juice. And then he suddenly became rich and became an influential man. And then he went to court and changed his name: he put “Jefferson” in the middle, and wrote down the word “doctor” as the first name. And try to object.
So, Margot and I were nine. Our parents were friends, so she and I sometimes played together, riding our bikes past dead-end streets into Jefferson Park itself, the main attraction of our area.
When they told me that Margot would come soon, I was always terribly worried, because I considered her the most divine of God's creatures in the entire history of mankind. That very morning, she was wearing white shorts and a pink T-shirt with a green dragon with flames of orange sparkles coming out of its mouth. Now it’s difficult to explain why this T-shirt seemed so amazing to me that day.
Margot rode her bike standing, her straight arms clutching the steering wheel and her whole body hanging over it, her purple sneakers sparkling. It was in March, but the heat was already as hot as in a steam room. The sky was clear, but there was a sour taste in the air, indicating that a storm might break out in a while.
At that time, I fancied myself an inventor, and when Margot and I, having abandoned our bikes, went to the playground, I began to tell her that I was developing a “ringolator,” that is, a giant cannon that could shoot large colored stones, launching them circle around the Earth so that here we can become like on Saturn. (I still think it would be cool, but making a cannon that would launch stones into Earth orbit turns out to be quite difficult.)
I often visited this park and knew every corner of it well, so I soon felt that something strange had happened to this world, although I did not immediately notice what it was. exactly has changed in him.
“Quentin,” Margot said quietly and calmly.
She was pointing somewhere with her finger. That's when I saw What not like that.
A few steps in front of us was an oak tree. Thick, knobby, terribly old. He always stood here. There was a platform on the right. She didn't show up today either. But there, leaning against a tree trunk, sat a man in a gray suit. He didn't move. This is what I saw for the first time. And a pool of blood spilled around him. Blood flowed from the mouth, although the stream had almost dried up. The man opened his mouth strangely. Flies sat quietly on his pale forehead.
I took two steps back. I remember that for some reason it seemed to me that if I suddenly made some sudden movement, he might wake up and attack me. What if it's a zombie? At that age I already knew that they don’t exist, but this dead man really looked like he might come to life at any moment.
And while I was taking these two steps back, Margot just as slowly and carefully stepped forward.
“His eyes are open,” she stated.
“We have to go back home,” I answered.
- I thought they were dying with eyes closed“, she didn’t let up.
“Margon needs to go home and tell her parents.”
She took another step forward. If she reached out her hand now, she could touch his leg.
– What do you think happened to him? – she asked. “Maybe drugs or something.”
I didn’t want to leave Margot alone with a corpse that could come to life and rush at her at any moment, but I also wasn’t able to stay there and discuss the circumstances of his death in the smallest detail. I plucked up my courage, stepped forward and grabbed her hand.
- Margonado come home now!
“Okay, fine,” she agreed.
We ran to the bikes, my breath was taken away as if from delight, only it was not delight. We sat down, and I let Margot go ahead because I was bursting into tears and didn’t want her to see it. The soles of her purple sneakers were stained with blood. His blood. This dead guy.
And then we went home. My parents called 911, sirens wailed in the distance, I asked permission to look at the cars, my mother refused. Then I went to bed.
My mom and dad are psychotherapists, so, by definition, I don’t have psychological problems. When I woke up, my mother and I had a long conversation about the life expectancy of a person, about how death is also part of life cycle, but at the age of nine I don’t have to think too much about this phase; in general, I feel better. Honestly, I’ve never really thought about this topic. This says a lot, because in principle I know how to drive.
These are the facts: I came across a dead man. A cute little nine-year-old boy, that is me, and my even smaller and much cuter girlfriend found a dead man in the park bleeding from his mouth, and when we rushed home, my girlfriend’s cute little sneakers were covered in his very blood. Very dramatic, of course, and all that, but so what? I didn't know him. Every damn day people I don't know die. If every misfortune happening in this world brought me to nervous breakdown, I would have gone crazy a long time ago.
