John Green: Author of Paper Towns, An Abundance of Katherines and Looking for Alaska
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A Speech I Wrote for the ALAN Conference...

...which a few people asked me to post:


So I’ve been on tour for six weeks, traveling around the country talking with readers about my new book. And I’d like to share with you some actual questions actual teenagers have actually asked about my new book, and I swear these are true and can produce witnesses if necessary.

“Can you talk about why Quentin survives his encounter with the land whale while Captain Ahab doesn’t survive his encounter with Moby Dick?”

“Is Margo’s hair always in her face because no one is seeing her?”

“Are we really able to reinvent ourselves like Dr. Jefferson Jefferson or are we just boats getting borne back ceaselessly into the past like they say in Gatsby?”

Real questions. Real teenagers. There were hundreds more. And of course there were silly questions, too—do you think margo or lacey is hotter; if you could be any kind of cheese, what kind of cheese would you be? (To the latter, I answered Nicholas Sparks.) Silly questions are great, too. But again and again, I met teenagers who were reading thoughtfully and critically, and I believe that as writers and educators, we have a shared responsibility to give teenagers every opportunity to encounter everything that books can do.

This is the business, right? It is not just reading for the sake of reading. Literacy is important. Literacy is vital, but literacy is not the finish line. Literature is not just in the business of See Jane Run. Literature is in the business of helping us to imagine ourselves and others more complexly, of connecting us to the ancient conversation about how to live as a person in a world full of other people.

I want to talk today about my new book, and I also want to talk about a book I wish I’d written: M. T. Anderson’s two-volume novel The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, and I want to talk about the importance of classrooms as a place for intellectual discourse in the lives of teenagers, but I want to begin by discussing the most fascinating and complex individual I have ever had the privilege of knowing: Me.

Let me tell you what is, in my opinion, the central problem of human existence: I am stuck in my body, in my consciousness, seeing out of my eyes. I am the only me I ever get to be, and so I am the only person I can imagine endlessly complexly. That’s not the problem, actually. The problem is you. You are so busy taking in your own wondrousness that you can't be bothered to acknowledge mine.

When I was a kid, I believed in an embarrassingly total way that I was the only human being in the world and that all the other people, including my brother and parents and everybody, was in fact an alien, and that the aliens had created the entire world to do a series of controlled experiments on how a human child—me—would respond to various forms of trial and tribulation. And when I wasn’t around, they would take off their human costumes—the aliens had very advanced costuming technology, naturally—and they would do alien stuff. You know, go to the alien zoo and watch the alien local news and whatever else. I really believed this.

And obviously, on some level, this indicated the kind of massively narcissistic worldview that would later require decades of therapy to adjust. But in a way, I was right. I am the only person whose existence I can directly attest to. By the way, when I've talked about this in the past I've seen people nodding, like they also believed in their childhoods that they were the only real person in the world, and I would imagine that right now, some such people are probably feeling the comfort we feel when we learn that our delusions are shared, that we are not alone even in our darkest corners.

And to those people, I would like to say: Is it not possible that the aliens have sent me here today precisely to make you believe that everyone else IS a person, but that we are in fact all aliens, including me, the alien messenger boy sent here by my alien masters?

It is possible, isn’t it? I mean, I will allow that it is improbable. I will acknowledge that you are all likely to be people. The probability that I am the only person in the world is extremely small—it is that number that infinitely approaches zero but isn’t zero. And yet. On some level, I have to take it on faith that you are as complex as I am, that your pain and joy and grief are as real and as meaningful as my own.

This is why I wrote my new novel, Paper Towns: I wanted to write about the way we draw the world and its inhabitants, and the relationship between those drawings and the actual world. It’s about what the imagination can and cannot accomplish when it comes to imagining other people. As writers and educators, we are literally in the business of celebrating the powers of the imagination. And it is very powerful, indeed. But can we inhabit someone else’s consciousness? Can the blade of grass that is me travel through the root system and become the blade of grass that is someone else? Can we imagine places into reality? I think we both can and cannot, which is both the hope and the hopelessness of the species.

