There's No Such Thing as Edward and Bella

I just finished reading that book. My initial reaction--before being swayed by all the vicious reviews, was that it was clever and witty. [My favourite part was the titles of the 'Jacob' chapters, specifically, “What do I look Like? The Wizard of Oz? You need a brain? You need a heart? Go ahead. Take mine. Take everything I have.” I wish I’d thought of that.]


But I didn’t think of it, and I haven't written a best-selling series, and to make myself feel better about my own mediocrity, I criticised the main characters’ extreme implausibility. No, not their everlasting youth and beauty—I’m convinced that immortality really is possible, and beauty to boot. Rather, I found myself gagging at the bliss of it all—a ga-ga plot line which, in my opinion, was a bit far-fetched.


So the perfect Edward can't read Bella's steel-trap mind. Big deal.

Guess what? Poor Kyle can’t read my mind, either. Which is why we have conversations like this:

PK: That’s a nice sunset.

Me: Yeah, it's beautiful.

PK: …

Me: He's being so quiet. Maybe he’s remembering how much I love sunsets in Arizona. He probably doesn’t want to say anything about it because he thinks it will make me miss home—he doesn’t want to upset me. How sweet. Or maybe he’s not saying anything because he thinks I whine about home too much, and he can’t stomach another word about Arizona. What a jerk. I mean, I moved all the way to Canada just to be with this guy, and he can’t even call his lawyer to set up an appointment to get my immigration paperwork finished and sent off, so it’s not MY fault I can’t go to school yet, or get a job. And okay, I COULD be teaching piano lessons, but I just haven’t had time to print out a flyer for it yet, even though I actually do very little all day, as people seem to think. Nevermind that the house is not very clean—I’ve started making the bed, at least. And our printer’s out of ink anyway. Next time I go back to Arizona and people ask me, “How’s married life?” I’m going to tell them it’s totally overrated for a nag like me.

PK: Wouldn’t it be cool if we could stack eight flatbeds on top of one goose-neck trailer, tow it behind this big white Ford™, and hook up all the lights to work?
Me: I suppose you'd like me to get right on that, wouldn’t you? You’re a real piece of work, you know that?

PK: Huh?

Baffling, isn't it? The way my mind works, bouncing from one absurd conclusion to the next. By the end of our trip to North Dakota, I'd done two things: finished reading "Breaking Dawn" by Stephenie Meyer, and realised that Poor Kyle has never loved me at all.