In Protest

This is the weekend a million screaming tweens and their moms gather together to gush in high-pitched tremors of just how much Twilight means to them. All around me--at college--people are discussing the newest film. As if there's anything really to talk about. It's just the "A Baby Story" from Hell. Boy and girl have sex, girl gets pregnant, wolf gets protective, everyone cries, baby rips itself out of womb, girl should die, luckily boy is a vampire and saves her life...by taking it.

Awesome.

If you haven't guessed, I can't stand Twilight. Not just because of the poor writing or the fact that, by the end, it morphs into soft porn, but mostly because the "lessons" in them.... /shudder. The Bella-Edward dynamic, it's just not healthy. On any level. Nor is it ever romantic. Please, please, PLEASE explain to me how a 200-year-old creeping into your room in the middle of the night to watch you sleep is romantic? It's not. But people aren't just like "OMG, this is so not real life!" No, people get serious about it. I read an article about a woman who told her husband she wouldn't have sex with him until Bella slept with Edward. And then there's TwilightMoms.com, where these women spend THOUSANDS on Twilight tours and figurines. They even annotate their books. Of course, in response, there's husbandsagainsttwilight.com which is replete with horror stories about crazy, obsessive wives pricking their fingers and licking the blood as foreplay.

So this isn't simply a dumb book people like. It's a book people worship. And it's sick.

Some people (read: little girls and bored housewives) consider my view on Twilight to be misanthropic. I'm just jealous, I just don't understand, etc., etc., etc. But, no, this is not mere cynicism. This is built on a life of reading literature that inspired me. Not in a lecture-ish way (I mean, look at this blog: heaven knows I like some silly stuff), but I still learned about being strong, smart, brave. From The Magic Tree House series to Chronicles of Narnia, even Little Women and definitely Harry Potter. There's good stuff out there. But Twilight? Mostly, I can't stand when negative qualities--especially sexist qualities--are professed to be something good, something enlightened. Bella Swan is no role model. She's weak and Edward relishes in the control. What Stephenie Meyer calls chivalry I call male chauvinism.

I am not opposed to a man holding a door open for me, paying for my meal, even buying a gift. I am opposed to a man telling me what to drive, telling me I can't drive, and definitely watching me sleep. Bleh, I say, bleh. Not to mention, he's there because she smells good. She's his own personal brand of heroin, remember? But that's a major question of mine: shouldn't the attraction end once the crack-infested blood stops pumping through her veins? That's all he wants, right? That's why he's there; that's why he can't stay away: she is the object of his blood-lust. And that's what romance is--at least to Meyer.

I mean, their relationship (if you can call it that), isn't built on anything. What do they ever talk about? How they shouldn't be together. I doubt he even knows her favorite color. Because, I mean, he never really lets her talk. He abandons her, but then even keeps her from moving on. He is the one deciding what is best for her; she has no say. When they get together, when they have sex, even when she becomes a vampire--these are all decided by him. It's disgusting.

But it's not like she has much going for her anyway.

Meyer tries to make Bella a sort of feminist--what, since she's not "pretty" and so introspective. But all she really seems concerned about is being a year older than her ageless boyfriend before they hit the sack. Really? That's what's eating her up inside? Not that, say, she has an affinity for attracting mystical creatures, or that her boyfriend wanted to kill her when they first met, or that her in-laws almost ate her. Nope, she's just some shallow teenage girl. And it's probably a good thing that Edward can't read her thoughts because I'm pretty sure even he'd be running for cover, terrified by how insipid, dim-witted, shallow-minded, and obsessive-compulsive his forever-love is. I mean, she's the one who becomes attracted to him when she realizes he is physically repulsed by her; she's one who goes from almost kissing the wolf-boy to running off to Europe (without telling her parents) to save her ex who left her to die in the woods; she's the one who jumps off cliffs when things don't go her way; she's the one who makes out with her wolf-boy in front of her lover-boy and only sorts through her feelings for both when, conveniently, she has a baby girl said-wolf-boy can mate with, thus solving her "perfect family" worries.

It's messed up, people.

So why do I spend so much time talking about Twilight? In my defense, it comes up when the movies come up. And they won't die. I mean, I thought this was the last one. No, it's the first part of the last one (further proof that they wish they were as cool as Harry Potter. Fact: they will never be). So there's still a whole other year before even the POSSIBILITY of Twilight fading from the human consciousness begins to happen. So I rant, I rave, and I mock. Because, okay, it's hilarious stuff (and I heard this fourth film is the funniest, so...it's got that going for it). But since this is a book blog, and since I haven't had time to read recently, I thought I'd post an old review of the Twilight series. Because it's pretty epic. And I want to spread the word in any way possible. Maybe bring a few twi-hards back to sanity.
If only.

