Dear ‘Twilight’ Fans,

I’m so good to you normally. When you’re all crowded around me fervently debating the pros and cons of Team Edward and Team Jacob, I grit my teeth and internally declare my love for Team Jo (J. K. Rowling for all you deprived Muggles). I bite my tongue whenever I feel the urge to yell that glitter glue doesn’t equate to vampire or that stalking isn’t the same as love.

But I’ve been quiet too long. I need an outlet. Even a passive aggressive one such as this.

What annoys me about Twilight, more than the constant barrage of information we get about it, more than the screaming pre-teens, more than the complete lack of literary value the books possess, is how Meyer has feebly attempted at aligning herself with greatness.

The ‘Romeo and Juliet’ allusion? It might just be me, but I don’t think good old Bill quite had broody vamps in mind when he conjured up his two young lovers. Bella likes ‘Wuthering Heights’ does she? Fine. I can cope with that. What I cannot cope with is that now Charlotte Brontë’s classic is packaged up on our shelves to look like it’s a part of the saga. As if Brontë’s work needs the ‘Twilight’ seal of approval.

Your series lacks life (excuse the pun), it lacks imagination and it most certainly lacks plot.

I could of course go on, but nothing I say will change your minds. So for now, I’ll continue to keep my mouth shut when you swoon over Robert Pattinson’s gravity defying hair and flour based complexion. He will, after all, always be Cedric Diggory in my heart. We got him first. Remember that.

A disgruntled Harry Potter devotee.