At nine in the evening I went to my room, getting ready to go to bed - according to schedule. Mom tucked me a blanket, said that she loved me, I told her “see you tomorrow”, she also told me “see you tomorrow”, turned off the light and closed the door so that only a small gap remained.
Turning on my side, I saw Margot Roth Spiegelman: she was standing on the street, literally pressing her nose to the window. I stood up, opened it, now we were separated only by a mosquito net, because of which it seemed that she had a small dot on her face.
“I conducted an investigation,” she said in a serious tone.
Although the mesh made it difficult to see her properly, I still saw in Margot’s hands a small notebook and a pencil with indentations from teeth near the eraser.
She looked at her notes:
“Mrs. Feldman of Jefferson Court said his name was Robert Joyner.” And that he lived on Jefferson Road in an apartment in a building with a grocery store. I went there and found a bunch of police officers, one of them asked if I was from the school newspaper, I answered that we don’t have our own newspaper at school, and he said that if I’m not a journalist, then he can answer my questions. It turned out that Robert Joyner was thirty-six years old. He's a lawyer. I wasn't allowed into his apartment, but I went to his neighbor named Juanita Alvarez under the pretext that I wanted to borrow a glass of sugar from her, and she said that this Robert Joyner had shot himself with a pistol. I asked why, and it turned out that his wife wanted to divorce him and this upset him very much.
At this point Margot’s story ended, and I stood and silently looked at her: her face, gray from the moonlight, was broken by the window grid into thousands of tiny dots. The look of her big round eyes rushed from me to the notepad and back.
“Many people get divorced without committing suicide,” I commented.
– I know“,” she answered excitedly. - I'm just the same Juanita Alvarez said. And she answered...” Margot turned the page. “...that Mr. Joyner was not an easy man.” I asked what this meant, and she simply offered to pray for him and told me to bring sugar to my mother, I told her: “Forget about sugar” - and left.
I said nothing again. I wanted her to continue talking - in her quiet voice there was the excitement of a person approaching the solution to some important issue, and this gave me the feeling that something very important was happening.
“I think maybe I understand why he did it,” Margot finally said.
- Why?
“All the threads in his soul were probably cut off,” she explained.
Thinking What To this you can answer, I pressed the latch and took out the mesh that separated us from the window. I put her on the floor, but Margot didn’t let me say anything. She practically buried her face in me and ordered: “Close the window,” and I obeyed. I thought she was going to leave, but she stayed and continued to look at me. I waved my hand and smiled at her, but it seemed to me that she was looking at something behind me, at something so terrible that the blood drained from her face, and I was so frightened that I did not dare turn around and look. what's there? But, naturally, there was nothing like that behind me - except, perhaps, that dead man.
I stopped waving. Margot and I looked at each other through the glass, our faces at the same level. I don’t remember how it all ended - I went to bed or she left. This memory has no end for me. We just stand there and stare at each other for ages.
Margo loved all sorts of riddles. Subsequently, I often thought that maybe that was why she herself became a mystery girl.
Part one
1
The worst day of my life I was in no hurry to start: I woke up late, took a very long shower, so I had to have breakfast that Wednesday at 7:17 in my mother’s minivan.
I usually go to school with my best friend Ben Starling, but he left on time that day, so he couldn't pick me up. “Arrive on time” for us meant “half an hour before the bell.” The first thirty minutes of the school day were the most significant point in our schedule. public life: We gathered at the back door to the rehearsal room and talked. Many of my friends played in the school orchestra, so almost everyone free time we spent within a twenty-foot radius of their rehearsal room. But I myself did not play, because the bear stepped on my ear, squeezing it so hard that sometimes I could even be mistaken for deaf. I was twenty minutes late, which meant I would still arrive ten minutes before first period started.
Along the way, mom started talking about school, exams and graduation.
