I made very certain before I borrowed this from a friend that “Twilight” wasn’t just a teen chick-lit romance novel. The friend, a guy, assured me that it wasn’t. So I willingly delved into it (I’d already read the first few pages on Amazon.com; I’d also read the scores of reviews that called this as much a suspense novel as a romance).

Well, as it turns out, “Twilight” is just a teen chick-lit romance novel. Whoever called this a “suspense novel” must have been reading a different book. The first three-quarters of the story simply establish the fact that Edward is handsome, and not just handsome, but flawlessly, perfectly, wonderfully handsome (did I mention that he is handsome? It’s repeated ad nauseam) and Bella is hopelessly (and pretty stupidly) in love with him. No plot advancement at all. I got so sick of Bella and Edward as characters; both were so Mary-Sueish it was nauseating. Finally we get around to what I suppose is the “suspense” part, which is resolved in a matter of about twenty pages, and then we go back to reading about how handsome Edward is. I guess the book is supposed to be character-driven rather than plot-driven (at least, I sure hope so) but “character-driven” simply doesn’t work when the characters grate on you like lemon zest.

I find it discouraging that books like this are what’s on the New York Times bestseller lists. I can’t imagine recommending this book to anybody.