But, without further adieu, I give you...

"Twilight, Or When Women Stepped Back A Few Hundred Years."

You know what I can't understand? How ANY of this is attractive or exciting. It's just not healthy. These are trashy novels--not as in dirty or grimy, but as in they literally belong in the trash. They're severely sexist, bordering on misogynistic; they're poorly written, relying on repetitive adjectives like "alabaster"; they offer nothing good yet purport themselves as clean and empowering when it's actually all completely irrelevant. I feel my brain cells dying when I read (or watch...moreYou know what I can't understand? How ANY of this is attractive or exciting. It's just not healthy. These are trashy novels--as in they literally belong in the trash. They're severely sexist, bordering on misogynistic; they're poorly written, relying on repetitive adjectives like "alabaster"; they offer nothing good yet purport themselves as clean and empowering when it's actually all completely irrelevant. I feel my brain cells dying when I read (or watch) any Twilight. So what business do I have here? Why did I bother. Because...it was hilarious. Depressing, sure, but hilarious. Mostly because people take it so seriously. And the fact that 14-year-old girls bond with their 40-year-old mothers over this. Isn't that reason to give pause?

I read somewhere that Edward can't read Bella's thoughts because she doesn't have any. It's something I can believe. Her motivations make no sense, her logic is nonexistent. Who she is as a person...I find myself wanting to reach into the pages and choke her out. I mean, come on--anyone actually attracted to a bloodsucking vampire just because he is, in fact, a vampire obviously has mental problems, or at least some major daddy issues. And then, at the same time, she falls inexplicably for the werewolf with anger management issues who is the exact opposite of her "soul mate." But she literally only lives to please them, turning in circles because she can't decide how to make both of them happy. She needs thrown into a Women's Studies class ASAP.

It's not like she needs to be a feminist. I understand she's a stupid, starry-eyed teenager in love. That's fine. JUST STOP HAVING HER MAKE LIFE-ALTERING DECISIONS. She is self-centered and stupid. She pretends she isn't but she is. Her friends are background noise, her parents are worse. She disrespects everyone, including herself. She sees Edward as a god--literally calling him one about 5,000 times (I could make a drinking game out of it). So she gives herself wholly over to him, regardless of what everyone/anyone else in her life would say. And then, amidst all that, she decides that yes, indeed, she's ready to risk her soul just to do it with some cold vampire. 

It's uncomfortable how much she's given herself up. As I heard one girl put it, any series that climaxes with a girl waking up bruised and battered but assures her husband over and over again that it's fine, that she understands, that it's not his fault, that she asked for it, that she loves him--it's just not healthy. It's irresponsible for anyone to purport this as any sort of ideal, perfect, fantastic relationship. It's abuse. Physical, mental, emotional. And I'm not even kidding.

Edward is overprotective, controlling, smothering. I don't care how chiseled his abs are, just how perfect he is with his "translucent" skin. There is no explanation behind their relationship beyond the sexually charged and blood-sucking-fueled tension between them. Off the page, they don't make sense together. Scratch that: even on the page, they don't make sense. There is no chemistry. Unless you call him wanting to lock her in a cage and eat her alive chemistry.

Really, everyone complains about not knowing what Bella's thinking. I'd really be interested in the vampire's inner monologue. It can't be pretty.

And then Jacob? I've never understood this whole two-polar-opposites-love-triangle-thing. What can they both see in Bella? And what does Bella possibly see in either of them? He's a dog. Literally, figuratively, all of the above. He gets a high off of pushing her around, demanding things from her until she gives in. And then he imprints. On her newborn. Even the word sounds dirty. Imprinting. On a baby. Meaning he's found his soulmate, the one he'll magically love forever, no matter what. While she's just clawed her way out of his girlfriend's womb. Now, what's really interesting here is that it seems that, even though imprinting is a magical wolf thing, these girls just go along with it. They have no choice; they've been chosen. So...yet another woman loses her identity to a man she's inexplicably paired to. Like mother, like daughter.

