I'm a shameless fan of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight saga. Sure, she writes like a 7th grader, but she gets to the essence of adolescent desire like nobody's business.
Fangs and pangs.
No self-help guru has to tell a 16-year-old girl to live in the moment: She lives emphatically in the present. With every glance, kiss, word, her temperature changes. And Meyer's books, and the films adapted from them, capture those mercurial feelings.
So I'd forced my friend J to see Twilight with me, and laughed so hard. But I got it. This is pure fantasy fulfilled. The blood-thirsty, Shakespeare-reciting, rock-star beautiful Edward Cullen denying the carnal urge to do what comes most naturally to him - all in the name of love.
The intense battle is writ large on his face; a clenched fist; eyes darting. In the end, he contents himself...to watch her sleep. (Awww, right, lol?)
So I was all dona sangre until I saw New Moon, which left me drooling over this shirtless pack of Native American wolves, with backstory to boot.
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