But let me say this: I think this is why we read. I mean, finally, what does reading do that movies and video games and television do not? I would argue that books, more than other media, allow us to live inside the lives of others because we have to translate scratches on a page into ideas and make the story ours. We become co-creators of the story, and they allow us to inhabit someone else's body for a while. Books give us the faith that others are real, that their joy and pain should matter to us, and that ours can matter to them. In some ways, this confirms our own existence, because most of our mattering is in the context of one another.

And this cannot be accomplished in books without what one kid I recently met referred to as “all that English stuff.” All that English stuff—metaphor and symbolism and the creative use of language. All That English Stuff, that teenagers distrust. All That English Stuff, about which readers always ask me, "Did you really mean that or is my teacher just beating this to death?" (I meant it.) All That English Stuff is how we as writers and readers re-create the experience of being one’s self. Inside my body, I see myself in nonliteral ways constantly—in fact, it’s impossible for me to imagine something so endlessly fascinating and complex as myself without symbol and simile and metaphor. And so I would argue that it is through all that English stuff that we as readers are able to truly experience another’s world. It is through the nonliteral facets of writing that readers move from Seeing Jane Run to Being Jane Running. In the end, All That English Stuff is not about analyzing a novel for the sake of analyzing it or sucking all the emotion out of it. All That English Stuff is an integral part of living inside someone else’s head for a moment. All That English Stuff is the glorious pleasure of almost knowing how you came to be connected to characters you do not know and who may not exist. Walt Whitman said it like this: “You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, / But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, / And filter and fibre to your blood.” Whitman does not say you will not know who he is or what he means; he says you will hardly know. To me, Hardly knowing is the ecstatic pleasure of critical reading, and I think we make a mistake every time we imply to young people that their brains are not yet ready for that joy.

Too many times, we say to our young people, “Hey, read this. It’s a fun read. Not too serious, you know. None of that English stuff.” As if there is some kind of dichotomy between good and fun. As if Gatsby is oatmeal and vampires are Lucky Charms. Vampires, of course, ARE Lucky Charms—they are magical and delicious and just dangerous enough to excite me. I love vampires, and I love vampire books. And please know that I would never argue against putting books kids want to read in their hands. But I am arguing that we need to make space in our classes—no matter how advanced or remedial the students—for ambitious novels. Because good is not the opposite of fun. Smart is not the opposite of fun. Boring is the opposite of fun, and when we create the smart/fun dichotomy, what we end up implying is that Gatsby is boring.

Well, let me tell you: Gatsby isn’t boring. Nor is Speak. Nor is Fallen Angels. Nor is Ethan Frome. Okay. Okay. Ethan Frome is a little boring. But teenagers can (and do!) like seriously good books. I find it very strange that we acknowledge children’s ability to grapple with endlessly complex plot—that we don’t for one second question whether a novel is age-appropriate when it contains 430 characters with unpronounceable names, each caring for their own particular subspecies of dragon. But we sometimes deny that teenage readers have a similar level of sophistication when it comes to language and theme and emotion. I have seen again and again that through your work, young people are as capable with language as they are with plot—I have seen it in the English classes I sit in on in Indianapolis to understand how teens learn and how they read, and I have seen it with my own readers and their astoundingly good questions.

The best books are rarely easy, but teenagers love fun things that aren’t easy. If you don’t believe me, ask the billionaires who gave us Super Mario Galaxy. Great classics are fun, and great contemporary books are fun, and it is a wonderful blessing to have both in your classrooms and in your curricula. I believe, as I know many of you do, that reading contemporary fiction thoughtfully and critically in a classroom helps teenagers to see that literature is not a cold, dead place, that books are not something that used to happen but are instead a long and unbroken conversation in which we are all called to participate.

