My husband and children were delighted to learn that I finished the fourth book in Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series, Breaking Dawn. I must confess that I’ve been a woman obsessed since I started the series, and they’re glad to have me back.
It’s been a long time since a book series has gripped me the way that this one has. Case in point, I went to turn on the shower yesterday and got my book all wet because I couldn’t stop reading it to turn on the shower. Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series did this to me, but not even to this degree.
And it’s not only me. I’ve seen people in the Miami airport with their noses buried in the books, the beach in Puerto Rico, and my favorite, two teenaged girls working in a shoe store having a friendly argument about who was going to put down her book and wait on the next customer. Luckily, that customer was me, so I could sympathize, and we ended up in a such a big discussion about the novel that the woman in line behind me–who hadn’t read any of the books–was going to walk right over to the bookstore two doors down and buy Twilight.
These are true stories. It is an epidemic. I’m now impatiently tapping my foot while my friend finishes Twilight so we can go see the movie. If she’s not done by Thursday, I’m going without her.
I’m tapdancing around my review of Breaking Dawn because there’s nothing I can say that won’t reveal something important from the other books. So right now, STOP READING IF YOU HAVEN’T YET READ THE SERIES.
MAJOR SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!!
This was my favorite book in the series. I love fairy tale happy endings. I love that Bella didn’t want to abort Edward’s baby even though it was destroying her from the inside out. I love that she really had to become a vampire or die, because that choice wasn’t sitting well with me when she could have a semi-normal life with Jacob. I love that Jacob imprinted to her daughter so his whole necessity to Bella’s happiness was explained. I love that the vampires and werewolves became allies. I love that just when you thought everything was going to be okay, it wasn’t, but then it was again.
But…I must have a major dark side, because I was looking for some serious bloodshed at the end and I didn’t get it. For a series that was so filled with tension and had so much conflict to fizzle out so gently at the end was unacceptable. The Volturi were portrayed as evil-loving bloodsuckers, and for them to get away at the end without a war was lame. I suppose that left an opening for a sequel, but to me, it felt like Stephanie Meyer wanted to keep it too clean. It just wasn’t the bloodbath it should have been. I know it sounds terrible to say that, but I have to tell the truth.
But in spite of the fizzling out on the last 15 pages, the hundreds before that from the other books were fabulous. I can’t wait to read other Stephanie Meyer books, and I hope to learn a lesson or two from her brand of storytelling so that someday, store employees will risk their jobs to read my books, people will carry my books into the shower, and loved ones will sigh with relief when readers put them down.