The fault in the plot

 

After reading a ‘Fault in our Stars’ there was a wide flooding of donations to help bring teenage cancer suffers to Amsterdam to live out their dreams of young love and fulfill their desires for culture and art. Two by two they stood with oxygen tanks, IV’s and wheelchairs. It was bitter sweet for their parents and the donors. They were sending children off to enjoy the last holiday of their lives. After a week away the teenagers came back rather different. They were more relaxed and smiled. Those that had struggled to keep food down were far hungrier and ate their meals with great success. Even the shy and quiet group members were now confident and vocal. It seemed to be a miracle for all those involved. The teenagers would meet up on a weekly bases and a new support came into existence. It was all too good to be true.

Let us consider the following: a group of hormonal teenagers on the brink of death, are dropped into the sex capital of Europe with open access to marijuana and drugs. How the fuck are they not coming back stoned and shagged out their brains. Where is the scene in that book where the pair eat a plate of hash brownies, turn the oxygen tank into a bong and take it in turns getting lap dances in the red light district? It so realistic until you realise that gaping black hole in the story.