fairy tales and hokum

Gag me with a ladle.

I read New Moon.

It’s like she read Wuthering Heights and said, “Gee, those two kids aren’t nearly angsty or psycho enough; what can I do to add to that?”  Also she decided to portray them in a more “romantic” light by adding a thousand and one positive (or purple-prosaic) adjectives to the tale.

And she’s not so good at the subtle paralleling Romeo and Juliet, either.  I always hated that story because the kids were far too impulsive for their own good.  And I had no patience for those who would romanticize them because they die.  What is the point of making a grand romantic gesture when it ends in death?  I fail to understand.

Ugh.

Excuse me while I go throw up.

I started to read Eclipse, but I couldn’t get past her father’s (extremely accurate) Voice of Reason, which she (of course) promptly disregards.

“I don’t think you should dump all your other friends for your boyfriend, Bella,” he said in a stern voice.  ”It’s not nice, and I think your life would be better balanced if you kept some other people in it.  What happened last September…”
I flinched.
“Well,” he said defensively.  ”If you’d had more of a life outside of Edward Cullen, it might not have been like that.”
“It would have been exactly like that,” I muttered.

What.

The.

Hell.

What is wrong with her?  What is wrong with people, that Bella’s life is full of acceptable logic?  What is the draw for these books?

I have to laugh, because otherwise I’d turn all glitter-rage-sparkle-vengeance and smash.

I’ve had a few relationships.  I was even deeply invested in them.  There was one, in fact, that sent me into the spiraling depths of despair that Bella describes.  However, I knew that if I spent time obsessing sulking dwelling on it, I’d turn into a zombie too.

So I threw my time and energy into my friends, various activities, and lots (and lots) of Friends.  (What can I say.  We all have our forms of escapism.)  And hey guess what.  As time went on, I was able to see that he wasn’t the best thing to happen to me, and that I was okay without him, and I was even happy.

I didn’t throw myself into a crutch relationship with another boy.  I didn’t wake my apartment-mates screaming.  I didn’t fall into a catatonic state.  I moved on.

And actually, it’s better this way; I’m infinitely happier (and healthier) with the bf than I was with the ex.  (Yeah, the ex could give Edward lessons in co-dependent psycho emotional-abuse.)

So I have very little patience for her stubbornness and her inability to pull herself out of the moping.  SMeyer tries to make her sound heroic, cast her in a sympathetic light for all her suffering, but it just makes me wish I could reach into the book and throttle her.  I don’t blame any of her “friends” for refusing to speak to her.  (Poor, puny mortals with your normal lives and your average human qualities.)

::stretches for something positive to say::

Jacob is the healthiest of all the characters that she’s written.  (so far; I hear has a weird personality transplant in Eclipse.)  But honey, as the brilliant cleolinda puts it,

(Jacob, give up. Also, any guys somehow reading this: sometimes, girls get fixated on guys, to the point where they’ll drop whatever they’re doing, whoever they’re with, to run to them. Give up on those girls. If they can’t collect themselves and make that choice to stay with you, they’re not ready to treat you with any kind of respect. I’m saying this from an observer’s experience here.)

yeah.  It’s sad but true.  Don’t waste your time.  Somebody worthwhile is bound to notice you; don’t spend your time bashing your head against a brick wall.

also, she ties in WH very well.

[Jacob is] far too good and normal for her. Notice how she can’t even pay attention to him? It’s because she’s exactly like Cathy Earnshaw–she can’t function unless she’s got Heathcliff to bounce her angst off. (Have I ever told you my theory that Wuthering Heights is not romance but actually horror, about two emotional sadomasochists who lay waste to everyone around them, using them as pawns in their own personal war of attrition? Because, I mean… that’s pretty much the whole theory. ~The More You Know~)

It makes me sad fills me with frustrated anger.  The whole mopey “I’m not worth it” angst that Bella has, Edward’s inability to understand how she could believe him when he lied to her face (also the lack of apology and how she just kinda went “oh well I still love you let’s just forget anything bad ever happened” and got annoyed with her dad for being normal and a father)…

::deep breath::

These books are sooo bad!  There’s no concept of adulthood!  It’s written from a teenager’s standpoint, and of course they already know everything, so anyone who could offer a voice of reason is portrayed as distant or helpless in some other way (see: Renee’s childlike view of the world as well as her physical distance, Charlie’s inability to cook as well as his emotional distance, and the blatant portrayal of Billy Black in a wheelchair).

And those who could be adults, even though they are eternally 17-25?  Carlisle and Esme are distant until after confrontation, always about twelve paces back, unable to tell Edward to take a chill pill and stop being such a drama queen, even when he needs a giant (and swift) kick to the pants.  Emmett and Rosalie are perpetually in their own world, apparently stuck at the emotional maturity of their physical age.  The ones who become the usual “adults” in situations are also hobbled: Jasper’s bloodlust, suddenly a huge issue, and Alice’s inability to take charge because she’s a woman.  (Notice how she won’t do anything proactive, only reactive, even though she can see the future.  Jasper’s leaving?  I must comfort.  Edward’s off to kill himself?  I must prevent.  Edward’s scheming to keep Bella captive?  I must assist!)

Augh.  I need to go read some good fiction.

Sherlock Holmes, here I come.