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Twilight (Sorry for cursing)
KickThatBathProf:
"Ten"?
Inlander:
I'm starting to feel like the backlash is more tedious than the films and books could possibly be.
scarred:
Read the first chapter!
If you dare.
--- Quote from: excerpt of the excerpt ---I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at -- I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.
It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.
I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket -- which had the feel of a biohazard suit -- and headed out into the rain.
It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.
Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.
Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?
I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.
The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.
"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.
--- End quote ---
Ikrik:
I'll one up you, I'm reading Breaking Dawn. I have never read any of the others, I've just seen the movies. I saw it on the ferry and my girlfriend ended up buying it for me, making a big deal about how she wasn't allowing me to put it in her purse for any reason. This is easily the most hilariously horrible book I have ever read, ever. Meyer is possibly the worst writer to have sold so many books. It isn't just that her characters are bad, or that her writing is horrible, or that she's incredibly unimaginative, it's that her books have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I've heard book critics call the Twilight saga a "masturbatory aid." I have never agreed with a critic more.
But. The book is insanely lulzworthy. Seriously. Borrow Breaking Dawn from someone you know who has it. It's an incredibly easy read, obviously, and it is hilarious. She's had sex twice now and the act was COMPLETELY skipped over. I had to read the three pages preceding the moment I realized they first had sex an incredible amount of sex. There's not even like a "and then he threw me on the bed." Or whatever. It's like, they're talking and then all the sudden she's covered in a billion bruises and he's all like "we're never having sex again....ever....*sulk*" I'm at the part where she's pregnant and it's only been like 16 days and she can feel the baby kicking and stuff.....She is SO ecstatic over it, the girl couldn't be more happy over it.....and, of course, Edward doesn't want to keep it.
--- Quote ---He leaned away and looked me in the eye. "We're going to get that thing out before it can hurt any part of you. Don't be scared. I won't let it hurt you
"That thing?" I gasped.
He looked sharply away from me, toward the front door. "Dammit! I forgot Gustavo was due today. I'll get rid of him and be right back." He darted out of the room.
I clutched the counter for support. My knees were wobbly.
Edward had just called my little nudger a thing He said Carlisle would get it out.
"No," I whispered.
I'd gotten it wrong before. He didn't care about the baby at all. He wanted to hurt him. The beautiful picture in my head shifted abruptly, changed into something dark. My pretty baby crying, my weak arms not enough to protect him...
--- End quote ---
She also has some of the worst metaphors in the world. I'd give an example but I don't really feel up for finding one. I might compile some more while I'm reading and throw them up here.
Meyer also really sucks at showing time passing. To describe how fast (I guess) Edward is, the quote is almost literally "he was back before I could take two hundred breathes." Now, my girlfriend and I figured that if it takes about 2 seconds to breathe in and out that would have taken Edward *sparkle* around 300-400 seconds to do whatever it is he was doing. That's over 5 minutes. That's not that fast. And Edward *sparkle* has been frequently described as super-duper fast.
Oh, and for everyone who's reading the books, Bella is meant to be really, really smart. She was in an advanced program before she moved to Forks. There is no evidence in any of the books to support this so-called intelligence.
Zingoleb:
Well, how can you write about someone that is smarter than your own self?
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