Now, this is the part of the speech where I say, “You know what smart and thoughtful contemporary book would make an excellent addition to your class? MINE.” I am very grateful that my work has made its way into many classrooms, but I want to talk about another book, M. T. Anderson’s The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation. For those of you who may not know this two-volume novel, Octavian is the story of an extravagantly well-educated black kid growing up in a kind of weird Enlightenment experiment whose life is upended by the American Revolution. The book is written almost entirely in 18th century prose. It is big and complex and heartbreaking and difficult and funny and very sad. When I think of the novel’s peers, I think about the writing of Nobel laureates like Toni Morrison and William Faulkner.

There has been much talk in the past few months about whether Octavian Nothing is indeed a book for teenagers and whether teenagers can “get” it. I am convinced that they can get it at least as well as we can and maybe better, that generations of teenagers will hardly know who Octavian is or what he means, but that he will be filter and fibre to their blood nonetheless. Octavian, and books like it, are challenging. But in this room, we know that young people can rise to intellectual challenges. I know because the course of my life was altered by teachers who challenged me, who assumed I was smart and refused to acknowledge otherwise despite considerable evidence. We know the importance of never selling kids short and never selling them out, because I’d imagine we’ve all seen our lives changed by teachers who believed in us.

So but about Whitman: I think he was right to realize that the connectedness of us, one to the other, is filter and fibre to the blood. Millions of people have facebooks, and I know only a fraction of those people, but there’s a strangely fortifying comfort to knowing that they are out there, and that I am—through one network or another—connected to them.
But there is profound risk in the hyperconnectedness, too, as we are beginning to see: It becomes very easy to find a group of people who agree with everything you think, and then to spend your life in an echo chamber, only hearing voices you already know you agree with. Many communities have this quality about them in real life, too: For instance, I feel very safe standing here telling you that I think, as I do, that educators are criminally underpaid.

But, I mean, when is the last time someone came to ALAN and said teachers shouldn’t receive raises? Such people must exist, right, or else you would all get the kind of extravagant raises that you and I think you deserve. But I’ve honestly never met one of these people. And I really would like to meet them, you know? And not to beat them up or anything, although surely they would deserve it, but because I think it’s always good to be challenged, to know that there are other people out there, and not all of them value the same things you do.

Which is precisely what great books like Octavian do on a grand scale: By giving us the other, they give us new selves. For example: In America, we tend to believe, on the whole, that the Revolutionary War was a good thing. Right? Freedom, representative democracy, etc. But then along comes Octavian, and for the first time, we are all forced to grapple with the idea that maybe the American Revolution was not a good thing, and that for many people—for the people who perhaps most needed the protection of a government—it was a very, very bad thing. But it is not only that: It is also the opportunity to live inside Octavian’s head, to see that a young black man living two hundred years ago was a person just as I am a person, to see that his griefs grieved on the same bones that mine do. Forget the connections that Facebook can give us. Octavian and other great books make us facebook friends with the other, with our past, and with the dead. This is a valuable experience, sure, but it is also a hell of a fun ride.

So now let me return to that most fascinating creature, myself, who is now—while still endlessly intriguing—living in a world occupied by billions of people who are almost as real and as interesting as I am. My eleventh grade English teacher was a guy named Paul MacAdam. I got a D in the class, and I only got the D because I wrote a paper about Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye over the summer. I was a crap student: I didn’t read; I didn’t participate; I didn’t turn in papers, or when I did, it was embarrassingly obvious I hadn’t read the books. I also skipped class a lot. It was in the morning, and I didn’t think very highly of morning classes.

I actually said that to him once. He took me aside after the bell rang one day and said you’ve been missing a lot of class, and I was like, “Yeah, I don’t think too highly of morning classes.” I was a real peach.

But when I did go to class, I was usually the last person to file into the room. One thing I remember about that class: Mr. MacAdam always held the door open for us until the bell rang. We’d walk in, and he’d greet each of us. He always held the door open until the bell started ringing, and I’d come in last, three seconds before the bell rang, staring at my untied sneakers, stinking of cigarette smoke, and he’d say, “Mr. Green, always a pleasure,” and then he and the class would talk about the book. Say it was Slaughterhouse Five. I hadn’t read it, of course, but they would talk about it, and MacAdam would get to talking about war and the nonlinear nature of time and how Vonnegut had stripped down the language to tell the nakedest of truths.

