This book started out well-enough as a semi-atypical teen coming of age story—semi-atypical because the beginning events (Q and Margo on a night about town) are atypical of teens in general but only semi because it's not really unexpected in books about teens. At any rate, getting to know Quentin is fun. He's a fairly standard kid with good grades and a middle-rank social standing. His night with Margo, the high-flying center of gossip, is moderately transformative if only because he has had a chance to cut loose with the girl he has had a crush on since forever.
After their big night, Margo disappears and the rest of the book is Quentin, with occasional help from his friends, trying to piece together why she would do that and where she might be. There is, of course, deep thought and silliness along the way. John Green has a real talent in making his teen characters seem alive. Even the side characters have a strong sense of reality with conflicting motivations and actions that hint of the fundamental insecurity of that transition into adult responsibilities.
That said, I began to be a bit jittery when so much focus was placed on an introspective journey guided by Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. Quentin begins to spend a lot of time worrying about seeing people for who they are and the impossibility of knowing what is truly happening in the inner world of those around us. And it turns out that I was right to worry.
As Quentin and friends begin to home in on Margo, it became kind of obvious that there was one of two possibilities in play. Either Margo was a kind of emotional thrill seeker manipulating people for her own satisfaction—essentially a bitch willing to hurt others out of her own emotional pain. Or she is running from a deeper emotional attachment out of fear of the potential pain it may bring, but hoping for a pre-commitment that will allow her to connect with her followers should they find her. Frankly, either option would have worked, though as a romantic I kind of hoped that it was the latter and that the specific emotional fear was a crush/longing/love for Quentin.
I was, therefore, deeply disappointed by the ending when it became clear that Green had split the difference in a confusing mish-mash of pseudo-philosophical meanderings. On the one hand, it is revealed that Margo is, indeed, an unsympathetic bitch. She really had meant to leave everyone and had no intention of them finding her in time to catch up with her. She meant to have the last word, burn all her bridges, and leave people with no way to respond or retaliate (for better or worse).
If Green had left it there I'd have been satisfied. Unhappy, because I like Quentin and don't want him hurt, but life lessons aren't always kind and he's strong enough that he'd recover and be better off in the end. Instead, we are treated to a lot of literary hand-waving, invoking Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar explicitly, and only barely stopping short of full-on Derrida-inspired alienation and the impossibility of understanding or connecting with others. This transition is supposed to soften our perception of Margo by illustrating a deep connection that she shares with Quentin. We're supposed to believe that she really does care for Quentin—maybe even love him.
Unfortunately, I couldn't buy the excuses. If she truly cares, there's no way she wouldn't have at least hoped to be found before she moved on and had a contingency plan for it. Indeed, leaving a hard date (and time!) for leaving her refuge reinforces the impression that she had such a hope. If she didn't, there was no reason to be so explicit, let alone making her deadline public (if obscure). It isn't like she's got a time-dependent place to be, after all.
It feels like John Green wanted a deeper ending than Q and Margo working out some compromise that allows their relationship to grow—like that'd be too simple or something. So instead, we get her acting like she cares but, when found, it becomes clear she never really did. Only then, we have her and Q making a connection as if she actually does care, after all, so, you know, happy ending. Only John Green doesn't want that so they talk-talk about how impossible it is to connect to people, really (and hey, high-sounding literary references, so we're covered), and then they part ways forever. Because, you know, that's better. Deeper, you know.
Bah. Intellectualized pap.