Twilight by Stephanie Meyers

I had to see what all the hype was about. Why was this novel becoming such a huge phenomenon? Well, now I know. I must say that I agree with Stephen King on this issue. He was asked what he felt about two of the best-selling authors of our time, J. K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer. In answer, he simply said, "[J.K.:] Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good." Of course, one might point out that King himself is not among the premier writers of our time (gross sales do not equate to writing skill). However, he seems to recognize the difference between hack writing and literary artistry.

The appeal of the book seems to be in its juvenile approach to sexuality. The greatest challenge to modern romance writers is in how to keep the couple apart long enough to build up sexual tension, because in today's world there is nothing to keep them from hoping straight into the sack at the first provocation. Once a relationship has been consumated, the reader can no longer feel the anxious desire that is the key to romance. Meyers solution is to have a romantic hero whose primary desires are not sexual, but gastric in nature. By deflecting the threat of sexuality, she is able to keep her readers in a semi-constant state of arousal. It is very much like the juvenile response to holding hands for the first time, the excitement of touch drawn out for as long as possible. Her books are foreplay. I know this will offend many people, who find her books a safe alternative to the all too blatant sexuality that is part of so much of the romance genre, but I cannot help that. Let's call a spade a spade, and be done with it. So much for why they are popular, there is really nothing there beyond this to appeal to the reader. Her characters are weakly drawn. I grew bored with how often her protagonist went from normal routine to furious rage over minor provocations. This seemed to be the character's normal response to...well, everything. I even found myself laughing at the ludicrous descriptions at times, so generic, so cliched. When the two main characters take their Tarzan-esque journey into the wilderness, I could only shake my head. Meyers has obviously never been to the Pacific Northwest, least of all to the wilderness around Forks. The underbrush there is as tall as the trees in the rest of the nation, and as dense as your average bush. Try running at lightening speed through a thicket of blackberry bushes, and I don't think you'd come away merely breathless, lifeless is more like it.

Enough said about this waste of shelf space.