“I’m not interested in graduation,” I reminded her as she turned the corner.
I held a bowl of cereal taking into account dynamic overloads. I already had experience.
“I think it won’t be a big deal if you go there with a girl with whom you just have a friendly relationship.” You can invite Cassie Zadkins.
Yes I am could invite Cassie Zadkins - she’s just great, and sweet, and pleasant, but she’s unlucky with her last name.
“It’s not just that I don’t like the idea of going to prom. I also don’t like those people who like the idea of going to prom,” I explained, although this, in fact, was not true. Ben, for example, was simply raving about this graduation.
Mom was driving up to the school, and I held the plate on the speed bump, which, however, was already almost empty. I looked at the senior parking lot. Margot Roth Spiegelman's silver Honda stood in its usual place. Mom pulled into a dead end outside the rehearsal room and kissed me on the cheek. Ben and the rest of my friends stood in a semicircle.
I walked towards them, and the semicircle received me, becoming a little larger. They were discussing my ex, Susie Cheng. She played the cello and now decided to make a splash by dating a baseball player named Teddy Mack. I didn't even know if it was a real name or a nickname. But be that as it may, Susie decided to go to the prom with him, with this Teddy Mack. Another blow of fate.
“Hey,” Ben, standing opposite me, called out to me.
He shook his head and turned around. I followed him. He entered the rehearsal room. My best friend Ben was small and dark and had already begun to mature by then, but was not yet ripe. He and I have been friends since the fifth grade - from the very moment we both finally accepted the fact that we would not give in to anyone else as a “best friend.” Plus, he tried really hard to be good, and I liked that—for the most part.
- Well, how are you? – I asked. No one could hear us from there.
“Radar is going to prom,” he announced gloomily.
This is another of our best friends. We nicknamed him Radar because he looked like the little bespectacled Radar from the old TV show, except that, firstly, Radar in that show was not black, and secondly, after a while our Radar grew six inches longer and began to wear contact lenses, so I suspect that, and thirdly, he didn’t like that dude from the TV show at all, but fourthly, since there were only three and a half weeks left of school, we weren’t going to come up with another nickname for him.
- With this Angela? – I asked.
Radar never said anything about his personal life, which, however, did not stop us from constantly making our own assumptions in this regard.
– Did I tell you about my grand plan? Should I invite some of the younger ones? Of those who don’t know my “bloody history”?
I nodded.
“So,” Ben continued. – Today some cute bunny from the ninth grade came up to me and asked: “Are you that bloody Ben?” I started to explain to her that it was due to a kidney infection, but she giggled and ran away. So this plan is out of the question.
In tenth grade, Ben was taken to the hospital because he had a kidney infection, but Becca Errington, Margot's best friend, started a rumor that he had blood in his urine because he constantly jerked off. Despite the fact that with medical point From a perspective, this is complete nonsense, Ben still feels the consequences of this story.
“It sucks,” I sympathized.
Ben began to fill me in on his new plan to find a date for prom, but I was only half-listening as I spotted Margot Roth Spiegelman in the gathering crowd in the hallway. She was standing at her locker - and next to her was her boyfriend, Jace. She was wearing white skirt knee-length and a top with some kind of blue pattern. I looked at her collarbones. She was laughing at something like crazy - bent over, her mouth wide open, and there were wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. But it seemed to me that it was not Jace who made her laugh, because she was not looking at him, but somewhere in the distance, at a row of lockers. I followed her gaze and saw Becca Errington hanging on some baseball player like a garland on a Christmas tree. I smiled at Margot, although I understood that she still couldn’t see me.
- Old man, you still have to make up your mind. Forget Jace. God, she's an incredibly sweet bunny.
We walked along the corridor, and I kept sneaking glances at her, as if taking a photograph: it was a series of photographs called “Perfection is motionless, and mere mortals scurry past it.” As we got closer, I thought that maybe she wasn’t laughing at all, maybe she was surprised with something or was given something as a gift, or something like that. Margot just couldn't seem to shut her mouth.
