I am not going to pretend that I don’t sometimes get kind of worked up about Twilight.
Yes, it is sometimes silly. It’s something that I get to do with my girlfriends. I may not truly care, deep down, that Bella is a complete and total idiot for choosing Edward when Jacob was right there the whole time!!! Or you know, I might. However, when New Moon came into the theaters, two of my girlfriends and I went to see it and had ourselves a fabulous time. Tonight I’m going to a party at my best-friend-since-middle-school’s house to watch it again with 8-10 other ladies. Next weekend Queen B is having a sleepover at her house to watch it again.
By next Saturday I will have yelled ‘hi honey’ at a television screen roughly a bajillion times (because that’s what I yell when Jacob shows up), I will have oooed and ahhed and laughed at hilariously inappropriate vampire sex jokes, and I will be able to quote most of the movie by heart. I can’t wait.
HOWEVER. My Twilight besties – ALauraBorealis in particular, but Kim, Crockett’s mom, and most of the women who will be at the party tonight too – have started to fill the printed word Twilight void with the Outlander series.
Outlander is about a woman named Claire who inadvertently travels from 1943 to 1745 in Scotland by falling through some magical druid stone configuration thingy. It’s the first in what is currently a series of 9 books written by Diana Gabaldon. Claire has Frank in 1943 and Jamie in 1745, and Claire has lots and lots of sex. LOTS of sex. If you, like my lady friends, were frustrated by how little sex there was in the Twilight series, this is seriously the book for you. Witness:
I was lame and sore in every muscle when I woke next morning. I shuffled to the privy closet, then to the wash basin. My innards felt like churned butter. It felt as though I had been beaten with a blunt object, I reflected, then thought that that was very near the truth. The blunt object in question was visible as I came back to bed, looking now relatively harmless. Its possessor [Jamie] woke as I sat next to him, and examined me with something that looked very much like male smugness.”
I hate it. I seriously, truly, hate it. I haven’t finished the first book yet, and I have no intention of trying to get any further. I swing back and forth between being bored and being disgusted, since the sex is fully consensual at most half the time. I like Claire about as much as I like Bella, although for different reasons. I hate Bella because when I was 17, I was like that. I think most 17 year old girls were. Boys were tantamount and could bring the end of the world with a nasty look, and if I could yell at 17 year old Emma I would – I can’t so I yell at Bella instead. I hate Claire because she’s 26 and married and insanely, psychotically selfish and self involved. She almost gets people killed 1in 1743 because she thinks she knows best. She has a very ‘ho hum’ attitude about the fact that she disappeared from under her 1945 husband’s feet and he probably, you know, wonders where she is. When Jamie beats the crap out of her (yeah, that happens) she objects but for reasons that make me want to pull my hair out.
Dear Diana Gabaldon,
I know you don’t need me as a fan. You have your own wiki, for heaven’s sake. I know that you have a PhD and I don’t (yet). I know that women the world over want to be your best friend.
I don’t. I’m sorry, I just don’t. I don’t like Claire, I don’t like Frank, and I’m not a huge fan of Jamie. I prefer Twilight, Bella’s whining and all.
I would tell this to the 700 girlfriends of mine that recommended you instead of you, but I’m worried they would lynch me.