Your People Call Them Vampires

But he, straining for no more than a glimpse

of hearth-smoke drifting up from his own land,

Odysseus longs to die...

My heart swells at the thought of home, my own Ithica, page 498. But there's a long way to go yet, comrades. Take heart!

... And one more thing. And really this could have happened to anybody, an honest mistake, but something to keep in mind and a lesson for everybody and one we should all take to heart- Twelfth Mate "Cheeky" James Bailey (recently demoted), has pointed out that my own personal Calypso is not, in point of fact, when all things are considered, summed up, and put into a neat and tidy row, named Stephenie Meyers, but rather Stephenie Meyer. Like I said, honest mistake. I'm not even going to try to save face in some preposterous manner and pretend I thought the novel was written by committee or something, or that she is Legion. No, no, I just wasn't paying attention. This ought not in any way reflect upon the credibility or rigor of my efforts.

That settled, let's um... sally forth or something and get a move on. Rough seas ahead.

Chapter 5

Blood Type

and

Chapter 6

Scary Stories

And

Chapter 7

Nightmare

If I may vent some frustration at this point. The invitation made by Edward to drive Bella to Seattle is made in Chapter 4. Presumably on this trip something awesome, violently vampire-esque, or both is going to happen. Three chapters and a solid 70 pages later, they haven't gone yet. No one has died, and there is a definite lack of mood-setting, darkly gothic ambience. Not even an Igor with a hump on his back and loads of stitches, who answers everybody's requests with an exaggerated 'Yeth, maaaarth-ter'. (That's asking a bit much, I admit.) I'm losing my vampire motivation, my BLOOD drive, if you will... har har. It's all being sucked away (get it?) by these sorts of exchanges:

I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted.

"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full- of butterflies. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.

...

...

...

Precisely.

But we won't get anywhere complaining and lolligagging about. Here's what happens. Bella comes to school and she gets invited to sit next to Edward at lunch, and here we enjoy the already cited repartee. They flirt outrageously (all three senses: it is too much, it is very strange, and I am outraged), and Bella faints in science class because blood is being drawn. Edward saves her by seducing the secretary so Bella can get out of school.

Afterwards, Bella goes on a camping trip and meets an Indian boy named He-Who-Advances-Plot or Squawking-Foreshadow or something. Anyway Running-Gag tells Bella that the Cullens aren't allowed on Indian ground... because they're vampires! Hooray! Someone finally says it!

So Bella of course gets depressed and franticly researches vampires... on the internet. Yes, the internet. If you must, go ahead and google 'vampires'. (Please, filters on for this one.) How many credible resources sprang up? Anything that reassured you that here, finally here, you might find a sober, academic approach full of gravity and reason? Well, Bella does. She discovers the following:

Stregoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and a mortal enemy of all evil vampires.

She finds this very reassuring. Oh, and then she has a nightmare.

Now, this Stregoni Benefici is apparently an actual mythological figure and not of Stephenie Meyer's creation. Or at least several websites claim so. Obviously, if there is any credence to this story, we would have to look through Italian history for some powerful figure, some knight of goodness, who stands out in a unique way. Could it be Da Vinci? I doubt it, too much of an egghead. Dante? What a ponce! Garibaldi? Please. We may never know who the real Stregoni Benefici is, but let's just say I have my theories.

Best sentences:

- His voice was like melting honey.

-"I love them," I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him.

-... but there was no sign of Edward or any of his family. Desolation hit me with crippling strength.