The Sun is also a star. The moon is also a satellite. Earth is also a donut with a hole in the centre and waterfalls flowing through it. It keeps getting more philosophical, doesn’t it?
On a serious note, although I haven’t read many YA romance novels so far, I can easily tell that there is a strong tendency to depict teenagers as heavily interested in “deep” topics or thought-provoking questions – especially when they are around their crushes. At this rate, these are already nothing more than a cheap way for teens to temporarily hide their desire for a make-out session or to suggest that they are “more unique” than anyone else. Prove me otherwise. This brings us to Nicola Yoon’s The Sun Is Also a Star. The book makes you think about multiple issues at once – and you still reach a dead end (unless you are the legendary “hopeless romantic” and you write your 5-star rated review in-between tears and head shakes). This halt of mine leads me to a 3-star rating. A midway position. Surrounded by a few pleasant memories and tangled bunches of feelings. I suppose that is a similarly valid stance as the hopeless romantic’s one. And here’s why.
In the novel, we quickly run into Natasha Kingsley, a Jamaican girl driven by rational explanations, and Daniel Bae, a Korean boy engulfed in dreams and poems. Standing at the opposite extremes (in terms of approaching the world), the two characters also have distinct backgrounds. Natasha is about to be deported to Jamaica with her family (since they came to America as illegal immigrants), whereas Daniel has his parents build him the ideal future, the American dream (that is, he is forced to become a doctor). Yoon inserts intriguing chapters and paragraphs with Jamaican and Korean fun facts, meant to enrich the plot or justify choices, not to divert readers. Once these racial topics cross our minds, we either re-experience our own identical problems with immigration and fitting in somewhere new, or expect to have even more information handed over. However, the novel is only supposed to pinch and persuade you to seek additional details by yourself. In no time, you may also finally accept the main purpose of the story: to show how love is the only circumstance where discussions about race are dismissed, past troubles and future worries ought to be forgotten for a while. It is all about being present. And you get to do that for almost an entire day. Surely you would want that kind of privilege.
If I had read the book shortly after it had been published (sometime in 2016), I wouldn’t have been able to put up with the whole idea of fate. I would have perceived everything from Natasha’s point of view (the Natasha who wouldn’t have been convinced that you can fall in love with someone that quickly). Approximately one year and a half after the publication, I would have had my portion of Daniel’s romanticism rushing through my soul. Either way, I would have completely despised the story, for having no clear answer whatsoever. In an irritating manner, I will have to mention that The Sun Is Also a Star has resurfaced from my shelf at a convenient moment – so is the universe in charge of that? Neither do I adore the novel to pieces, nor do I dislike it. I can easily find pieces of me in both Natasha and Daniel. You don’t need to undergo their little journey so as to understand them. You are not required to bump into someone on the street, connect the dots and see how your encounter was not coincidental. You do not have to spend a day with that person and fall head over heels for them. Instead, you will sense that Natasha and Daniel’s glances are familiar. They will remind you of a close friend, a crush, your partner. You will start regathering highlights from that one meeting with someone dear, which you can never forget. It does not have to be a stranger. It can be somebody you have already talked with plenty. And remember, love at second sight (Daniel’s koi no yokan) is possible. Even at third sight. Whenever the universe decides.
Proceeding to the movie (released in 2019), the final result is, dare I say, utterly disappointing. I recall what I mentioned in my review for Nicola Yoon’s Everything, Everything: what is amazing about books is that you are allowed to mentally draw the characters how you want. The pace of their conversations, the speech delivery are all up to you. Adapting a movie will always constitute a special type of risk, for you may strongly believe, as a director, that your vision will be well-received. If you feel hope at any point while reading the novel, that spark will most likely be gone once you begin to watch the movie. There are significant modifications which extract the story’s actual charm. There are no massive references to other characters besides the two teenagers, a rather surprising take on the action development since another purpose of Yoon was to shed light on the importance of small features. In the book, Natasha and Daniel are constantly brought back together whenever they separate. This happens through a security guard’s slowness, some technical difficulties while on a subway, which instantly imply some sort of delay. It can be someone’s accident or decision to change the initial course. That was the growing beauty of the plot, the way in which a lot of people are intricately connected. Yoon’s brief insights into the lives of other individuals are no longer present in the film and for that reason, the essence is never properly transmitted. To make matters worse, the sought onscreen chemistry between Natasha (Yara Shahidi) and Daniel (Charles Melton) translates as something lifeless, with replies from the book flatlining awkwardly. Family tensions are barely detectable (even the reason for Natasha’s deportation is altered), we also get to notice different names of people and colleges, touches as such ultimately being inexplicable. It is frustrating, given that there was potential in staying loyal to the original story till the very end. With extra time dedicated to Natasha and Daniel, the audience may expect to hear more “intellectual”, captivating talks between them. Once again, the lack of verbal content is greeted with discontent, since large chunks of dialogue are shrouded by songs which hardly match with the conveyed atmosphere. You may find yourself appreciating Before Sunrise (with its similar context) like I did (ironically, I used to think the 1995 movie didn’t progress naturally). So much for wishing to hear some teenage interaction amid the anticipated moments of making out.
We may gently step away from the movie, for the book has more chances of appealing to a broader public. It is a generic mixture of themes, but with occasional nuances making the plot slightly more memorable. The odds are that Natasha and Daniel will remind you of your shifting perspective upon love and destiny. If that is not the case, you may come back to it in a couple of years. With its circular pattern, the story is a tiny universe in itself, coming close to the Sun (with double meaning). There will be sharp stings on your skin if you are fully immersed. Nevertheless, (teenage) love is here to make everything seem ideal – and if that is the case, I’m still waiting for someone to joke about Daniel’s family name (Bae) without even fretting that it will sound offensive. This perfect world sees the Sun as an endless source of optimism, which reminds me of the poem Solar written by Philip Larkin: “Coined there among / Lonely horizontals / You exist openly. / Our needs hourly / Climb and return like angels. / Unclosing like a hand, / You give for ever.” Nevertheless, all readers of Yoon’s novel should make sure they do not sound over the top for the sake of impressing, regardless whom they are spending time with. The Sun is also a star. But so are celebrities, so that’s enough philosophy for today.
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