But the discussion was always so interesting—these big, hot, fun ideas seemed to matter so much. So I read the books. I never read them when I was supposed to read them; I’d read them a week later, after I’d already gotten an F on my reaction paper. But I’d read them. In essence, I was reading great books for fun. MacAdam didn’t know it, of course. He probably still doesn’t know it. But it didn’t matter whether I was worthy of his faith; he kept it. He still held the door open every day for me. He still treated me like I was the smartest kid in the class, still took me seriously on those rare occasions when I’d raise my hand, still listened thoughtfully to me when I’d give him my reading of a passage I could comment upon only because he’d just read it out loud. He believed I was real, that I mattered. I wasn’t yet able to understand that he mattered, but he was okay with that. He just kept holding the door open for me.

Thank you for holding the door open for your students.

55 Comments:

At November 24, 2008 , Blogger Unknown said...

John I wish I could have been there to hear this speech in person, because it's great! Is there a video version?

And speaking of speeches, at my school, we have a speech competition every year. Each round has a prescribed theme, but the very first round can be about whatever topic you chose, be it serious or ridiculously irrelevant. I chose to write a speech about what you put in a blog post this summer-- remember the one in which you asked the youth of the world why we want to be famous so badly? Anyway, my teacher and some of the students really liked it, so i just wanted to say thanks for the inspiration.

I can't wait for more books... :)

 
At November 24, 2008 , Blogger euphonious said...

John, I would just like to ask you one question.

Were you BORN this awesome, or did it take years to perfect?

Because this speech is amazing. Seriously. I wish I could have heard it.
Gatsby is my favorite book (I've always wanted a tattoo of the yellow car), and all of the other "boring" books that you mentioned are amazing books.
And thanks for speaking up for us teenagers. Seriously. "Grown ups" think we're stupid and illiterate and only want to watch TV and have sex, but that's not the majority of us.

Thanks for being so freaking awesome, John.
<3 Gillian.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

John I just want to thank you so much and tell you that I admire you very much.
As a seventeen year old girl sometimes it frustrates me when adults think that all teenagers are stupid, or sometimes even my parents invalidate my opinion by telling me stuff like "it's just a phase" or, "when you're older you'll know". I mean, I am very opinionated and I like to think that my opinion and thoughts matter.
So thanks because you are proof that not all adults think that teens are stupid, or that they have to dumb themselves down for us. I've heard authors say they write for teens because it's "easier", or some that use pen names because they are ashamed to be YA authors, and they don't want their friends to know. I even know of bands who act stupic at concerts, because "the kids just don't get it".
I'm sorry for rambling... anyway, I hope you continue to write excellent, meaningful books and again, thank you.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wow, John.
With lack of better words, I have to say that speech really spoke to me.
I am fortunate enough to have a good English teacher who challenges us to think and listens to what we say. I love it. I know plenty of people who are close to failing the class and still love it.
It is so nice to have someone who treats us like our thoughts matter. We may be teenagers, but we are still people.
Teenagers can be brilliant, too.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

John,
I have I told you recently that you're my hero? Because you are!
Honestly.
Even though I flunked out of high school (I wasn't keen on morning classes), some of my teachers don't know what a huge impact they had on me. I took Jr. English three times, before I gave up, not because I wasn't smart, but because I didn't read the books until a week after the paper was due. And even though my Senior English teacher told me I probably shouldn't repeat British Literature with the same teacher, she was one of my favorite teachers. Even though I never actually passed British Literature, I remember it very fondly.
I've always said that a caring teacher makes all the difference.
I've always loved reading, but now I'm obsessed. I do a book review every week, because I see how reading critically changes me every time!
John, I mean it when I say you are my hero.
Meredith

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

I wish I got to read Slaughterhouse-Five in eleventh grade English. We read Wuthering Heights. And Ethan Frome.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

I always thought that The Truman Show was secretly the story of my life. Alas, I realized later that most likely they would not have let me see the movie if it was about me for fear that I would realize what was happening. I still wonder sometimes, though...