“Yes,” I answered Ben, still not listening to him because I was too busy trying not to miss anything, but at the same time I didn’t want anyone to notice that I was staring at her.
It's not even that she's very beautiful. Margot is simply a goddess literally this word. We walked past her, the crowd between us thickened, and I could barely see her anymore. I was never able to talk to her and find out what made her laugh and surprise. Ben shook his head: he realized a long time ago that I couldn’t take my eyes off this girl, and he was already used to it.
- No, honestly, she’s cool, of course, but not so. You know who's really sexy?
- Who? – I asked.
“Lacey,” Ben replied, referring to Margot’s other best friend. - And your mother too. Forgive me, of course, but when I saw her kissing you on the cheek today, I thought: “ God, what a pity that I’m not in his place,” I'm telling you honestly. And one more thing: “What a pity that the cheeks are not located on the penis.”
I elbowed him in the ribs, although I was still thinking about Margot, since she was the legend who lived next door to me. Margot Roth Spiegelman - all six syllables of her name were almost always pronounced with light touch daydreaming. Margot Roth Spiegelman - stories of her epic adventures shook the entire school like an earthquake. An old man who lived in a dilapidated house in Hot Coffee, Mississippi, taught Margot to play the guitar. Margot Roth Spiegelman traveled with the circus for three days - they thought she could perform well on the trapeze. In St. Louis, Margot Roth Spiegelman drank a cup backstage herbal tea with the group "Mallionaires" while they drank whiskey themselves. Margot Roth Spiegelman got to that concert by lying to the bouncers that she was the bassist's girlfriend: Don't you recognize me, yeah, guys, stop kidding, I'm Margot Roth Spiegelman, and if you ask the bassist himself, as soon as he sees me, he will say that I am his girlfriend, or that he really wants me to become one; the bouncer obeyed, and the bass player actually said: “Yes, that’s my girl, let her go to the concert,” and then, after the performance, he wanted to hook up with her, but she rejected the bassist from "Mallionaires".
Whenever someone told about Margot's adventures, the story always ended with the question: “Damn, can you believe it?” Often it was impossible to believe, but then it always turned out that it was really true.
And then Ben and I reached our lockers. Radar stood there, typing something into his handheld.
“So you’re going to prom,” I said.
He looked up at me and then back down to the screen.
– I am restoring a damaged article in Multipedia about the former Prime Minister of France. Last night someone deleted everything that was there, writing instead: “Jacques Chirac is a faggot,” which is not true in fact or in the English language.
Radar is the executive editor of the online directory he founded called Multipedia, in which ordinary users can also write articles. He devotes himself completely to this project. Another reason why his decision to go to prom surprised me so much.
“So you’re going to prom,” I repeated.
“Sorry,” he said, continuing to look at the handheld.
Everyone knew perfectly well that I didn’t want to go to graduation. This event did not attract me at all - neither slow dancing, neither fast, nor dresses, and how I was not attracted by the prospect of renting a formal tuxedo! It seemed to me that this the right way to catch some terrible infection from its previous carrier, and I absolutely did not want to become the world's first virgin with pubic lice.
“Dude,” Ben said to Radar, “even the ninth grade bunnies know about my bloody past.”
Radar lowered his handheld and nodded sympathetically.
“So,” Ben continued, “I have two options left: either hire someone for money on a special website, or fly to Missouri and steal some bunny there who grew up on village bread.”
I tried to explain to Ben that “bunny” is sexist and disgusting, and not cool retro, as he thinks, but Ben still did not refuse this word. He also called his mother a bunny. Apparently this can't be fixed.
“I’ll ask Angela, maybe she can recommend someone,” Radar answered. “Although finding you a date for prom will be more difficult than turning lead into gold.”
- Yes, it will be difficult. “Heavier than osmium-iridium alloy,” I added.
