But it's true! I loved Twilight. I read it, or more like devoured it, insanely fast. I am already 124 pages into New Moon and so far it is making me a little angry. But Twilight also made me really angry. It's so bizarre to fiercely hate and also love a book all at once. The fangirl waiting to exist in me (hasn't she gotten her outlet, with the massive Neil Gaiman crush and all?) adores these books so far. They make me voracious for more. I love them after only one. It's an addiction. I really really want to know what happens and I really really want everything to be lovely. It was a lot like this with the audiobook for The Host (also Stephenie Meyer) except in that book I got really annoyed by the main girl because she was just so goddamned selfless - OH WAIT, oh my god, it's exactly the same with Twilight. Except at least in The Host there's not so much overwhelming obnoxious chivalry. The men are better.
The feminist in me (oh man, I don't think I've ever called myself a feminist before in so many words, but there you have it) cringes at Twilight for obvious reasons. It is never, never, never up to Bella. It's all mighty-man-Edward protecting her and making all the important decisions.
Another thing is the writing. Sure it's somehow strangely infectious and I think I am going into a little bit of withdrawal just from taking the time to write this... but other than that it's riddled with cliches and a lot of times absolutely terrible. I am too unfocused today to look up any specific examples but oh my god did you have to describe everyone's emotional response to eggs! For thirty minutes! Oh wait, that was The Host. Well, never fear, plenty of terrible stuff in Twilight, too. But of course, the story makes up for it. And there are flashes of good writing. That line "and so the lion fell in love with the lamb" is a nice, compelling take on a well-known metaphor.
Also, the part of me that is not just okay with the love stuff that my 15 year old self was happy with - you know, the grown woman with raging hormones part - is pretty unsatisfied with the lack of tearing of clothes. Though, I'll give Meyer credit, she does the whole sexual tension thing rather well. And there's even an excuse for it here, which I almost believe and not that it's written for too young an audience for the whole heaving bosoms thing and/or because the author is Mormon.
So anyway, I dislike Stephenie Meyer and yet love her at the same time. At least the book makes me feel something, quite strongly. I see that as highly positive! So ends my review. Read it, or don't, but expect to want more.