Anyways, as always, you have astounded and inspired me in more ways that I can put into words. You never stop making me think about life and how I relate to others. As a teenager, I thank you for always striving to give us a better name. I will continue to strive to deserve it.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Blogger appletrain said...

I wish I could have heard this in person. I want you to meet my junior AP English teacher and become good friends with him because you two are both made of awesome and this incredible speech just made me so ridiculously happy and warm and loved. It was like a giant hug of intelligence. Thank you.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thanks for sharing this..it's so refreshing to know that I wasn't the only child who believed I was the center of some strange alien experiment. You, my friend, are totally jokes.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh wow. It is for all of these reasons that I want to be a high school English teacher. The fact that people really think this way about literature and write books that represent these ideas are what keeps me going when classes become overwhelming.

I loaned a friend of mine "Looking for Alaska" last night. I woke up this morning with a quote from the book and a message from my friend that said "I stayed up till four in the morning and finished it" written on the dry erase board that hangs on my dorm room door. I hope you know that you and your work are an inspiration for so many.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Blogger Monica said...

It's been a few years since I visited my high school English teachers, but I think I'm going to buy them each a copy of Paper Towns, print this speech, put some of your videos on a disc, and tell them to loan them out to students who deny that authors actually think about symbolism and metaphor and "all that English stuff".

And while I'm at the store, I'll probably stop by MT Anderson's shelf as well. Might as well pick up a John-Green-approved book while I'm there. :-)
-Monica

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thank you. There's nothing I like more than having a teacher hand me and engrossing and thought provoking book, and then discussing it with other students. Unfortunately, this doesn't happen much,teachers seem to set their expectations low these days, so I'm glad you're encouraging the challenge. Also I kind of believed that alien thing. When I was 4 I saw enough of The Truman Show to understand the gist of it, and for a couple years part of me suspected that that was what my life was. Naturally, the movie would have been created to throw me off the scent.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Bravo. I trust that got the standing ovation that it deserved.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Blogger K. said...

John, I cannot put into words how this speech and Paper Towns make me feel. Both have made me feel valid as a person, as a teenager. Thank you for having faith in teenagers. Thank you for writing the new Gatsby.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Blogger Crystal said...

Oh, John Green. You amaze me. Your books pushed me into the YA fiction world, and now I want to be a YA librarian when I'm done with school. Thank you so much.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

John, thank you so much for this post. At my school, teachers assume everyone wants to skip the complex themes of Jurassic Park and just talk about which dinosaurs eat which people, or gloss over the more difficult parts of science lessons by calling them "biology magic." It's nice to know that there are authors and teachers out there who don't underestimate their readers and students.

 
At November 24, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Can I be you when I grow up? Really?

Even though I'm 20-something...and a girl...

I actually saw the first part of this speech on YouTube and have been wanting to hear the rest. I admit, I used to think I was the only player in a reality show for God and that everyone else were just sent to distract and be obstacles. Like The Truman Show. It's nice to know that other people share similar crazy theories.

And I'm happy the rest of the speech is just as amazing. You are wondrous.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Mr.Green, thank you.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

John,
You are awesome!
I love this speech.
I don't know what the Truman Show is but I'm glad other people had the same experiences as I did only I used to think everyone else was a robot and they were waiting for me to catch on.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

These are inspiring and necessary words at a time when the publishing industry is suffering so much due to economic strains. Thanks for reminding us why we do what we do.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Blogger pls said...

John - Speaking as a long-time English teacher ... Thanks for reminding me that some of my students, who were just like you in school, may turn out to be as accomplished as you, and that all the time I thought I was wasting on them (when they did show up for class) might have been well-spent after all! And speaking of time ... don't advocate more money for us teachers; just give me enough for food and for gas so I can drive to your book signings (thanks for signing my copy of "Paper Towns" in Overland Park last week, btw). Instead, give me more time to teach what I need to teach students by cutting back on the time I have to pretend to spend "shaping up" my students for NCLB testing. I estimate that I have to spend 5-6 weeks out of the school year on test prep and then testing, time that I used to spend in discussing literature and other important "stuff". Okay, I'll stop there on NCLB other than to say that objective tests that purport to show a student's mastery of the English language are irrelevant. You should be grateful that you didn't have to deal with NCLB when you were in school!

