Twilight by Stephenie Meyer is pure collective genius.
Rarely do authors tap so perfectly into the universal mush and puerile yearnings of teenage girls worldwide. Rarely is an author so successful in satisfying the wish-fulfillment fantasies of parents for a gentleman-suitor for their daughters. Rarely does a publishing house’s marketing arm bring these escapist sentiments so loudly to light—that even crabby adults who have no business reading YA fiction (because they’re crabby adults) would become curious enough to read their kids’ fiction.
Where else but in this over-hyped YA could I find my long-lost Sleeping Beauty, revive my innate Juan Tamad*, and neutralize my healthy dose of reality. I am back once again to dreaming of knights in shining armor, with me the damsel in distress…
But darn it, I can’t believe it!
I must read this through until the end!
*Proverbial lazy guy, who waits for things to happen instead of reaching out for them. in this context, it means ‘I am a damsel in distress waiting for the prince.’ Yuck!