Whoo hoo! Just one more day, and I’ll be making my 100th post and doing a giveaway. I’m making apple butter as I type… I just had a warm apple and peanut butter sandwich. Yum, yum. Organic apples, organic sugar… and processed with lots of love. Come by on Saturday and leave a comment on that post for a chance to win a jar of apple butter!
One of the folks who stopped by recently (Kana – Hi Kana! You should check out her blog, I love her writing style) describes herself as a “book-dragon, because bookworm doesn’t cover it.” I heart this description so much I can’t even begin to express it.
Book dragon. What a perfect way to describe how I devour books. I tear through them and sink my teeth into them with little provocation. (I read Name of the Wind in 48 hours and laughed when I read the review that said it wasn’t weekend reading.) Some books become old friends and I read them 8 or 20 times until I dream their plots and have to wait for a while to turn the page to a surprise again. Of course, the best books continue to surprise me, because I didn’t notice that the clue was right there all the time or a secondary character suddenly has a much larger role than I ever realized.
Some books, though… oh dear. Some books become the object of my fiery wrath and I tear into them mercilessly, eviscerating the plot and rending characters. Sadly, this often seems to be with books that other people love. Those people call me overly picky. I call myself discerning.
For a little while I tried to keep a book review site, but the rate at which I read books actually makes it a little difficult to keep up with writing about them.
Anyway. The POINT of this little diatribe was to talk about an article I read recently in one of those women’s magazines. (I go for an allergy shot once a week and it’s a good way to keep my mind off the itching and swelling… ) Apparently, psychologists are seeing a trend that involves Edward. Yes. That one. The one from Twilight. Women are coming in and complaining that they wish their lover was more like him… and it’s sort of an issue. You know. Cause he’s a VAMPIRE. And not real. But that’s beside the point.
Ahem. If you like Twilight, stop reading now. I mean it. I fall squarely in the middle of the Twilight hating camp. The difference between me and most haters is I have read Twilight and I know its weaknesses instead of hating on something that I’ve never cracked open. Oh yes. All four books. I was very bored at the time. This is my excuse.
So please. Stop now. Because I like having readers and I don’t want to offend you. Kay? I’ll write about something fluffy and fun tomorrow.
Are you gone?
Okay… My main beef with Twilight is not that it’s about vampires or even that it’s a piece of poorly written tween twaddle that never should have seen the underside of a printing plate… My problem is control. Edward is an insipid, self-righteous controlling twit who CONTROLS Bella’s behavior… to the point of KIDNAPPING her when he doesn’t want her to hang out with Jacob. Who is, by the way, is a loyal werewolf who wouldn’t let anything hurt her… and who ISN’T a vampire just barely restraining himself from having a Bella Bloody Mary. Ick.
I have lived that. I have seen that. And it is not pretty. It is not romantic. It is not love. And it is awful that such a relationship has taken the world by storm as a romantic love story that should withstand the ages. If I have a little girl who decides to read Twilight, she and I are going to sit down and have a good long talk about what the relationship in those books actually represent.
If someone is going to pick a controlling nutcase, can’t they at least pick Mr. Rochester? At least he’s interesting. And he’s HUMAN. Which ultimately, I’m thinking, counts for a lot. 😉
Okay, diatribe over. What’s your take on romantic relationships in novels? Are there any that you just truly detest?