Typos ruin a book for me. My job, which pays for all these shiny books, involves a lot of proofreading. I'm trained to look for typos, and when I clock out at the end of the day I cannot turn it off. So when my leisure reading is full of typos and I'm constantly being pulled out of the story by them, it starts to feel like work. And that just blows.
Looking For Alaska might have been a 3-star book for me had it not been for the typos. I can overlook a handful of booboos, but when the booboos reach the double digits I start to get cranky. This book is published by a Penguin imprint in the US and Harper Collins in the UK (it's the UK version I have). I have no idea how editing works when two different publishers are involved, but in this case it didn't work very well at all.
But enough whining about typos! Heaven knows I've made my share. Typos aside, about all this book did for me was give me a few laughs and affirm that I probably didn't miss out on much by choosing not to drink or smoke or have sex during my high school years. Sometimes I wonder, so at least there's that. I'm done with John Green for now. I need to read something less filled with teenage angst and assholery. I've pretty well hit my limit.