 
At November 25, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thank you for being so awesome. Your speech is amazing. And I totally thought I was the only real person when I was little.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Blogger Allison said...

John,

Thank you, thank you. First of all I shouldn't have read this speech while sitting at the reference desk because you've got me a bit weepy now.

But as a teenager, I thought I was the only one who loved the books we read for English, so I was afraid to show my interest. I never spoke up, never raised my hand, and never acknowledged how much I loved getting inside the books we read and trying to relate to the characters.

Instead I chose to put my thoughts to paper. My senior English teacher (thank you a thousand times over, Mrs. Scott) saw the potential and the drive within my words. She encouraged me and drove me in a way that no other teacher as come close too.

Though I have never written that book she said I would (someday!), I use her faith in me and the wonderful books around me to keep going. Paper Towns combined the best of both worlds for me--the contemporary and the challenging. You did not dumb it down. You had high expectations of your young readers (and not so young), and they have risen to your challenge.

It is a privilege to read your books and to put them in the hands of my teen patrons knowing I am handing them a chance to push themselves further. So thank you, thank you. You are what a writer strives to be. And a teen librarian's dream.

Allison
Teen Librarian
Irving Public Library

 
At November 25, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

This blog has made my week. You seriously freaked me out during the first half, it was so accurate. And the second half fascinated me.

Sidsel.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Blogger lauren myracle said...

My mistaken friend:

You are wise in many ways, and usually right about most everything.

But Ethan Fromme was not boring. Ethan Fromme changed my world. Ethan Fromme, which I read when I was ten, hit me hard and deep and forever.

Just saying...

:)

(Sure was fun seeing you in San Antonio!!!!)

 
At November 25, 2008 , Blogger Libby said...

Again you have not forgotten to be awesome, and I am so grateful. Can't wait to send this along to my students. And, like Monica, I think I may have to buy a few more copies of PT to hand out.

Thank you.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Blogger Better to know than not know... said...

'...most of our mattering is in the context of one another.'

Beautifully said, in the context of a great speech there JG.

Makes me think of the hopes we have placed on our current pick for the Oval Office...we might think that he has the power to change things, but really his appointments thus far (such as Rahm Emanuel for Chief of Staff--house Dem who has come to power on the backs of Wall Street's now failed financial institutions) suggest that he is sacrificing that power for keeping things as they are. Such a choice matters, especially for you teenagers as you will be the ones paying tomorrow for the screwed up financial decisions us oldie moldies are making today.

To spin it, YOU do matter and YOU (yes, you sitting staring at your computer screen reading this silly scribe) are the one with the power at hand. Don't rely on Obama--sure, give him your best hopes and support but give the rest of us your action, your voice, your passion and your efforts at reestablishing democracy and a balanced society here in the ol' USA once again. God knows we need it, and it ain't gonna come easy.

Keep on reading those good books, critically thinking the good thoughts and passionately seeking the good life...and knock hard on society's door in front of you. Shit is pretty deep in there, and it's gonna be you, voluntarily or not, to come clean it up.

Sorry for the soapbox. I like your one book I've read so far Johnny, and I like your posse here. Wishing you and them all the best. Thanks,

 
At November 25, 2008 , Blogger piepie said...

Wow. Beautiful speech, John. I would also like to see an audio/video version of this if it's available.

English was always my favorite subject high school for the same reasons you pointed out in this speech. Just recently, I declared a major in English at my university because of a class I took with a teacher who approaches literature and appreciates and values students in the same ways you do.

Now, I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with a bachelor's degree in English, but you are increasingly inspiring me to pursue writing a novel.

