Oh, the books I have not loved! I wish I knew why they niggle at my brain, annoying me over and over again whenever I’m reminded of them. It’s like a literary earworm, a never ending source of annoyance.
And there’s been more than a few, I’m afraid, which made figuring out which one to start with a bit hard. However, I decided to play it ‘safe’, and went with Twilight (mostly the books, somewhat the movies).
But first, a caveat.
Now, on to Twilight.
I first really noticed the books when I saw them in the drug store; you know a series must be pretty popular if they’re even in the drug store. Being a cheap bastard, I decided to get the novels through the library first, but of course the wait-list was still really long despite how long they’d been out by then. So I decided to get her scifi stand alone The Host first; shorter wait time!
I loved it. Meyer’s writing style simply sucked me in and I was there, looking over the protagonist’s shoulder, crying at all the right points, sobbing my heart out near the end, and just generally intensely thrilled that I had in my hands a novel I could read and reread forever. I was a fan.
So I got the first Twilight novel, finally, and set out to enjoy it.
And it was enjoyable, no question there. Her writing style again sucked me in, and I read it quickly, though I found the teen romance story a lot less interesting, so I would skip through scenes that bored me, and never did bother to buy it. Still, I thought of it with a certain fondness, because I love writers that can suck me into their stories.
And then I watched the movie. Holy fuck, what a boring, slightly creepy movie. Had I really read this? I got the book out of the library again, and sure enough, it was all there. I thought the movie had focused too much on the long, boring parts of the novel instead of all the action in the last half (they really conned fans out of their money with that movie), but those really boring, creepy scenes were all there. I’d just skipped most of them.
Reading those scenes after the movie, I was disappointed. Sure, the writing skill was there, but what a stupid thing to write about! Moaning about hot vampires. Moaning about being the interesting ‘new’ girl at school. Moaning about not being a vampire. Moaning about how sweet it was the hot vampire was stalking her.
I was torn now. I loved Meyer’s way with words, but hated the story. Did I really want to keep reading? Of course I did. I’m a glutton for punishment.
I read the second, with a slightly more critical eye. And again, I kept skipping over all the crap I didn’t care about, so I could get to the good stuff. Only there was less good stuff in this one, and more moaning. Bleck. And yet I couldn’t stop reading the series now.
Why was I doing this to myself? Why torture myself with a crappy storyline and stupid characters who fail to grow as people? It was like finding a concert-hall quality pianist who chose to spend all of their time preforming Bieber medleys in a shopping mall.
I guess I kept hoping that Meyer would fix things. Make the story better. Write something, anything, that wasn’t twee vampires. I was doomed to disappointment, of course. Sure, I continued to enjoy her style, but the content! Ugh, the content! I was incredibly happy the stupid series ended. And though I hate what That Thief did to Meyer, I am grateful there will not be another novel, because I would read it, and hate it, and hate myself for failing to avoid reading it.
Recommendations to self: Stop torturing myself with bad fiction*. Go read Sunshine by Robin McKinley again. Or The Host. Never touch a Twilight novel again.
*Yeah, right. There’s always more crappy fiction out there, waiting for me to pick it up.