Wog - I think you're a much more patient reader than I am. I was the sort who'd grab Gothic Fiction over postcolonial writing in 2nd year, etc (although Matthew Lewis can fuck off and die)
Anyway - recently finished up 'The Fault in Our Stars' - definitely a pop-lit book (if I can use a phrase that might not exist), but at times pretty interesting.
Recommended and forced onto me by my mother, I found my else enjoying this novel. John Green writes about Hazel, a terminally ill teenager (cancer), who is both intelligent and incredibly deprecating. She meets another cancerous teenager, Augustus, and they basically fall in love and then end up in Amsterdam to meet a famous novelist they both admire. The love aspect of this story was a bit corny, to be honest, but Green writes about cancer, pain, the frustrations of being sick, and a whole world of medical smothering with such irreverence and humour I couldn't help but enjoy it. Additionally, the parental characters were all insanely touching and very moving - they had minor parts in the novel, but managed to convey a sense of intense and genuine parental love (although having not been a parent I'm, like, projecting here).
I want to quote the author's note, as I think it demonstrates the tone of the novel quite well:
"This is not so much an author's note as an author's reminder of what was printed in small type a few pages ago: This book is a work of fiction. I made it up. Neither novels or their readers benefit from attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is the sort of foundational assumption of our species. I appreciate your cooperation in this manner."
Look, if anything, this book was a bit too clever, the characters a little too well adjusted for people who are slowly and painfully dying without having (really) lived, the personalities a little too unique and complete for teenagers. The minor characters, as well, also seemed a little too polished and squeaky clean. Far from a sin, but definitely something that grated a little.