While a lot of kids were out having fun over Spring Break, funneling things down their throats and snorting things up their noses (allergy medication, obviously), I sat at home broke and bored. I was sitting with my thumb up my butt feeling sorry for myself when I got a brilliant idea – or so I thought.
I decided to get with the times and read Stephenie Meyer’s book “Twilight” for myself. Surely a book so popular that has grown into a blockbuster movie and a book series would be a good read. Right? Surely a mere book doesn’t have the power to make a person lose their faith in the entire human race. Right?
My not-so-epic journey into the pit of hell (or should I say the preteen mind) began where such hellish journeys usually begin: the local mall, or more specifically, the local mall’s bookstore.
The bookstore owner’s expression was priceless when I placed a book by Pulitzer Prize winner Cormac McCarthy beside Meyer’s “Twilight,” which was listed in the “Top Ten Books for Reluctant Readers” category by the American Library Association. The horrified expression on the owner’s face when she rang me up for $17 can only be described as a mix of “I-just-crapped-myself horrified” and “I-just-crapped-myself-and-I-don’t-have-a-change-of-pants horrified.” You pick.
So I got home and opened the book with relatively high hopes, because what’s more badass than bloodsucking vampires let loose upon pitchfork wielding villagers, sleeping with the villagers’ daughters and looting their gold? Too bad “Twilight’s” love story turned out to be passionless, as well as sexless. (Apparently the vampire character Edward Cullen is the poster boy for abstinence, because he has been holding out for Ms. Right for almost a century).
From the first page on, I was bombarded with paragraph after paragraph of simple sentences, with the occasional compound simple sentence. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Dr. Seuss’s “Green Eggs and Ham” has more complex sentences. Well, yes I will. But I still had relatively high hopes; I wanted to read about everyone’s favorite vampire, Edward Cullen. I kept reading.
Now, it has always been my opinion that it is tough for an author to properly create a character of the opposite sex, but Meyer fails to properly create a compelling female character, much less a plausible male character. The protagonist, Bella, is so clumsy that it no longer becomes cute, but annoying. Poor thing is always falling down – but don’t worry, in comes vampire Edward to save her. Vampires! Heck yes! Wait, but these vampires defy lore and can be out in the daylight, and when they do, they sparkle. Wait, what? Sparkle? That’s like throwing a bunch of eyeliner and glitter over a “Lord of the Ring” orc and expecting him to still be a badass.
I facepalmed myself. How does this book have more fans than President Barack Obama, yet its writer has less writing talent than Lindsay Lohan has acting talent? But I kept reading on, forcing myself to finish.
I had to somehow make reading this book enjoyable, or if not, at least bearable. That’s when the wheels in my head began to turn, coming up with what was, in hindsight, a terrible idea.
I conjectured that drinking booze makes everything better: card games, social functions, family functions, sports and sometimes even movies – why not books?
And so I concocted this ridiculous game that played out something like this: Every time Bella fell down, I’d take a shot; and every time Bella was in danger and Edward heroically saved her, I’d take a shot. Let’s just say that I was thoroughly soused in no time. It didn’t ease the pain.
Somewhere amidst my agony, I realized I wasn’t actually reading, but just skimming the pages with my glossy, teared up eyes. I would like to think I was shedding a tear for the sanctity of literature, but I think I was just kicking myself for such a stupid endeavor. I began to think of other terrible things I’d rather be subjecting myself to and eventually decided that even watching The Jonas Brothers in 3D had to be better than reading this book.
I had finally gotten to the last page. I let the book drop into my lap, lifted my hands to the heavens and began to cry for joy. It was over. Sweet deliverance!
I can only hope that for the sake of all of us, Meyer takes my $17 and does humanity a favor: retire from writing.
Matt Morgan is a sophomore majoring in sociology. He can be contacted at [email protected].