In Bookland the mention of “returns” usually refers to the longstanding practice of booksellers shipping back to publishers all unsold books for full refund. It's a quaint practice, one that most forward-thinking book people lament but seem power- less to correct. The discussion about returns this past week, however, has meant something different: apparently there's a very vocal group of readers trying to incite a riot of consumer returns of Stephenie Meyer's just-released Breaking Dawn. Despite its excellent sales—Nielsen BookScan reports that the much-ballyhooed YA novel, which pubbed at midnight on Friday, August 1, sold 834,000 copies in one day—some consumers are so disappointed with the finale of the series that they feel they deserve their money back.

And the disappointment is not passive; it's downright activist, to judge from a customer discussion blog on Amazon.com that had nearly 200 comments by last Friday. “If all of the unhappy fans returned their books,” one disgruntled reader wrote, “it would send a [strong] message to Little, Brown and Stephenie Meyer. Don't let them profit from selling you badly-written, poorly-edited garbage.”

I'm not even going to address the fact that this comment came in the midst of a discussion readers were having about whether it might not be better just to burn the offending trash. (What year is this, anyway?) And never mind the sweetly naïve implication that publishers have never made a buck on badly written, poorly edited products. It is the righteousness reflected in this blog that intrigues me. “While Twilight, New Moon, & Eclipse are at the front of my overcrowded bookshelf soaking up the light,” wrote one buyer, mentioning the three previous volumes in Meyer's Twilight Saga, “Breaking Dawn will be hidden away in the darkest filthiest corner of my home.”

Forget buyer's remorse: this is a bleat of betrayal. Why? First of all, of course, the book is a YA, and most of these bloggers are probably teenagers, not a group known for its measured, unemotional responses. If, for example, Dan Brown's next book is no Da Vinci Code, will readers run for the customer service counter? I doubt it. More likely they'll chalk the purchase up to experience, decline to buy whatever comes next, or maybe borrow it from the library. But Stephenie Meyer is not “just” a writer; thanks to her Web presence and outreach, she's a “friend” to tens of thousands of readers, whom she has invited into her virtual home and life. And when a friend lets you down, well, you see what happens.

The question, I guess, is whether any author (or publisher) lucky enough to benefit from such a well-built community bears any responsibility when there is a perceived breach. The answer is: probably not. Yes, some publishers have recently invited readers to return for refund copies of books that turn out to be fakes, but this is different: some readers just don't like the book, which makes this less a breach of trust than a simple but painful dashed expectation. Still, one can understand how a teenager, deeply involved with an author's work and virtual personality, might want some kind of redress, or, like, explanation.

Ironically, Breaking Dawn might be remembered as one blockbuster YA novel that taught young readers an invaluable adult lesson. It's one commonly expressed in Latin, and goes like this: caveat emptor.

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