Thanks for everything you do, John. :)

Beth

 
At November 25, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

What's funny is that my English class just read Gatsby. I didn't like it after the first read through, but then we started taking it apart, bit by bit, and all of a sudden the story grew and became so much more fascinating and real.
I thought it tied in nicely.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

You're so awesome.

 
At November 25, 2008 , Blogger Faith said...

amazing.

 
At November 26, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Great speech. BUT, I am going to spend the entire morning saying the word "complexly" to myself and mulling over whether or not it is a real word.

 
At November 26, 2008 , Blogger Jonathan and Lisa (Created for Learning) said...

Bravo.

I can only hope that 10 certain middle school students I teach will end up as magnificently inspiring as you have become.

Write on.

 
At November 26, 2008 , Blogger Jonathan and Lisa (Created for Learning) said...

Bravo.

I can only hope that 10 certain middle school students I teach will end up as magnificently inspiring as you have become.

Write on.

 
At November 26, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

I am knee-deep in English Stuff, writing journal articles and term papers for my MA in English, and revising a YA novel. John, you have no idea how much your speech means to me. At a point when I'm wondering why I'm studying all centuries of English so intently, why I'm trying to absorb as much literature as possible, you remind me. Thank you.
-Trina Sotira

 
At November 26, 2008 , Blogger Unknown said...

John, that is honestly one of the most beautiful things I have ever read. At the end of Looking for Alaska, when Miles is writing his paper, he says "they forget when they get old," meaning that adults forget what it's like to be teenagers. But you didn't. Your ability to discuss the human condition and the tradgey that is teenagerhood (pretty sure that's not a word) is awe inspiring.

Also, Slaughter House Five is probably my favourite book of all time. The only possible second is The Catcher in the Rye, not so much because I liked it as a story, but more because I feel completely in love with Holden from the first page. And both of them I read because you said that the nerdfighters should. Because you held the door open for me.

 
At November 27, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

http://www.marginalia.org/dfw_kenyon_commencement.html

This is a commencement speech by David Foster Wallace that talks about what you talked about in the first chunk of this.

 
At November 27, 2008 , Blogger mmm said...

john, this was a wonderful speech. i never knew you weren't a reader when you were in high school. i just got my little brother to read alaska and he just finished it today and loved it. and he just ordered all of your other books. you are loved!

thank you for this speech. i wish i were there to hear it in person!

 
At November 27, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

I was alerted to this great speech by Candy Gourlay's Notes from the Slush Pile blog.

Couldn't agree more that teenagers are too often underestimated in their language ability, subtlety of response and willingness to hang in with a book that doesn't grab in the first sentence.

(I was the token Brit writer at the Penguin dinner (now there's a weird concept) in Atlanta in May (IRA Congress) and since then have read Paper Towns and looking for Alaska. You and Neil Shusterman are my top finds.

Hope to run into you again one day.}

 
At November 27, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

John,

The world really needs more people like you!! This speech is way too awesome.
I am so glad I met you in Los Angeles and got my copies of your books signed.
But I realize that what is more important than getting books signed is the fact that you believe that teenagers are highly smart and capable of being excellent critical readers and thinkers.

I'm in college right now and will soon head to graduate school to get a degree in teaching Junior High/High School English. I hope to make a positive impact in the lives of the kids I will one day be teaching and I hope I can get them excited about reading and analyzing books the way you get people excited about reading your books.

 
At November 28, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dearest John,

You are an inspiration. I hope I can grow up to be as awesome as you are. Seriously (I'm using short sentences to emphasize my seriousness).
I love speeches like these, the kind where you remember that words can say THINGS but MEAN hope, vision, future, and community. This feeling, the one I got after merely reading this speech, is why I write. Why I speak up. Why I try to make sense of the world. Because when you hear someone speak the truth, uncover something you are just discovering or even knew was there all along, you can both inhabit the same moment.
I hope you know how special you are.

 
At November 28, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

This was truly fantastic. What made me laugh at this was the fact that I asked you about all that English stuff at one of the events, and I'm sure I was not the only one. I always kind of figured that symbolism/metaphor/everything else was meant to be there, but sometimes teachers make me never want to look into a book again, which is part of the reason I like reading books from class on my own.

