So, I have a confession to make. I read Twilight. And I liked it. A lot.
Still, I read a 500 plus page book in three days, in between making 3 squares a day, buying groceries, farting around on Facebook, chasing the girls, having playdates, doing hair, and the like. I read a 500 plus page book in three days instead of studying for my A&P exam which I have this morning on 3 chapters. And let’s not forget, each of those 3 chapters are at least as the entire Twilight series put together. Oh how I loathe the lymphatic system, the immune system and the respiratory system with all of their intricate multi-syllabic parts!
In any event, I read the book and have the others in a brown paper bag hidden under my desk. When my friend gave them to me, I told her, “Oh, I probably won’t get to these until my spring break in March.” Now, I’m really thinking of letting DH take it work with him until the break rolls around. I find that I get like this with a series of books. If it turns out I like them, then I have to read them in order until it’s done. Kind of like eating Lay’s Potato Chips, you know? I all but inhaled Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series after reading Seven Up. I stalked that series at every library in Norfolk! I ordered the last two installments of Marek Halter’s women of the Bible series, even though they’d have popped up at the library. . .eventually. I ate up the Mommy Track Mysteries after LibbY put me onto those. And Jodi Picoult? Have you read my Sister’s Keeper? C’mon!
At the same time, I have this thing where I try to be all anti-popular book, a sort of quasi Angela Davis of bibliophiles. I refuse to read anything that the masses are raving about (haven’t read Nineteen Minutes) .
Then when those things have become all but a distant memory in the public conscious, I pick it up and discover, “Man! I should have read this a long time ago instead of suffering through Towelhead/Witching Hour/Elegy for Iris et cetera, et cetera. Exhibit A: Harry Potter. Crushed all of them in a matter of weeks. I was a woman possessed and I know DH was considering cutting up my library card. Exhibit B: Twilight. But the rub is, I think I like it, but I think I don’t like it either. I mean, it’s . . .a romance. A very, saccharine romance. Every other paragraph described Edward Cullen as “god-like”, “angelic”, “model-like”, and “perfection”. I got it. He’s beyond gorgeous. Stop beating me about the head with it. And while the book didn’t have heaving bosoms and ripped bodices a la the harlequin romances I would find at my grandma’s — you know, the ones with Fabio on the cover — it’s a romance none the less. *blech*
Chick Lit and romances — definitely not my thing. Sorry Sophie Kinsella, Jennifer Weiner,and Helen Fielding. Give me action adventure, give me mystery, give me funny! Give me David Sedaris! Give me Dennis Lehane! Give me Amy Tan! And yet, a small whisper says, give me Edward Cullen, too. . .
but only after I’ve finished my schoolwork!
