I just don’t get it.
All this unjustified adulation over a sissy read about an immaculate fanged boy’s and a pretty young bitch’s love story is overrated. Okay, so I’m risking myself to an avalanche of hate mails from shrieking teenage girls but the hell I care! Go screw your mother-fuckin’ Twilight tits. LOL! It’s a good thing I’m not from the US as I am aware the ridiculously large fan base is mainly situated in that side of the globe. Also, this blog is only religiously perused by a handful few – me, my friends, and my egotistical, narcissistic alter ego. So I think I’m pretty safe to lambast the novel.
On with the rant, shall we?
What is it that pre-pubescent Eves find in reading a book about a sappy love story whose plot is as lame as the title of the book itself? Have not they had their fill of similar, recycled reads involving the same stupid plot across all media? It’s pretty much a rehash of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, only sprinkled with a bit of vampire action here and there. For me, the only brilliant vampire story churned out that would qualify for much-deserved acclaim is Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire. That one kicked ass, really! But this one? For chrissake, it doesn’t even compare. It’s as trite and banal as perusing over a love story pocketbook in vernacular - yes, that one with orgiastic moans and steaming sex scenes come halfway in the narrative.
Don’t get me wrong. I tried but tried in vain to read Stephanie, err…Stephenie Meyer’s (See, even the correct spelling of the author’s name skips my mind, only shows how repugnant the novel really is; well, at least to this pessimistic blogger’s point of view) overly celebrated book. Curious about why apparently is it getting a lot of raves from shrieking dormitory girls and sentimental mama’s alike, I browsed thru an e-book copy of the novel and boy was I dazed. Was it really dazed? To put it bluntly, I was hallucinating over a verbal barrage of flamboyant sentences that I had to stop reading before I could even go past the denouement. Almost all of the sentences were giving me a headache. This Miss Meyer author, I have come to conclude that she has an odd penchant over adjectives and adverbs and everything polysyllable. Case in point: What I would normally write as “I love you” would have a Meyer translation of “I charmingly adore you with all the throbbing veins in my bivalve coronary organ.”
And I haven’t even started on the characters yet. The female protagonist is portrayed as someone who ogles over a handsome boy-slash-dashing vampire every time they meet. Yes, I know that this Bella girl is smitten by the looks of this beautiful Edward, so can we please move on with the story Miss Meyer? No need to be redundant and reiterate the same observation over and over again. And what-the-fuck, have you ever seen a vampire that does not kill his prey, much less bite at his victim’s neck? I tell you it is too lame and unless you want to reminisce your Sweet Valley High pocketbook romances, then I advise you to chuck the novel right out of your window.
So yes, Virginia, I abhor this overrated Twilight novel and I am disgusted that it is even touted as the next Harry Potter. How dare these tasteless, incorrigible literary swine! It’s not even fit for comparison to begin with. Rowling’s characters has depth and breadth and they breathe a life of their own. They’re only creations of fiction but you’d know they can be real. They’re likeable and you can relate to their fictitious dilemmas. Meyer’s, on the other hand, are too one-dimensional, cardboard box marionettes that certainly would never exist in real life or even be reborn in the next after-lfe. Somebody wise once said that fiction is a mirror of reality, it is an adaptation of what really happens in the genuine society. If this is is the argument, ergo Twilight is not a fiction. Or at it’s worst, a bad adaptation of reality.
This 28th, my company is taking all its call center agents to the cinemas for a treat and guess what we’re watching? You got that right, the screen adaptation of this lackluster Twilight novel. Apparently, our company has caught this Twilight bug and has decided to jump into the bandwagon. Our schedule in Greenbelt happens to be just after our shift and being the nocturnal vampire that I am, I can’t think of a better way to deal with my loving company’s act of generosity than to sleep thru the movie till the credits begin to roll.
Lights, camera…Twilight! Zzzzzzzzzzz….
All this unjustified adulation over a sissy read about an immaculate fanged boy’s and a pretty young bitch’s love story is overrated. Okay, so I’m risking myself to an avalanche of hate mails from shrieking teenage girls but the hell I care! Go screw your mother-fuckin’ Twilight tits. LOL! It’s a good thing I’m not from the US as I am aware the ridiculously large fan base is mainly situated in that side of the globe. Also, this blog is only religiously perused by a handful few – me, my friends, and my egotistical, narcissistic alter ego. So I think I’m pretty safe to lambast the novel.
On with the rant, shall we?
What is it that pre-pubescent Eves find in reading a book about a sappy love story whose plot is as lame as the title of the book itself? Have not they had their fill of similar, recycled reads involving the same stupid plot across all media? It’s pretty much a rehash of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, only sprinkled with a bit of vampire action here and there. For me, the only brilliant vampire story churned out that would qualify for much-deserved acclaim is Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire. That one kicked ass, really! But this one? For chrissake, it doesn’t even compare. It’s as trite and banal as perusing over a love story pocketbook in vernacular - yes, that one with orgiastic moans and steaming sex scenes come halfway in the narrative.
Don’t get me wrong. I tried but tried in vain to read Stephanie, err…Stephenie Meyer’s (See, even the correct spelling of the author’s name skips my mind, only shows how repugnant the novel really is; well, at least to this pessimistic blogger’s point of view) overly celebrated book. Curious about why apparently is it getting a lot of raves from shrieking dormitory girls and sentimental mama’s alike, I browsed thru an e-book copy of the novel and boy was I dazed. Was it really dazed? To put it bluntly, I was hallucinating over a verbal barrage of flamboyant sentences that I had to stop reading before I could even go past the denouement. Almost all of the sentences were giving me a headache. This Miss Meyer author, I have come to conclude that she has an odd penchant over adjectives and adverbs and everything polysyllable. Case in point: What I would normally write as “I love you” would have a Meyer translation of “I charmingly adore you with all the throbbing veins in my bivalve coronary organ.”
And I haven’t even started on the characters yet. The female protagonist is portrayed as someone who ogles over a handsome boy-slash-dashing vampire every time they meet. Yes, I know that this Bella girl is smitten by the looks of this beautiful Edward, so can we please move on with the story Miss Meyer? No need to be redundant and reiterate the same observation over and over again. And what-the-fuck, have you ever seen a vampire that does not kill his prey, much less bite at his victim’s neck? I tell you it is too lame and unless you want to reminisce your Sweet Valley High pocketbook romances, then I advise you to chuck the novel right out of your window.
So yes, Virginia, I abhor this overrated Twilight novel and I am disgusted that it is even touted as the next Harry Potter. How dare these tasteless, incorrigible literary swine! It’s not even fit for comparison to begin with. Rowling’s characters has depth and breadth and they breathe a life of their own. They’re only creations of fiction but you’d know they can be real. They’re likeable and you can relate to their fictitious dilemmas. Meyer’s, on the other hand, are too one-dimensional, cardboard box marionettes that certainly would never exist in real life or even be reborn in the next after-lfe. Somebody wise once said that fiction is a mirror of reality, it is an adaptation of what really happens in the genuine society. If this is is the argument, ergo Twilight is not a fiction. Or at it’s worst, a bad adaptation of reality.
This 28th, my company is taking all its call center agents to the cinemas for a treat and guess what we’re watching? You got that right, the screen adaptation of this lackluster Twilight novel. Apparently, our company has caught this Twilight bug and has decided to jump into the bandwagon. Our schedule in Greenbelt happens to be just after our shift and being the nocturnal vampire that I am, I can’t think of a better way to deal with my loving company’s act of generosity than to sleep thru the movie till the credits begin to roll.
Lights, camera…Twilight! Zzzzzzzzzzz….