Radar knocked his fist twice on the locker door in approval, and then came up with another option:
“Ben, it’s so difficult to find you a date for prom that the United States government does not see the possibility of resolving this issue through negotiations and considers it necessary to begin military action.”
While I was trying to think of something else on this topic, all three of us suddenly noticed at the same time that a container was purposefully heading in our direction anabolic steroids in the form of a human being known as Chuck Parson. Chuck didn't even think about getting carried away sports games- it would distract him from the main goal of his life: he was going to earn himself a conviction for murder.
“Hey, assholes,” he began.
“Hi, Chuck,” I answered with all the friendliness I could manage at that moment.
Chuck hasn't bothered us in any big way for almost two years - someone in the cool camp issued a decree that we should be left alone. So it was strange that he spoke to us at all.
Paper houses and paper people living in them. Paper boys and paper girls, fictitious interests and deceitful lives according to the canons of philistine happiness established by someone. It seems that this false world is beautiful and calm, but it is enough to come closer for it to become clear that the feigned happiness has long since peeled off, revealing the rotten underside of dull human existence in places. It's very hard to get away from all this until you do. And then you realize that there is nothing easier in the whole wide world, that you are no longer a paper man, but a helium balloon that has finally managed to get off the ground and soar towards the endless sky.
There is a great deal of evil irony in the fact that the film adaptation of John Green's novel becomes a real paper film, a false and feigned addition to that unreal world that Margot Roth Spiegelman so did not want to become a part of. They say that every paper girl needs at least one string in order not to lose herself forever, but in fact this is a lie. It’s enough to look at Jake Schreyer’s picture to understand that in this world there is no place for funny-true metaphors and unexpectedly adult revelations. Only vulgar melodramas and straightforward characters, the point of which is simply to be in order to give the expected kiss to the camera at the end and demonstrate that everything was really not in vain. Oh, if only.
Margot’s entire long-term plan, a set of real and non-existent clues, coupled with a serious intention to get away from everything boring once and for all, comes down to awkward body movements and clumsy production decisions. Quentin Jacobsen and Margot Roth Spiegelman become polished two-dimensional copies of their book selves, the superficiality of their images is visible to the naked eye and is unable to evoke any sympathy. The Young Fool and the Idle Tramp (seriously, you couldn't tell more from the film), who together bring to life the "nine important matters“only because they were once friends in childhood, until one of them gave in. And now the girl suddenly disappears and leaves behind a chain of clues, prompting the boy to set off in pursuit of the one he has idealized for years, in order to finally understand how different reality can be from reality.
And all this, of course, looks good and wonderful on the pages of a book, but not in the hands of Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber. It would seem that the tandem of screenwriters, having cut their teeth on scripts for “500 Days of Summer” and Green’s previous adaptation “The Fault in Our Stars,” should be able to create sensitive on-screen stories, but not this time. The simple and very cinematic plot of the novel is simplified even more, the action becomes boring, diluted with a pleasant soundtrack and awkward jokes. Meanings, images, judgments are erased, the action becomes exaggerated and therefore monstrously prosaic, and the ending no longer looks as serious and well mature as it was in the original source. The castles in the air that hid new horizons behind them do not collapse in the film, and they were not here at all. The only thing that remains unchanged is that Margot is not a miracle or an adventure. Margot is just a girl clutching her favorite black notebook.
But in the hands of Cara Delevingne, this notebook is just a notebook, not an escape plan. new life coupled with the last symbol of the past life. And this does not mean at all that the model and aspiring actress does not fit into the image no, Delevingne suddenly fits, even if she doesn’t look like best girl school (the eyebrows are not the same, but that’s not a big deal). She is the same Margot Roth Spiegelman, with the only difference that her inner world, which hides a multiplicity of stories and guises, is in fact empty. Somewhere nearby there is also Nat Wolff, but in places he is boring just like the life of his hero, which comes into motion only thanks to the events of one have a fun night Revenge. An obsessive obsession with the image of a girl, woven from teenage dreams and a superficial assessment of her behavior, mutates into rare outbursts of irritation, the essence of which can only be one on-screen Q is just an idiot, and not an egoist, an idealist and a dreamer.
