Tch, alright. So once upon a time, before I even knew what the Twilight series was before it was even big—my friend had left the first three books at my house since she told me that I had to check them out. I was in the middle of a couple of other books, so I said “whatever”.
However, I don’t like holding on to people’s stuff that isn’t mine, so when I got those books out of the way, I picked up the first book. Most of it was me going, “ugh—oh God, this writing’s horrible—wha… no… she seriously said that?” Yeah. It was a tough read for me, but then my second downfall came into play—I don’t like to start things and never finish them.
So I picked up the second book, convinced that it couldn’t be as shitty as the first because the first was likely just build-up for something epic.
How wrong I was.
The second book was, in fact, several times worse than the first.
And following suit, the third, while not as bad as the second, was a steaming pile of shit.
So there were the three books in my house—you’d think that the pain would be over at this point, right?
WRONG.
Just after I’d finished the third book, my friend’s birthday came up— and what did I get her? The fourth and final book of the series D:
It basically went like this:
“Happy birthday!”
“OMG, thanks so much!”
“*yoink!* I’ll be borrowing that. Have it back to you soon”!
So, like a motorist staring at a car wreck, I read through the fourth book of this infernal series—without spoiling it for anyone else who reads this, this thing sucked more and more and more throughout its entirety, until it reached its climax—the worst frigging fight in the history of a book. EVER. I haven’t found anything yet that sucks worse. It was paiiiiinful.
So. Next time someone tells me that I really need to read some young adult fiction since it’s so hip, trendy and awesome… I’ll likely just hit them.
–case p.
