Author: Stephenie Meyer
563 pages • £12.99
This is the story of a teenage girl who gets her heart broken by a vampire.
Can we review it without mentioning the “B” word? Can we buggery. Because if you’ve seen so much as a millisecond of Buffy’s second season, you’ve already read this book. Hell, if you’ve so much as breathed in and out, you’ve already read this book. It’s that obvious; that derivative. And it’s such a slushy pile of emo angst it needs putting on Prozac.
The sequel to Twilight sees Bella dumped by vampire squeeze Edward and then falling in with young hunk Jacob – who, in a plot twist so clearly signposted you want to smack Bella for not figuring it out, turns out to have his own supernatural secret. The plot’s not really the thing, though, because the whole book rests on sulky Bella’s shoulders as she pines for Edward, cries for Edward. Then pines some more…
In the hands of a writer with more sparkle, we could feel for her. Alas, the only sparkle here comes from the dust jacket’s silver lettering.