Rant

You know what I am so massively sick of? Portrayals (particularly in young adult fiction) of “love” as this all-encompassing, throw-away-everything-else (including eating and sleeping—and probably also life itself), psychotically obsessive, he’s-so-dreamy-I-can’t-breathe, if-he-doesn’t-smooch-me-I-will-die manic experience before which all reason, morality, and sense of self-respect must bow. Oh, and it’s even better when all of these feelings take place before the characters even speak. Yeah, that’s healthy.

Do you get how I feel about this? Do I need to use some italics or bold or giant fonts to make myself clearer?

It’s not that I have anything against a little passion, a little head-over-heels craziness. Coming from a girl who once sat outside a boy’s classroom building casually for 45 minutes, waiting for him to come out to “accidentally” bump into him, that would be a bit hypocritical.* I love a good romance, I love the fluttery happiness and single-mindedness of new love. What I don’t love is the idea that this sensation is never-ending, that this is the way life is supposed to be. Forever. Or worse, the idea that love doesn’t need any basis in actual knowledge of the person’s personality. Or worse still, the idea that this sensation is the only thing that matters, that right, wrong, wisdom, and law are paltry seconds to the supremacy of “love.”

Here’s the bottom line: Love changes over time, and love allows room for other life events and priorities. Please, for a moment, just imagine a couple by the names of, say… Edward and Bella**… growing old and being so obnoxiously single-minded in their affection through their 30s, 40s, and 50s, that they are incapable of having jobs, taking care of their children, even taking out the garbage!

And, okay, I get that it’s usually a bit boring to read about what happens to our main characters after they ride into the sunset. But don’t you think perhaps they could demonstrate that their love is, well, love before they ride off? Hmmmm?

. . .

At this point you should find yourself grateful that I have significantly edited my rant (it ran on for almost another page) so that you, gentle readers, do not want to rant at me in turn for my severe long-windedness.

Just one last thought: Romeo and Juliet the greatest love story ever? Really?

Okay, rant officially over.

*Yes, this was Brice.

**P.S. Despite using them as an example, I actually am not venting particularly about the Twilight books at this time. Although I probably could (which is, perhaps, a little hypocritical since I mostly liked them (sort of)).