"If I die tomorrow, my only regret will be that I read that book," said my 12-year old son, in all seriousness, referring to Stephanie Meyer's runaway bestseller, "Twilight."

To Henry's dismay, soon after his condemning comment I borrowed "Twilight" from a friend--like me, a woman in her mid-forties--and brought it to our house. Henry cringed at the visual reminder of the one thing he would be sorry he'd done if death came knocking, and he couldn't understand why I would choose to read such a "terrible" book.

But as with him, Twilight's popularity sparked my interest. Henry read it at school, he said, because "everyone" was talking about it and he was curious; me, too. Plus, my son's strong reaction against it only heightened my interest. He's read hundreds of books, but "Twilight" evoked a response like no other. Why was that?

In "Real Men Read Twilight," a recent commentary on National Public Radio, author Brad Meltzer encouraged parents to give "Twilight" to their sons, nephews and husbands in part, he said, because "It's cool, they'll like it, it'll help them understand women and get dates."

Before I had a chance to consider giving "Twilight" to Henry, he picked it up on his own -- and will forever rue the day he did. Was Henry missing something or was he right? There was only one way to find out.

I dug in. And couldn't stop reading. I carried "Twilight "with me to the pool, to the kids' dentist appointment (where I noticed another middle-aged mother engrossed in it, too), and to my bedside table. I read when and wherever I could until I was done.

It was as if Meyers had cast a spell over me, and all those teenage fantasies about true love (fantasies I thought I'd long ago outgrown) possessed me. I tore through the chapters, relishing teenager Bella Swan's fall for the one man who could never fully be hers, vampire Edward Cullen.

But for that one issue, Edward is perfect. He could be a male model -- he is that handsome. And the way he flashes his perfect teeth at Bella, over and over! And rescues her from danger, like a superhero! Miracle upon miracle, the feelings between this new girl in town and this dashing immortal creature are mutual, the attraction electrifying, the love worth risking everything.

If Edward loses self-control for one moment, and Bella's blood becomes too hard to resist, he will do the thing he does not want to do. So they must choose when to be affectionate with each other very carefully; twilight is the safest time of the day. Either the lovers live on the edge of life and death or live without each other. They choose the edge, of course, the only place all great romance can thrive.

Or at least that's what Meyers would have her readers believe. Millions of them do -- girls, grown women, a few boys and men consume the three other books in the series the way I did "Twilight."

But thanks to my son's influence, I've had my fill. And I quote: "Don't just say it's 'good' -- give reasons! When you starting thinking about it, it's really trash!"

I wouldn't go that far (I admit I'm planning to ask my friend how everything turns out at the end of the fourth book), but I'm not going to challenge Henry's conclusion. I'm glad he can see through the book's illusory depiction of true love, and I hope that when he gets old enough to ask someone out on a date, that special person doesn't need to be rescued, keeps her friends and parents in the loop and feels safe with him day and night.

For now, Henry's working his way through the twenty-book Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin series by Patrick O'Brian -- a story whose plot appeals to his understanding of history, adventure and real-life relationships. As for me, after finishing "Twilight" I re-read "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince." Now there's a book made into a movie you can sink your teeth into.