Ah, the Twilight series. “A love story with bite,” sayeth one review. A pair of star-crossed lovers for the new millennium. The young-adult world has not seen a book craze this outlandish since Harry Potter.
My friends began the craze, swapping the series at our monthly book club meetings. In trying to foist them on me, they’d say, “Oh, you’ll love Bella; you’d identify with her.”
“I’m not going to read those books. I have so many other things I’d rather read,” I said.
Then my co-workers, many of them older adults, began to succumb. This time, they cited the “powerful love story” and “exciting plot” as selling points, as well as one who is obsessed with “dreamy Edward.”
“I did all my vampire reading in high school,” was my reply. “You remember Anne Rice did it first, right?”
All of this to no avail. They were incredibly persistent, so much so that finally I threw up my hands and said, “All right, all right, I’ll read the first one.” I must admit, they had piqued my curiosity. Why are so many people obsessed with these books?
And so, I was lent a copy by a co-worker and I read it in less than a day. I’ve always been a very quick reader, which is lucky if I’m reading something particularly awful.
Twilight, dearest reader, is pretty awful.
Now, perhaps you have been slumbering peacefully under a boulder, co-existing in harmony with moles and the like, and haven’t a clue as to what I’m referring. Let me proceed by telling you the plot.