The Original Twilight Critic

I was the original Twilight critic. In seventh grade, when all my other girl friends were going ballistic over Edward-the-shiny-Jesus-manwoman, I clutched my copy of Markus Zusak’s I Am The Messenger (my favourite book then, and still pretty damn good now) to my chest and told myself feverishly that it would pass. But did it pass? No. It was an EPIDEMIC. Every single girl in the school, it seemed, knew about it or had read it. I watched as my friends, one by one, were gunned down by the sniper known as Stephenie Meyer’s Really Bad Third Grade Word Choice. They carried dog-eared copies of the book around, swooning over Edward’s golden-y delicious eyes or his rock-solid abs, which, if you hadn’t read 23 times by the third or fourth chapter, Stephenie Meyer would like to remind you were alabaster and pale as the moonlight on the shimmering river-waters of the fairielands. He was such a perfect character, and so sparkly in the sunlight, and just so all-around over-described as the most amazing sparkly vampire boyfriend EVER that this is all I got out of it all.




It was kind of like digesting a cupcake-rainbow by smooshing it into your eyeballs.

I just didn’t understand the appeal. Were boyfriends SUPPOSED to stalk you while you slept? Wasn’t that a little bit creepy? What if Edward had been 47 years old? Then would Bella still love him? And was there any actual love in the book, or was it just awkward teenage lust-lunges? It was way too complicated for my thirteen year old mind, I reasoned. Maybe I’d understand it one day.
But today, three books later, I still don’t get it. In the last one, Bella had her demon baby, but only because she lived because she turned into a vampire. This is what I got out of it.
EDWARD: Hehehe, let’s have BABEHS.
BELLA: I knew you loved me! *swoon*
EDWARD: Well, I can’t hurt you.
BELLA: BITCH PLEASE. HURT ME.
EDWARD: Well okay…I mean, it’s not going to be a good example for our younger rea---
BELLA: (copping New York accent and cigar): Look. Eddie darlin’. This is a book where you stalk me, I almost commit suicide when you’re not around, and now, defying all Steph’s rules from before, you can magically reproduce with me. Let’s not waste this bit of magical author-intervention-for-more-publicity and let’s have some DAMN DEMON BABIES, dammit.
EDWARD: (sparkly) OHKAYZ :D
Yeah. That was basically every book for me. I could go on a rant about her loopholes and lack of word-choice and everything, but I feel like I’ve really matured and now me and Steph are on an okay level. So I’m putting this whole thing behind me.
But I’m still totally going to write a better vampire book. BRING IT ON, 2010.