Twilight

This week I read the whole Twilight series - all four books. I've not bothered with the movie.

YD (who had spent the entire half term week in her room, achieving the same) had begged me to read the story, and had been far, far too bouncy and excitable about it, almost squealy, as if there were dramatic emotions rushing through her little heart that she could not voice except to someone who had 'been there'.

It turns out she skipped through the touchy-feely bits (although they were very discrete, very tactfully worded), as she was not quite ready to accept a detour from the rest of the book, the 'real' action and adventure, as she saw it. Well that's a relief, then.

No, she was all wrapped up in the martyrdom, terror, loving self-sacrifice, uncontrolled fury, heroes and rescues and constant, constant drama. She was totally identifying with the swooning teenage heroine who gets it all, bigger and better than she'd ever imagined, but not before volunteering to go without, to save the day and face nearly certain death again, usually whilst running headlong into an entirely unrelated rescue at the same time.

The "I am not worthy and if I say it loud enough others will rush to correct me and give me everything" masochist Cinderella theme was worryingly predominant, even though the action ran close to Romeo and Juliet. Bella was teary eyed, determined to be the bait on the hook and spent all of the action scenes declaring her willing sacrifice and general lowliness. Predictably she came out best at everything in the whole 'saving the world against all odds' arena and had to blushingly accept effusive hero worship. And awe, can't forget reverential awe.

There was lots of fainting. Lots. And fashion.


Now, where'd I leave that bucket?...