Thursday, October 8, 2009

For the Love of God, Get Me Some Garlic.

As part of what we'll call a sort of "social experiment," I recently read the first installment of the Twilight series. I didn't know what to expect. I feared being sucked into the vortex of fandom like all of the other fang-bangers who've been salivating over her books. I've heard her compared to J.K. Rowling, to Stephen King. I was afraid I'd have to "come out" as a fan.

Don't worry. If I ever see Stephanie Meyer in person, I'll probably trip her in the street. I'd like to say she needs a thesaurus (I dare you to count how many times she uses "cold" and "perfect" throughout this piece of utter garbage), but she's already so enamoured of adverbs that I'd rather she keep her verbage to whatever minimum she can manage... which would include NOT writing another book. Please.

I won't even go into how much this drivel is really just a giant euphimism for domestic violence, but I will say that she needs to fire her editor(s). I can't bear to imagine one more sentence making millions like, "the crowded Suburban felt really claustrophibic." (JFYI: Cars don't feel.)

Honestly. This book makes Danielle Steele look like Nick Hornby.

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