Not So Much Looking For; Kind Of Obsessing About Alaska

I read Looking for Alaska in pretty much one sitting a couple of nights ago, and had an interesting fluctuating reading experience.

1) I started out unimpressed with the writing, the characters, and the situation. I was bothered on page 1 by the phrasing of the sentence, "To say that I had low expectations would be to underestimate the matter dramatically," which I thought would be more accurately and stylishly rendered as, "To say that I had low expectations would be to dramatically overstate the case." And I immediately felt that the book was going to be a John Hughes-esque "problems of privileged white kid" book, which usually I don't mind too much but this time I could sense what felt like the narrator's pretension immediately, due to his obligatory Eccentric Trait* (memorizing last words). As an Eccentric Trait, I actually liked this one quite a lot, for dramatic purposes -- but I didn't buy that Miles had had this obsession for years and never thought about why.

2) I read on and felt mild interest in Alaska, the Colonel, and the cast of peripherals -- they seemed slightly annoyingly intellectual, mostly because they're seventeen and everything is dramatic and important and full of epiphany, but that's pretty realistic. I liked them ok. But then I finally noticed the countdown section headings, realized Alaska was going to die, realized that she was going to die WAY before the book ended, and instantly flashed forward to all of the scenes in which her (short, passionate, but ultimately ordinary) life would inevitably be infused with weight and import by her untimely and tragic death. I hate it when characters' lives are given import by their deaths. I am past the age when dying young seems romantic and incredibly significant. I am much more interested in what young people do and how they live when they're alive than how their peers react afterwards. And I could see at least 80 pages of reacting ahead of me.

3) I read on further, and at some point, perhaps 30 pages or so after Alaska's death, when I was fully resigned to reading the rest of the book and had gotten over being annoyed with its structure, something shifted and Miles and the Colonel and Takumi and Lara and even the Eagle started to grow on me. I think it's because they acknowledged that how they felt and what they thought about Alaska's death was not so much about her as about themselves, which was pretty honest and true and made me forgive them somewhat for being obsessed with analysing it (and everything).

Sorry, this is not really a discussy post. So I will end with an Interesting Question which occured to me while I was reading this. It is multiple-choice, which means everyone has a chance to be right! :-)

When you read YA fiction, is it:

a) A contemplative, nostalgic experience -- it makes you remember your adolescence and reflect on it.
b) A consuming, nostalgic experience -- it makes you plunge back into your adolescence and feel all those heady emotions over again.
c) A detached, universalizing experience -- "Boy, kids are dumb, and amusing," you think. "I was dumb and amusing then too, because being a teenager is always like that."
d) Other (please explain): ____________________________________________________________

I am sometimes a) but mostly c), I think. I have a hard time fully engaging with YA fiction these days because I'm far enough away from adolescence to see it as absurd, and not far enough away to really miss it. You?

* I didn't buy the Colonel's Eccentric Trait (memorizing countries, capitals, populations). It seemed forced and made-up.