I repost this review at the risk of upsetting people, and, if I do, I apologize most sincerely. But. The review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/265924524?type=review#rating_25779786 And my explanation, originally posted as a comment on my review: I was thinking about this novel last night, triggered to do so by the announcement of its filming, and that added fervor. Thinking about this book makes me angry. I have fought that feeling for some time now, but cannot shake it. I lived with a terminally ill sibling, and watched him die. He was not a special snowflake because of his health. He was not More Important because he might, and did, die young. As someone who knows first-hand, I truly feel that this book has fetishized Young Death and Young Terminal Illness. As Eric's older sister, I was offended as I read this book, and even more so as I watch fans elevate it to the level of a talisman, or a touchstone. It's emotion porn, at the expense of real children who've really died. It stimulates my own pain and loss; I can't even go into Barnes and Noble without being accosted by a large "Okay?" poster and offers for book-about-dying-kids t-shirts. This book does forget to be awesome, because it got lost in its remembering to be Important and Best-Selling. My life from age 2 to 9, and my brother's entire life, was tubes and injections and seizures and hospitals and life flights. So I have every right to criticize. I lived it, and Eric lived it. Not Okay.