I love literature. I love literature of all kinds–novels, novellas, and short stories; histories, dramas, and essays; epics and sagas; poetry and prose; fiction and non-fiction. I’m convinced that among all possible human activities, few are more rewarding or enriching than reading. This made sitting down to explain my profound hatred for what arguably constitutes a literary work something of a challenge. As someone capable of finding positive qualities in nearly any piece, I felt the need to clearly explain my conviction that Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight saga is irredeemable.
I began writing. Two hours and two thousand words later, my catalogue of Ms. Meyer’s loathsomeness and ineptitude was only half complete. I realized that I had far exceeded the scope of my original goal and likely the interest of my audience; I had produced a piece of literary critique that, with the possible exception of editors and scholars, would appeal to few readers. So rather than a detailed compilation of Ms. Meyer‘s failures, I instead offer you a simple plea.
Don’t buy the Twilight saga. Don’t read it. Don’t see the films based upon it. If you feel you must read it, and you have my condolences if you do, steal it or check it out at your local library. Make certain no one sees you. If you feel you must see the films, and I fear for your soul if you do, get them from Netflix or wait for them to hit your pay-cable channel of choice. Watch them alone; make certain no one hears you.
Whatever you do, above all else, don’t pay for them. Don’t subsidize Ms. Meyer’s empire of mediocrity. Don’t support the production of work that is derivative and insipid. Don’t enable her to add to an already magnitudinous stockpile of clichéd situations, unimaginative tropes, and brutally stupid and uninspired characters.
Don’t help her replace the sublime with the profane. Please. Don’t.
