I want to love Meyer. I do. But the ruminations of a writer - even a good writer - don't always work well on the page. The self-conscious mind-wandering and "is this a good idea?" and "no, scratch that, it's been done before" concerns feel used up and so five years ago. It has been done before. More successfully, I'd argue. Which I hate because I love Dixon.
There are some beautiful moments with Meyer's mother. I'm only halfway in, so perhaps there will be more. I hope.
But for now, it all feels very Charlie Kaufman in Adaptation. Which I liked, but that was five years ago.
