You know that feeling when you read a good book all in one sitting? It’s like downing an entire glass of water, leaving you satisfied yet breathless. That’s what I experienced when I read John Green’s Turtles All the Way Down. I had the pleasure of listening to the audiobook (narrated excellently by Kate Rudd, who gives Aza’s thoughts agency and vitality and contrasts the voices of different characters) during a long road trip. I’ve long been a fan of John Green’s work, but Turtles All the Way Down struck a special chord within me. Green writes about mental illnesses such as OCD and anxiety with visceral intensity while underscoring these topics with thoughtful and intricate connections. I hate to use these labels for mental illness, since Green doesn’t, but we live in a society where these labels have meaning, though to define these terms and apply them to actual living people with unique experiences poses some issues. The labels imply a unilateral experience that may not exist. They imply a diagnosis, that there is something wrong with a specific state of being, that since this is an illness there must be a cure, that something other cohabitates in one’s body and causes one to have these problems—all false assumptions that are dismantled in the book.
Turtles All the Way Down follows teenaged Aza Holmes, who has OCD and severe anxiety (again, terms that are not used in the body of the novel). Readers are immediately thrust into the world of Aza’s relentless, spiraling thoughts that torture her and sweep her up into their tornado. Aza longs to be free of what she calls “this demon inside her,” though she eventually discovers that there is no demon. There is only her—the multifaceted mystery of the self. And it is Aza’s own idea of self that torments her. Her main doubt—that she may be fictional, unreal—is the driving force behind her anxious behaviors and eddying thoughts. She struggles to find the answer to this question and engages in behaviors to alleviate the torture of this unknown—what some may say is the greatest and most terrifying unknown. (Not just Who am I as a person? but What does it mean to be person? What makes a person who they are?) At one point in the book, Aza likens her struggle to find herself to opening up a series of Russian nesting dolls, unpacking a never-ending series of selves with no hope of getting to the last doll, the real her.
While the book is mainly about Aza, it is also about a mystery, one that intertwines unobtrusively with Aza’s story. Aza’s childhood friend, Davis, is the son of a notoriously corrupt billionaire who goes missing, and a reward of $100,000 is offered for any information leading to his capture. At the behest of her spunky best friend Daisy, Aza rekindles her friendship with Davis and finds a piece of information about Davis’ father that Daisy begs her to turn in for the reward. However, if I were to tell you what this book is about, it would not be ‘a mystery’ or ‘a girl with OCD and anxiety.’ As with most good pieces of art, I would say that it is about all of the important things—life and love and relationships and trying to attach some meaning to existence.
Mary Quattlebaum’s review of Green’s The Fault in Our Stars in The Washington Post says “John Green deftly mixes the profound and the quotidian in this tough, touching valentine to the human spirit.” Having read much of Green’s work, I think that this can be applied to all of his books, especially to Turtles All the Way Down. Green expertly weaves in meaningful quotes and realizations throughout the story, connecting them and recalling them to create poignant moments. From the novel’s epigraph—“Man can do what he wills, but he cannot will what he wills” (Arthur Schopenhauer)—to its end—“No one ever says goodbye unless they want to see you again”—Green tells a heartbreakingly meaningful tale that stays with you, haunting in the best way.
I recommend that you read this book if you’ve ever experienced obsessive thoughts or anxiety or want to understand what it’s like inside the head of someone who does. Next, I would like to talk a bit about some of the book’s finer plot points, so only read on if you don’t mind the plot being spoiled.
***Spoilers Beyond This Point***
Aza’s fundamental concern lies in knowing what makes her real. Another way of asking this is What makes a person the person they are? Aza’s obsession with ‘finding the real her’ mirrors Davis’ obsession with knowing who loves him ‘for him and without his money.’ These are questions with unknowable answers. If Aza didn’t have “this demon inside of [her],” she would be a different person, just as Davis would be a different person if he weren’t rich. There will never be an answer to all of Aza’s questions, as there will never be an end to her spiraling thoughts. The way out of the spiral is by accepting the reality of who you are and letting go of the things that you can never know. This idea is encapsulated perfectly by the idea of turtles all the way down (read the book and you’ll come across the story that explains the title) and the idea of spirals tightening in on themselves. Green also weaves in an interest in stargazing with Davis, who is obsessed with looking at the sky and seeing the past (just as he is obsessed with reliving his own past through nostalgic memories). One of the book’s major moments is when Aza alights upon how it is possible to follow the spiral down into an ever tightening prison of thoughts and despair, but it is also possible to follow the spiral up and out into the sky. Following the spiral up means becoming overwhelmed in the best way by the immensity of the universe and the positive of endless possibilities that one can only imagine. Following the spiral down is searching for one answer, the answer, versus following the spiral up, which takes into account the truth of many answers.
The cast of heartwarming characters in this book really made it an enjoyable experience to read. As in many of Green’s books, the people are flawed but mostly kind. The parents are good-hearted, and the friends are steadfast. Even the side characters of the story are well-rounded and (overall) well-meaning. Aza’s therapist is no-nonsense yet kind. The villain of the story (Davis’ father) is shown to have some redemptive qualities in the end. Overall, Turtles shows the intricacies of pain intermixed with joy in relationships. The people in Aza’s life care about her so much and are torn by not being able to help her or understand her. As Aza so aptly puts it, “Nobody gets anybody else, not really. We’re all stuck inside ourselves.” Yet we have no choice but to try to get other people. As the story progresses, so does Aza’s pain and helplessness and everyone else’s pain and helplessness, and Aza becomes less and less able to consider and relate to those around her. Her friendship with Daisy comes to a breaking point when Daisy comes clean about how exhausting it is to be around her. Though Davis claims that Aza’s quirky behaviors don’t bother him, that he likes their odd relationship, Aza’s response—that it will one day be too much for him to bear—ends up being true. Their breakup is so painful because one can see how they’re perfect for each other in every way—Aza just can’t be with him without being triggered, not yet. Ironically, Aza and Davis—who have never said an unkind word to each other—part ways, but Aza and Daisy—who have their share of issues to work through—stay friends for a long time. The book shows how compatibility does not equal friendship; sometimes things just don’t work out. Aza and Davis relate on an intimate level through their shared trauma of losing parents, through their views of the world, and through their enjoyment of each other’s company. Though Aza and Daisy arguably have a lot less in common, they are able to remain friends due to their mutual agreement to work on their relationship. For Aza and Davis, this wasn’t possible—at least, not yet (since the novel implies that they desire to see each other again with their final goodbye).
Turtles All the Way Down shows the undeniable truth that relationships aren’t easy and that everyone is struggling with something. Readers live the horror of what it is like to be trapped in Aza’s head as she engages in increasingly dangerous behaviors to keep her obsessive thoughts at bay, but they also see how the people in Aza’s life try (and often fail) to help her, to show her that she is loved and accepted. I appreciate that Green calls out the fantasy ‘overcoming’ narrative of disability and mental illness. After the climax of the book, Aza describes her journey as “I got better without actually getting well”—something that anyone with chronic illness or pain probably understands. Either way, one has to find some way to cope, to keep these unanswerable thoughts about existence at bay, to get better even if they may never be ‘well.’ On the whole, this heartwarming book will remind you what it is like to be human—to make mistakes, to become mired in one’s own struggles, to engage in relationships with other people who lead one to insights about one’s own existence, who care about one another. What truer beauty is there than that? I do not make that statement to idolize Aza’s pain in any way—rather, I mean to emphasize that this book is a compassionate telling of a person’s lived experience that is like many other people’s lived experiences. It will teach you about your own existence and about others’ as it cracks open the spiral and encourages you to look up and around.
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