In a concerted effort to complete this Twilight project before I must return my copy to Borders (or risk paying for it. God. No.) today's post covers the next four chapters. I hesitate to admit that the generally readability has increased with the acceleration of teasing romance. But this comes as further insult. Bella and Edward trade awkward banter while deviating heavily from their established characterization thus far. Body language is dominated by soggy descriptive contrivances centering on Edward's forehead; where he looks, how he frowns and what shade of caramel ripple his eyes are today. Essentially, this could represent the blossoming of true self in their shared moments, but I doubt that as much as I do BP's overall success in stopping the wholesale pollution of the ocean.
Bella and Edward start dating. This is an easy statement to make, but not so simple for Stephanie Meyer to write. Every attempt our lovers make at developing a shared understanding of each other is hijacked by neuroses. As if Bella weren't paranoid enough, Edward brings a litany of dangers to the table for her to be mindful of but must press Edward to explain. Unhelpfully, he pops each new horrific revelation about his vampirism up in the worst way imaginable without actually latching onto her throat. Despite his aching fear of hurting her, Edward seems to revel in his wicked if desultory details. It's like the bad boy who offers popcorn to his girlfriend at the movies, having secretly poked his penis through the bottom of the box. I can imagine Edward snickering when Bella grabs a handful of vampirecock and shrieks, glaring hotly when he points at her face and yells, “Gotcha!”
To sum up four chapters of dragging exposition, Edward has a mad, blood-fueled lust for Bella's brand of hemoglobin. In fact, he calls her his kind of heroin, which I cannot say is anything less than shit terrifying. The siren call of her pulmonary squeezins drove him nucking futz since she moved into his town. Edward admits to bailing off-screen, lighting off to Alaska only to decide he's not a pussy and come back to face his desire, divide his vampire family, and date the battiest bitch in Forks. Nice move, dick.
Bella finds a curious strength in the face of all this that I can only assume is her backwards mental programming suffering a fatal error and crashing her entire nervous system. Coasting in safe mode, Bella calmly weathers each and every one of Edward's emo-paroxysms and tempter tantrums. In her few opportunities to be away from him, she proceeds along the familiar tropes of losing her shit over tiny things and analyzing Edward, her father, her friends, and Jacob (given too brief a scene to preserve anything else but a place in the sequel,) and their motivations so furiously she must drug herself with cold medicine in order to sleep.
Yes, that just happened.
Our last chapter opens with the revelation of the oft-mocked "sparkle vampire" effect, accelerates with a display of Edward's strength, speed and
assholishness as he taunts Bella with how helpless she is against him, and culminates with their first kiss. It is by no means epic, save for the fact Bella's babymaker kick starts and initiates the molesting sequence and Edward is forced to stop her.
I hate this book. Perhaps, if it were a darkly romantic cautionary tale about the dangers of impressionable girls being seduced by mysterious, emotional and manipulative men, the latter represented metaphorically by the vampire concept, I might get be able to enjoy the sadistic resonance and ignore the crimes against narrative storytelling. But it isn't, and I can't. Edward is as seductive as a barnacle, reminding me too much of the bi-polar boy who confessed his devout adoration and proceeded to suck the life out me for for five years of marriage.
The same excitement I feel for the completion of my divorce rivals that of reaching the end of Twilight.
LOL... "seductive as a barnacle"... that is perfect.
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