Jake Schreyer films a story-window, behind the cloudy glass of whose overly straightforward statements it is almost impossible to discern anything useful, interesting or touching. The story of a boy’s love for a girl, which in the end should become something more, move away from the stereotyped canons and turn the paper into the real, rests on the clumsiness of the ending, trying to prove that “later” consists of many “nows”, but in fact it only destroys all the content inner world main character. Many images of Margot eventually rudely collapse into one - openly self-confident and repulsively unpleasant, while killing that myth about the girl who, in one way or another, left her mark on the life of everyone who touched his personal space. Yes, the idea that a person is more than just a person is treacherously treacherous, but the humanization of this illusion is so clumsy and vulgar that you want to close your eyes, go to the nearest paper town and never return. And let the rumors about Margot be born again - after Schreyer’s film, I just don’t want to believe in them anymore.
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ValeryPierse
May Greene's fans forgive me.
The book tells how Margot Roth Spiegelmann one day disappeared, and Q, who lives next door, makes desperate attempts to find her.
Probably the main reason why this book caused only negative emotions became the author's previous book entitled "Looking for Alaska". In both cases, we see the relationship between a guy and a girl, but Margot and Alaska are as similar in character as two peas in a pod, the same with the main male characters, their hobbies are different, but they are definitely in love with a girl and they need to get to the bottom of the truth , what happened to your loved ones. In "Looking for Alaska" this secret is revealed in such a way that the heart sank a little, then... Well, well... Margot left on her own, everything turns out to be fine with her, and, it turns out, there was no need to look for her.
The only ones positive aspects books for me were the meeting of Margot and Q, their pranks on the night of her disappearance and the story itself about paper towns.
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1 / 0
Elena Arkhipova
The very dynamic first and third parts go well with the second, which prepares and forces you to follow not the actions of the heroes, but their thoughts. I really liked how Quentin gradually, step by step, tried to understand Margot.
The first and third parts are absolutely crazy, unexpected, painfully hitting you in the face and, oh gods, I just love them for something that will never happen in my life. The second, intermediate part is different. Just as Quentin slowly understands Margot, so she, the heroine, fully reveals herself to us, being outside the framework of the narrative. And I want to call Margot one of the best modern heroines, because she is amazing.
The middle of the book sags a little, but I still read to the end and did not regret it at all. It was incredibly interesting to look at the main character’s friends. Some moments made me smile, some made me think, because a huge number of correct thoughts were expressed, for example, the same conversation between Quentin and Radar after graduation does not hide a sharp and truthful moral - you should not expect people to behave the way you would behave yourself in their place.
The last scene with Margot and Quentin made the callous stone of my soul tremble, especially the moment with the buried diary, this is an unequivocal farewell to the past. However, experiencing the whole story through Quentin's eyes and feeling how he changes, I was glad to learn at the end that he exceeded Margot's expectations.
A wonderful book, and recognizing the moments in the trailer was incredibly exciting.
I plan to download the film when it comes out and watch it, and based on the reviews, I expect an extremely pleasant experience.
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3 / 0
Mariashka_true
Is that all?
I picked up this book based only on its popularity, awards and a brand new film broadcast in all cinemas. I was introduced to the upcoming plot from the novel's annotation... and realized: yes, this is what I love so much! Mysteries, disappearances, searches, an action-packed storyline full of surprises. Not so.
The book is about the supposedly daring and popular girl Margot and her quiet neighbor Q. They don’t communicate closely, they only played together as children in the same sandbox, so to speak. But Q has been secretly and at a distance in love with Margot for many years, although he only watches her from the side. Who does he love? For what? Why? This is not clear to me. But nevertheless, this is where it all begins. Margot first shows up at a neighbor’s house, entices him into hooligan adventures, and the next day disappears from the life of not only this boy, but the entire city.
