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houseplant-central · 4 years

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if John Green wrote me as a character in one of his novels

Quick trigger warning: this post includes spoilers for John Green's "Looking for Alaska", as well as discussion of writing that glorifies mental illness and suicide.

My younger sister told me this morning that she had started reading a novel by John Green. No disrespect intended to the man, but I was concerned.

Among a variety of other media I consumed in my pre-teen years, it was likely the anthology of John Green's works I owned that contributed to my obsession with the collective "manic pixie dream girl" fetish of 2013. (An anthology of works that is still sitting on a bookshelf at my mother's house, hence where my sister must have found "An Abundance of Katherines"). Again, no disrespect to the man, but when all of your books (with the exception of "The Fault In Our Stars") have a "quirky" but "tragically mentally ill" teenage girl who is somehow also super fit and always looking attractive (despite afore mentioned mental illness she's supposedly dealing with), who will either pretend to die or actually die by the halfway point of the book to inspire your male lead to go on a soul searching journey-- something's going on.

Case in point, "Looking For Alaska", which (spoiler alert), I am going to spoil the plot of in the next few paragraphs. Alaska has the potential to be one of the most interesting female leads I've ever come across in teen literature. She's enigmatic, ridiculously quick-witted and undeniably beautiful. She's recovering from a complicated family trauma, and has moved out on her own to attend university, determined to carve out a meaningful life for herself, despite struggling with complex PTSD and manic depression.

Except the story is told from the point of view of a young boy named Miles, whose only real character trait is that he's hopelessly fascinated by Alaska. This could still work as a novel mostly about Alaska, but told through the eyes of her first love, Miles. Or as a chronicle of their friendship and love story. But for either of those to work, it would require Green to use Miles' point of view to flesh out both Miles' and Alaska's character. Instead, Miles remains a stand in for literally any teenage boy, with very little character qualities, and Alaska's "quirkiness" and attractive qualities elevate her to the most amazing person Miles has ever come across. Despite Miles and Alaska only being very briefly romantically involved, Miles spends the entirety of the book chronicling his attraction to Alaska and everyone else's love for her.

But it doesn't stop there.

All of Alaska's quirks are considered attractive, including her toxicity to her friends, her long disappearances, and jokes about her suicidal ideation and depression. Her mental illness is glorified as another thing that separates her from the "other girls" which hold no interest for Miles. Ultimately it's this glorification of her mental illness, especially her manic depression, that makes me comfortable labelling this work as one that falls into the "manic pixie dream girl" trope.

But it doesn't stop there.

Because Alaska kills herself. And this only creates more intrigue for Miles, who dedicates the rest of the novel to better understanding her, even when she is gone. Which again, could be quite a compelling, if depressing, narrative. But ultimately Green makes it so Alaska's death only makes Miles more in love with her. The friends who were once side characters express to Miles how much they miss her now that she's gone. The bully characters admit to Miles that they've realized they should have befriended her when she was alive, but could only realize that now that she's dead. Far from a warning that your loved ones will miss you when you're gone, "Looking for Alaska" was "13 Reasons Why" before "13 Reasons Why". It promised young readers that people who kill themselves teach their friends and their bullies their worth: the absolute last messaging any author should be sending to young readers.

This was indeed sub-par messaging for tiny, clinically depressed pre-teen me.

Back to the crux of the point, however. For a long time I was in love with this book, and the character of Alaska. I supposed I looked at her and her family trauma, similar to mine, and thought: "damn, my trauma just makes me cry whenever adults raise their voice, but this girl uses it to be smart, skinny, well-dressed, well-read, a little provocative, AND relatable. I must be doing something wrong." Thus, with Alaska and a collection of Tumblr posts and Arctic Monkey's lyrics in mind, I set about my several year long quest to become just that variety of manic pixie dream girl.

Enter: several problems. I did not struggle with mania, rather sluggishness and a loss of enthusiasm for life outside of novels and the internet; this meant I did not feel like running around in short skirts and knee socks being the life of the party in every situation like Alaska. I wasn't pixie sized; I struggled with my relationship to my body my entire teenage years, and I could never hop up on a table to give a drunken toast like Alaska, it might break. "Dream" is a little less quantifiable, but I never talked to anyone outside my handful of friends, so I had slim chances of becoming anyone's impossible dream. "Girl" I thought I at least fit, for the entirety of high school, but I came out as non-binary in my first year of university; so all together taking a look at "manic pixie dream girl" I was 0 for 4.

Nonetheless aspects of that romanticism of a broken childhood and that touch-and-go relationship with self-identity stuck with me through high school into college, and my greatest fear is either promoting that romanticization of real issues in real life, or in my writing. Because often I look at myself, or an aspect of my life and go "heh, that doesn't sound like a real personality trait, that sounds like something a female John Green novel character would do or say. Get over yourself."

So here, without further ado, is a look into that guilty pleasure of romanticization. John Green would start with something like: "they* liked used books that already had annotation in them." It's always a little detail with him, one that's considered a character "quirk". That's the one thing of his I picked up and is still in far too much in my writing today. A list of quirks instead of an actual character. (But that's a blogpost on writing for another time).

So: "They liked used books that already had annotation in them. They kept a collection of books on astrology, numerology, and tarot. They grew outdoor plants indoors under a lamp they bought from a weed dealer, though they didn't smoke. The plants were mostly herbs, and they used them in cooking. They had houseplants too. Their eyes were deep set. When they wore mascara it smudged near instantly underneath, but it still looked good. They had some sort of tragic backstory, that explained their oversized sweaters, and their late nights and their dark art, but the backstory was desperate and sweaty and felt like fingernails making bloody crescents in hands, and wasn't aesthetic, so it wasn't important. They owned a polaroid camera. They'd read the entirety of Beowulf for fun. They would somedays stare into nothingness for hours on end if uninterrupted, not thinking of anything at all, and be startled by the way time still continued to pass. But that wasn't terrifying, it was only quirky, somehow. They smelled like coffee. They couldn't seem to make themselves yell, even when they were angry or in danger, but that was also quirky, somehow, and cute, and not a huge safety issue. They liked the smell of pine trees."

I think it's important to romanticize some aspects of your own life. If it's important to you, then it's important to you. Liking your own quirks is much better than hating them. And romanticizing quirks like smelling of coffee is valid. But romanticizing your bad or difficult qualities as "quirky" is not good. (A note to fourteen year old me: "romanticize your love of already annotated books! But not your mental illness! Take that shit seriously instead, yo.") And thinking you're going to make your life better or more meaningful by copying Alaska is never a good idea; she didn't have a very good ending.

*they/them are my preferred pronouns!

Edit: I looked up "Looking for Alaska" and realized it's banned in some highschools in Canada and the states. I was about to redact some of my harsh standpoint that it's not a good read for younger teens, who might become too blindly attached to the negative messaging like I did, because I don't think banning books outright for heavy content is ever a good idea (banning books for hate speech is another debate for another time). But then I saw the suggested ban has nothing to do with the glorification of suicide and everything to do with the "offensive language, sexually explicit scenes, homosexuality and unsuitable religious viewpoints", which is ridiculous. I don't think it should be banned in any capacity-- I think reading it now (if I'd never read it before) would give me context for the manic pixie dream girl craze, and be somewhat of an enjoyable read. My hesitance about my sister reading it now is because she reminds me too much of myself at that age.

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