But that would be an interesting conversation: in the mere days it takes for this special child to grow up into a beautiful, poised, perfect little whatever-thing who will actually never live (seeing as she had no childhood and she has no future). Can't you just see them, maybe holding hands as they rip a bear gracefully apart? "Mother, I'm getting married." "It's about time, darling. You're getting old." "Don't you want to know who to?" "Oh, but everyone already knows. To your babysitter, Jacob. You know, I almost married him once. We even made out. He was in love with me for three years." "But...that's longer than I've even been alive." "I know! Isn't it wonderful?"

But, hey, that doesn't matter right? I can't insult what isn't actually discussed. And, hopefully, Twilight 2: Renesmee's Story never hits the shelves. I think even Meyer realizes she painted herself into a corner with that one.

The point is, this series is weak. It's based on a middle-aged woman's fantasies. And it's obvious she's been sheltered her whole life (though you can watch her TV interviews to figure that one out). Frankly, though, it scares me how obsessive people get over it. I feel like I'm caught in a literary Josie and the Pussy Cats where there's some message brainwashing everyone but I'm missing out on hearing it. The hype just doesn't make sense and it's terrifying that this, this is the book that will define this decade, this generation.

Remember Harry Potter? How love was never lust but something that could literally save lives? How you didn't have to be beautiful to be awesome (Hermione, Neville, Ginny, etc.)? How even when a boyfriend dumps you, you carry on instead of just, say, jumping off a cliff? 

But maybe that's my problem: I'm such a dyed-in-the-wool HP girl, I can't even pretend to understand the Twi-hards. And I hate that name. And I hate that they embrace it. If I had a choice, my nickname for them would be Twits. It's more true to life, right?

Seriously, though. I think I'm going to start telling people puppies die when they say "Twilight" and "good" in the same sentence.

Unless the sentence is "Twilight is a good piece of crap." But even that can be misleading.

Review, No. 4

The Forgotten Garden is a sprawling narrative transcending traditional time barriers. It follows three women at the same time—Eliza, from the very-late 1800s to the truly-early1900s; Nell during the mid-to-late 1900s; and Cassandra in the current day. The plot itself is concerned with solving Nell's identity, yet the crucial character is Eliza, who has all the answers, and then it is Cassandra who is piecing it all together. The author, Kate Morton, starts the tangled affair brightly enough. Though the mystery is slightly contrived, it seems interesting, with narration dancing between each characters' time. But then it gets muddled and unnecessarily complicated, with too many characters interrupting the already-struggling action. The plot becomes tired and the answers obvious and, by the end of it, you wonder why it mattered at all.

Worst of all was the amount of characters that didn't matter—acquaintances that were crucial for only a page yet kept popping up, or those that didn't matter at all yet wouldn't leave the narrative alone. There were implications never answered, allusions never met, assumptions never justified. Most of the characters made no sense at all—the aunt, the brother of Eliza, the emphasis put in the beginning on "the bad man" that never came up again; the doctor, most of the servants, and then that convenient romance between the gardener and Cassandra. There were dozens of stock characters you were expected to keep track of that never actually played any important part. And then the characters and their actions never seemed to match up. Relationships fell apart too easily and started up too quickly; characteristics changed drastically and inexplicably. And the garden itself as a character was too cliche. Morton seemed determined, desperate to make it the heart of the story. Only she failed. It had no magic; it was just a setting. The one twist I cared about was the creepy uncle, and that went absolutely nowhere.

The novel was thick in every sense of the word: it was long, often dragging, sometimes pretentious, with weighty topics too easily ignored or quickly shrugged away. Morton tried so hard to develop her characters thoroughly and that meant years—chapters—trudging through random experiences that never amount to anything. It was entertaining early on, yet the answers came on too easily and suddenly and…unimportantly so that, by the end, I wasn’t only disappointed, I was bored. It all became too trite: the fairytales, the trinkets, the seascape and detailed landscapes. It is looking back that you realize what a waste most of the novel is. Morton was too concerned with romanticizing the plot, hoping to capture us in vivid detail and sweeping vistas. The entire story suffered because of it. It straggled, dragging the weight of its own unimportance with it.

It struggled to be grandiose but fell flat by the end. And the more I think about it, the less worth-it it becomes. Yet there were moments. I'll give it 2/5.