Next, a fascinating detective story was to develop. But the plot of the investigation is simply made up, the characters are uninteresting, and “Margot Roth Spiegelmann” begins to make you feel nauseous, so often is this phrase repeated on every page. Before, I have never come across books in which literally everything revolves around one character, and even so uninteresting, absent-minded and flat.
The ending is a total failure.
Overall, the book is a disappointment. Maybe I expected too much from her. Sorry to those who liked this creation - it's boiling.
Bottom line. It is indicated that the novel is for teenagers. Yes, it is for teenagers and nothing more. This is my subjective opinion.
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John Green
Paper cities
With gratitude to Julie Strauss-Gabel, without whom none of this would have happened.
Then we went outside and saw that she had already lit a candle; I really liked the face she carved out of the pumpkin: from a distance it seemed like sparks were sparkling in her eyes.
“Halloween”, Katrina Vandenberg, from the collection “Atlas”.
They say that a friend cannot destroy a friend.
What do they know about it?
From a song by the Mountain Goats.
My opinion is this: some miracle happens to every person in life. Well, that is, of course, it is unlikely that I will be struck by lightning, or receive a Nobel Prize, or become the dictator of a small nation living on some island in the Pacific Ocean, or contract incurable terminal ear cancer, or suddenly spontaneously combust. But, if you look at all these extraordinary phenomena together, most likely, at least something unlikely happens to everyone. I, for example, could get caught in a rain of frogs. Or land on Mars. Marry the Queen of England or hang out alone at sea for several months, on the brink of life and death. But something else happened to me. Among all the many residents of Florida, I happened to be Margot Roth Spiegelman's neighbor.
Jefferson Park, where I live, used to be a Navy base. But then it was no longer needed, and the land was returned to the ownership of the municipality of Orlando, Florida, and a huge residential area was built on the site of the base, because that is how the free land is now used. And in the end, my parents and Margot’s parents bought houses in the neighborhood as soon as the construction of the first buildings was completed. Margot and I were two years old at the time.
Even before Jefferson Park became Pleasantville, even before it became a Navy base, it actually belonged to one Jefferson, or rather, Dr. Jefferson Jefferson. An entire school in Orlando was named after Dr. Jefferson Jefferson, there is also a large charitable organization named after him, but the most interesting thing is that Dr. Jefferson Jefferson was not any “doctor”: incredible, but true. He sold orange juice all his life. And then he suddenly became rich and became an influential man. And then he went to court and changed his name: he put “Jefferson” in the middle, and wrote down the word “doctor” as the first name. And try to object.
So, Margot and I were nine. Our parents were friends, so she and I sometimes played together, riding our bikes past dead-end streets into Jefferson Park itself, the main attraction of our area.
When they told me that Margot would come soon, I was always terribly worried, because I considered her the most divine of God's creatures in the entire history of mankind. That very morning, she was wearing white shorts and a pink T-shirt with a green dragon with flames of orange sparkles coming out of its mouth. Now it’s difficult to explain why this T-shirt seemed so amazing to me that day.
Margot rode her bike standing, her straight arms clutching the steering wheel and her whole body hanging over it, her purple sneakers sparkling. It was in March, but the heat was already as hot as in a steam room. The sky was clear, but there was a sour taste in the air, indicating that a storm might break out in a while.
At that time, I fancied myself an inventor, and when Margot and I, having abandoned our bikes, went to the playground, I began to tell her that I was developing a “ringolator,” that is, a giant cannon that could shoot large colored stones, launching them circle around the Earth so that here we can become like on Saturn. (I still think it would be cool, but making a cannon that would launch stones into Earth orbit turns out to be quite difficult.)
I often visited this park and knew every corner of it well, so I soon felt that something strange had happened to this world, although I did not immediately notice what it was. exactly has changed in him.
