I've perhaps never felt more out of touch culturally than when every magazine and newspaper I picked up over the course of several days last month suddenly had huge features on the ultra-mega phenomenon of Stephenie (not-sic) Meyer's Twilight series. The books were flying off shelves at near-historic rates, her signings were mobbed, stores were holding midnight releases for the latest installment. What? When did all that happen? Don't get me wrong: I loved the delicious irony of a suburban mother nonchalantly having an idea for a vampire novel and it inexplicably turning into the biggest thing in the world, especially while MFA creative writing types simultaneously sat in cafes across the nation talking and moping about writing. There's a degree of purity and justice to that I find irresistible, even if my ignorance of the result proves how disconnected from the zeitgeist I truly am.
Do I care enough to connect? After The Da Vinci Code, alas, probably not. And thanks to Tegan Millspaw, I don't have to. She's reviewed the first volume. Best line: "Call me crazy, but I don't think there's ever been a time in my life where I've wished men were obsessed with the scent of my blood." Oh, and there's also this rule-of-thumb hardly anyone could disagree with:
"As far as rocking her like a father would, that's only sweet when 1. It's REALLY your father and not your boyfriend who is struggling not to devour your blood and 2. you're a little kid. I think I'd find it pretty creepy if my dad picked me up and rocked me like an infant....because, you know. I'm an adult."
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