This entire speech just puts into words so much of what I feel about being a teenager who loves reading. It also gives me so much evidence to use against my AP Lit teacher who, in my opinion, says insane things about writing/reading. I'm going to print this speech and use it as my reading material for study hall. Gosh, thank you so much.

 
At November 29, 2008 , Blogger valerie2776 said...

Thank you for writing a book that made me think, that made me more interested in All That English Stuff.

 
At November 30, 2008 , Blogger Jessica Nicole said...

John, you are amazing.

That made me cry.

<3

 
At November 30, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wow. I would like to say thankyou for standing up for us, as teenagers. As small as the amount of people that will hear this, or read it, is, it doesn't matter, because I know that those few will appreciate you :)
I'm 15 and whenever I express my opinions, my parents like to blame it on PMS. I hate that. I'm 15, but when I say that, I feel like people think I am so young and wouldn't know anything important. I feel older in that sense and wish people would actually listen sometimes, i'm more than just a ditsy teen who spends her time texting friends.
Will you please consider coming to Australia? Me and my friends would love to see you!
Keep being awesome!

 
At December 01, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Amazing. You constantly make me consider new possibilities and paths as I try to figure out what I want to do with my life. Great speech... thanks for sharing your awesome.

 
At December 03, 2008 , Blogger Elise said...

Thank you so much, John. You said it. I am a teenager, and I never understood why my friends didn't like the "English Stuff" books we had to read, when I liked so many of them so much. I need to get them to read this speech now...
And thank you for confirming that I am not the only one who has thought that I was the only real person in the world. Of course, I assumed everyone else were robots, not aliens, but still.
And it's strange, because as soon as you mentioned that you might just be saying that to lull us into a false sense of security, the only thing I could think was that of course you were a real person. I can't imagine you not being a real person.
So, after the ramble, thanks for the awesome speech, and thanks for sharing so much of yourself with me and all of us that you will never be a robot again.

 
At December 04, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

I love this speech, it conveys every understanding and care for English and reading that I have.

 
At December 04, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Whoa. Wow. May I share this speech with my pre-service English teachers-to-be? It's outstanding. And it makes me want to pony up the bucks to go to ALAN again. . it's been too long!

 
At December 05, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

John Green I have never agreed with someone more. This is most likely the most amazing speech I have ever read. I found my self nodding and laughing ,and also stunned at the amazingly accurate depiction of teenagers. I myself am sixteen and am reading the Great Gatsby in my American Literature class. While I may not be able to appreciate it to its full extent yet, I still see the greatness in it. On another point, I also love how you said that we think that we are the only human in the world. I guess that I am still not old enough to completely stop thinking that because sometimes I think that I am just an experiment. I never thought that anyone imagined their self that before. I cannot thank you enough for your books and for this speech, and for coming the New York where I saw you at Barnes and Noble. You are completely 100% made of awesome!

 
At December 05, 2008 , Blogger Brandon said...

Great post and I'm sure an equally great speech. I'm inspired.

 
At December 07, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

I absolutely loved this speech. I just wanted to tell you that I'm quoting it in an English paper about a book filled with "that boring English stuff" - The Scarlet Letter. So thanks for posting it!

 
At December 10, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

John I do believe you just made my life with that speech. I wish I could hear you say it. It's so amazing and now I want to be irresponsible and spend my savings buying books you suggest and not Christmas presents for my family.

Maybe my Christmas bonus?

Also, you make me want to be a teacher like nobody's business.

 
At December 14, 2008 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Mr. Green, thank you so much for believing in the complexity of teenagers as much as the complexity of your wondrous self. I continuously fail to articulate how big of an impact your books and videos have had in my life.

In less related news, I want to send you something via snail mail, but I don't know how to go about doing that... would sending something to your publishing company eventually make its way to the actual you?

 
At March 29, 2010 , Anonymous Asta said...

I now know how you feel about David Foster Wallace's commencement speech, because that's how I feel about this one.
Thank you

 

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