Quentin,” Margot said quietly and calmly.
She was pointing somewhere with her finger. That's when I saw What not like that.
A few steps in front of us was an oak tree. Thick, knobby, terribly old. He always stood here. There was a platform on the right. She didn't show up today either. But there, leaning against a tree trunk, sat a man in a gray suit. He didn't move. This is what I saw for the first time. And a pool of blood spilled around him. Blood flowed from the mouth, although the stream had almost dried up. The man opened his mouth strangely. Flies sat quietly on his pale forehead.
I took two steps back. I remember that for some reason it seemed to me that if I suddenly made some sudden movement, he might wake up and attack me. What if it's a zombie? At that age I already knew that they don’t exist, but this dead man really looked like he might come to life at any moment.
And while I was taking these two steps back, Margot just as slowly and carefully stepped forward.
His eyes are open,” she stated.
“We have to go back home,” I answered.
“I thought they were dying with their eyes closed,” she continued.
Margon needs to go home and tell her parents.
She took another step forward. If she reached out her hand now, she could touch his leg.
What do you think happened to him? - she asked. - Maybe drugs or something like that.
I didn’t want to leave Margot alone with a corpse that could come to life and rush at her at any moment, but I also wasn’t able to stay there and discuss the circumstances of his death in the smallest detail. I plucked up my courage, stepped forward and grabbed her hand.
Margonado come home now!
“Okay, fine,” she agreed.
We ran to the bikes, my breath was taken away as if from delight, only it was not delight. We sat down, and I let Margot go ahead because I was bursting into tears and didn’t want her to see it. The soles of her purple sneakers were stained with blood. His blood. This dead guy.
And then we went home. My parents called 911, sirens wailed in the distance, I asked permission to look at the cars, my mother refused. Then I went to bed.
My mom and dad are psychotherapists, so, by definition, I don’t have psychological problems. When I woke up, my mother and I had a long conversation about the life expectancy of a person, that death is also part of the life cycle, but at the age of nine I don’t have to think much about this phase, in general, I felt better. Honestly, I’ve never really thought about this topic. This says a lot, because in principle I know how to drive.
These are the facts: I came across a dead man. A cute little nine-year-old boy, that is me, and my even smaller and much cuter girlfriend found a dead man in the park bleeding from his mouth, and when we rushed home, my girlfriend’s cute little sneakers were covered in his very blood. Very dramatic, of course, and all that, but so what? I didn't know him. Every damn day people I don't know die. If every misfortune that happened in this world drove me to a nervous breakdown, I would have lost my mind long ago.
At nine in the evening I went to my room, getting ready to go to bed - according to schedule. Mom tucked me a blanket, said that she loved me, I told her “see you tomorrow”, she also told me “see you tomorrow”, turned off the light and closed the door so that only a small gap remained.
Turning on my side, I saw Margot Roth Spiegelman: she was standing on the street, literally pressing her nose to the window. I stood up, opened it, now we were separated only by a mosquito net, because of which it seemed that she had a small dot on her face.
“I conducted an investigation,” she said in a serious tone.
Although the mesh made it difficult to see her properly, I still saw in Margot’s hands a small notebook and a pencil with indentations from teeth near the eraser.
She looked at her notes:
Mrs. Feldman of Jefferson Court said his name was Robert Joyner. And that he lived on Jefferson Road in an apartment in a building with a grocery store. I went there and found a bunch of police officers, one of them asked, am I from the school newspaper, I answered that we don’t have our own newspaper at school, and he said that if I am not a journalist, then he can answer my questions. It turned out that Robert Joyner was thirty-six years old. He's a lawyer. I wasn't allowed into his apartment, but I went to his neighbor named Juanita Alvarez under the pretext that I wanted to borrow a glass of sugar from her, and she said that this Robert Joyner had shot himself with a pistol. I asked why, and it turned out that his wife wanted to divorce him and this upset him very much.
