When did this happen?

When did I turn so cynical? So full of the "reality" of life that I pick things apart.

Let me start from the beginning. I just finished reading Stephanie Meyer's "The Host". I'm pretty sure that I won't spoil anything for anyone because if you've been sucked into the "Twilight" series then you already know she has an affinity for happy endings. This is where my cynicism comes in.

After finishing "The Host" and I must say I really did enjoy the read. It was much more adult than her other books and I found myself sucked into the characters whether I wanted to be or not. The main character, Wanda, was definitely a Meyer's character though. Impossibly good and self-sacrificing but it's okay because she's from a different planet, not subject to human foibles, and therefore easier to swallow. Naturally there was the love interest because you have to have it. Isn't our ability to love and hate with equal fervor so very human?

K, on with my internal struggle. As I read praise for the book consisting of such phrases as "no matter how much pain her characters suffer, Meyer infuses the tales with light and hope," I found myself rolling my eyes if not outward at least in my head. Then it hit me... what happened to me? When did I start becoming this cynical person that thinks light and hope in literature is unrealistic. Why shouldn't we have hope? Why shouldn't we write stories that actually do have a happy ending without being a fairy tale? Just what's wrong with having your cake and eating it too? Then I had to ask myself... do I really think this way or am I being altogether too hard on Ms. Meyer because I was so utterly disappointed in the ending of the Twilight series... hmmm.

So, here's to hope. Turning the page, starting anew with a brighter outlook, less cynicism, more hope in the reality of a new and beautiful day. May it lace your thoughts with beauty and not be too cheesy in literature.