Here's the thing. For someone who tries to be tough , is always trying to distance herself emotionally and doesn't believe in Romantic Love. I am an emotional wimp. I cry every time one of my children starts pre-school or kindergarten (I do manage to wait until after I drop them off so they don't see). I cry often when I am angry (which I HATE doing). I cry about the girls I work with because I worry about them. And I cried when I read "the host". The really pathetic part about this is that it's not the first time I've read the book, so I know whats coming and I know how it ends. And yet. I just finished reading it and I cried...again.
Why do I cry over books? I think in part because having an emotional attachment to a book is so much safer than having an emotional attachment to a person. When you let a person close to you, you are giving them the opportunity to hurt you. The more you open up to someone the more opportunity they have. The more you allow yourself to love someone, the more power they have over you. To me, that is terrifying.
Why do I cry over "the host" specifically? Is Stephenie Meyer that good an Author? Maybe, maybe not. But one thing she does exceptionally well is creating characters that are believable. Even when, maybe especially when, they are not strictly human characters.
Wanderer aka Lives in the Stars aka Rides the Beast aka Wanda is a Soul. An alien parasite who has lived multiple life times on multiple planets. She is now living on earth in a human body, Melanie's body. Melanie's awareness was supposed to fade away when Wanderer was implanted onto her spinal cord but Melanie is strong willed and refuses to fade away.
I suppose technically "the host" is science fiction what with the aliens and space ships, but what it really is, is what Stephenie Meyer does so well, a book about fascinating, believable characters and interesting perspectives on what it means to be human.
Naturally there are several quotes I want to save, the first on page 141
I'd never lived on a planet where such atrocities could happen, even before the
souls came. This place was truly the highest and lowest of all worlds -
the most beautiful senses, the most exquisite emotions...the most malevolent
desires, the darkest deeds. Perhaps it was meant to be so. Perhaps
without the lows, the highs could not be reached. Were the souls the
exception to that rule? Could they have the light without the darkness of
this world?
Page 210
I didn't drop my arms when his anguish quieted; I was in no hurry to
let him go. It seemed as though my body had been starving for this from
the beginning, but I'd never understood before now what would feed the
hunger. The mysterious bond of mother and child - so strong on this planet
- was not a mystery to me any longer. There was no bond greater than one
that required your life for another's. I'd understood this truth before;
what I had not understood was why. Now I knew why a mother would
give her life for her child, and this knowledge would forever shape the way I
saw the universe.
Page 211, fabulous definition of friendship ;)
He grinned that huge, cheek-stretching grin, and I couldn't help grinning
back, though my smile was more rueful than delighted. He was supposed to
be my enemy. He was probably insane. And he was my
friend. Not that he wouldn't kill me if thing turned out that way, but he
wouldn't like doing it. With humans, what more could you ask of a
friend?
Page 247.
I was not a liar, and I don't think I could have lied to Jamie if I
were. I tried not to think about the implications of my feelings for
him. Because what did it mean if the greatest love I'd ever felt in my
nine lives, the first true sense of family, of maternal instinct, was for an
alien life-form? I shoved the thought away.
Page 356, commence with the tears.
It was absolutely silent in the starlit night. Even the wind was
calm. I whispered, but I knew my voice carried to everyone.
"There was no hatred in your heart," I whispered. "That you
existed is proof that we were wrong. We had no right to take your world
from you, Walter. I hope your fairytales are true. I hope you find
your Gladdie."
I let the rocks trickle through my fingers and waited until I hear them
fall with a soft patter onto Walter's body, obscured in the deep, dark
grave.
Page 389-390, now we start drifting into the Romantic Love category which I cannot believe in, though I wish it were real.
His mouth turned down.
"It's just the body," I repeated.
"That's not true at all," he disagreed. "It's not the face, but the
expressions on it. It's not the voice, but what you say. It's not
how you look in that body, but the things you do with it. You are
beautiful."
Page 472,
What was it that made this human love so much more desirable to me than the
love of my own kind? Was it because it was exclusive and capricious?
The souls offered love and acceptance to all. Did I crave a greater
challenge? This love was tricky; it had no hard-and-fast rules - it might
be given for free, as with Jamie, or earned through time and hard work, as with
Ian, or completely and heart breakingly unattainable, as with Jared.
Or was it simply better somehow? Because these humans could hate with
so much fury, was the other end of the spectrum that they could lobe with more
heart and zeal and fire?
Page 546. No special hidden meaning, I just like this one. The last part needs to be made into a poster or cross-stitch.
We made it home without incident. We saw no sign of the Seekers'
surveillance. Perhaps they'd accepted the coincidence. Maybe they
thought it was inevitable - wander the desert alone long enough, and something
bad would happen to you. We'd had a saying like that on the Mists
Planet: Cross too many ice fields alone, and wind up a claw beast's
meal. That was a rough translation. It sounded better in Bear.
Page 594, and more tears.
The bottle opened. I heard him shake it onto the cloth in his
hand.
"You are the noblest, purest creature I've ever met. The universe
will be a darker place without you," he whispered.
These were his words over my grave, my epitaph, and I was glad that I got
to hear them.
Page 605, and more,
Ian squeezed my hand and leaned in to whisper through all the hair.
His voice was so low that I was the only one who could hear. "I held you
in my hand, Wanderer. And you were so beautiful."