Review, No. 3

Gregory is famous for historical fiction, especially of the Elizabethan period. Here she tells the story of the fictional Hannah, the Holy Fool of the English court, used as a spy, caught between Queen Mary and Princess Elizabeth. She weaves an intriguing tale of fact and fiction and her characters all come alive in a very believable way. Even with the already-widely reported stories of Mary (aka Bloody Mary) and Elizabeth (aka the greatest queen probably ever), Gregory manages to avoid stereotypes. If anything, she makes us question what prejudice we brought to the table. Through the transparent plot (Hannah, a secret/illegal jew, caught between two lovers), we are asked to sympathize rather than judge, question rather than condemn. There is no right or wrong, good or bad; we are as helpless as Hannah when it comes to picking sides. It is almost as if Gregory merely hopes to represent history, using Hannah as an excuse to write a double-biography.

The novel spans years and I came to care less and less about what Hannah had to say, or how she would live her life, or if she would ever get over herself and love her betrothed. She--the narrator--got in the way of an intriguing interpretation of two very different princesses. The real story is in Gregory's interesting play on history, with Mary as a faithful victim and Elizabeth as a heartless slut. Honestly, beside the historical events of Queen Mary's reign and the possibly-manipulated moments of Elizabeth's...flirtatious rise, there was no plot. Anything in Hannah's life just distracted and detracted. Especially her infuriating infatuation with a sleazy "lord" and her cliche concerns about faith vs. religion.

Honestly, it failed to impress; it was just...there. So I guess I'll give it 2/5. 

For fair warning, there are some...mature parts--mostly of crude men groping willing women--but they are few and far between. As is anything truly interesting. So, it was neither disappointing nor exactly extraordinary. And that's that. 

Review, No. 2

Truth be told, I finished this book back in January. I wrote a review for it then but, for some reason, I never posted it. Actually, there are a few of those. So here they come in a wild stream meant to make me look like an overtly voracious reader.

Ian McEwan's acclaimed novel takes place in London, starting in-between the two World Wars where a poor young man and a wealthy young woman fall in love only to be torn apart by a little girl's lie that she spends her whole life trying to make right.

I picked up this book because I thought the movie looked gorgeous. I never saw it, but just the richness and the texture, that vibrancy. And I can never say no to a pretty book. Unfortunately, I was quickly disappointed.

I knew how it would end; I went in knowing. I was actually looking forward to the shock, the beautiful wrap-up meant to be true to its name. But it was never there. The romance didn't seem real at the end. There was too much anger, obvious resentment—justifiable, sure, but isn't love meant to transcend those emotions? And I just never saw it. Robbie's narrative was the best, and I wish I could have seen more of Cecilia's, but the characters were mostly unlikeable. No, they were inaccessible. I wasn't made to care; there was too much time spent on the obscene, the coarse. I knew it wouldn't be a flowery love story, but I thought there'd be that lavish, forbidden, impossible love affair that had you crying at the end. I suppose I wanted too much. The idea was there. It could have been beautiful, but I think I just disagree with the author's methods. His love seemed vile and tainted, even caustic at times.

Besides, it is mean to be about atoning for a mistake, and yet the narrator is more possessed with redeeming herself, not those hurt by her. That was worst of all.

I don't think I'll rate it, because I would never recommend it.

Review, No. 1

You should know, I read a book yesterday. And I would have done the guessing game with it, only I already knew the plot. It seemed an unfair advantage. Still, I figured there's no sense in wasting my impressive critiquing skills. So here's a good ole traditional review.

Lindner's breakout novel is a modern retelling of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. It's well-written and often intriguing, reading like a juicy expose, a subtle mystery. But I suppose knowing the ending just spoiled the fun.

It was too honest an interpretation. In following the original so closely, the text becomes incongruous and, well, silly to the setting. Jane herself seems especially inexplicable--her decisions seem more necessary than natural, as in the original book dictated them, no explanation needed. It started off exciting. I was actually thrilled by the first 100 or so pages--a nanny and a rockstar? Beautiful. But a lot of the plot seems forced and illogical in the modern setting. Actually, it's the self-loathing and melancholic introspection of the title character that drags it down. She was forgettable as a character; I'd rather more focus on Nico or the daughter or even...well, no spoilers here.

For the most part, though, it held my attention. It was moments of magic followed by lulls of indifference. I was most excited for the reveal and the conclusion, but both moments were the most anti-climatical. And the love scene. Lindner goes from coy to blunt. It's never graphic, but almost aggressive in its attempt at "reality." Really, its strength was the writing. It was fast paced and enticing, definitely a shallow summer read. Once you try looking for something of value or any sense of depth, that's when everything falls apart. Truly, I liked the book much more just reading it than I did sitting down to critique it. It really is a weak novel well-disguised by a quick pace and a fresh voice.

Take it for what you will, but I give it 2/5.