Let me start with a disclaimer. I hate “Twilight”. I like to think this is an informed opinion, since I read all of the books in one sitting one weekend when our wi-fi was down. I teeter back and forth between mocking Stephanie Meyer and trying to figure out her formula for all those dolla dolla bills, ya’ll.
The book is rife with abusive themes, creepy stalker moments, nonconsensual kissing, boring prose, and heavy handed anti-sex, anti-choice messages, which pretty much sums up the opposite of what I want my daughter to absorb. Especially boring prose.
Still, I will let her read it—nay, encourage her to read it!–if she so desires.
My daughter is at that age. The age where “The Wheels on The Bus” and Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! no longer appeal, and I’ve been woefully unprepared.
She’s begun to like a lot of stuff I don’t necessarily approve of: pop music with suggestive lyrics that she doesn’t quite understand, crappy shows like Winx Club, and chapter book series that can only be described as inane considering that they revolve around either the entire thesaurus entry for “fart” or magical wish granting kittens.
I stepped into Justice for the first time ever and almost had a sequin-induced seizure from the way the lights hit a rhinestone emblazoned peace sign dress. Certainly, the One Direction techno-club-house remix radio edit didn’t help.