You may not have noticed, but on the night of Aug. 1, under the cover of darkness and precisely at the witching hour, a new force entered the world. They called it “Breaking Dawn,” and it was banal, sensational and unmistakably valuable, both as literature and as a social bellwether.

Theatrics aside, Stephenie Meyer’s "Twilight Saga" may have slipped under your radar. It hasn’t resonated much with the college crowd, its marketing efforts aimed sharply at teenagers and the young-adult readership. Still, the focus of its readership makes it no less a phenomenon: Its first printing was 2.3 million copies, one of the largest in history. Such numbers are humbled by the "Harry Potter" series, but even Rowling’s third novel was printed 500,000 times its first time through. (It wasn’t until the fourth, with 5 million, that it really picked up steam.)

The books, for the uninitiated, tell the story of Edward and Bella, young lovers placed in a terrible bind: Edward is undead. He’s a vampire, to be precise. Thus ensues a long and terrible struggle between love and (blood)lust, in which Edward constantly struggles to restrain himself from killing his lover and protect her from the danger stirred up by their forbidden relationship.

At this point, it’s all too easy to condemn Meyer’s novels (there are four of them in the series) as sensational print blockbusters in the vein of “Wanted” or “Indiana Jones”. Of course, they essentially are. But that doesn’t mean they’re not valuable. In fact, it’s confusing that there’s such a reluctance to accept the books as worthwhile. Take the plot.

For all its fantastical elements, the story isn’t particularly revolutionary. Bizarre, yes, but it’s essentially the age-old "star-crossed lovers" plot updated and given new blood. That’s not to say it’s unimaginative or stale — on the contrary, it’s a dramatic and interesting new take on an eternal conflict. Literature has been insisting for thousands of years that love is worthless without conflict, and on the next page defending love’s ability to transcend social and physical boundaries. Although Meyer has simply taken it one step further, it’s a curious step. Indeed, how long will it take before there’s a stage adaptation of Romeo and Juliet that features the Capulets as bloodsuckers? It might even be good; it certainly can’t be worse than casting a black actress as Juliet and calling it "controversial."

Perhaps the debate between entertainment value and "artistic" value should be expected, however pointless. The bottom line is ultimately the same: The books sell like hotcakes, and a lot of young (and old) people love them. Deciding on value is a little bit like trying to argue that one color is better than another. Everyone has favorites, but trying to decide which is more valuable from books that move us, inform us or simply interest us is bound to fail. In fact, dwelling on the value of the novels may be a dangerous distraction from what’s really important. We’re seeing a trend in literature that separates children from adults in a critical and possibly disastrous way.

From the endless propaganda we’ve all been inundated with since childhood, you’d think that something like 90 percent of America’s children are illiterate. Otherwise, why so many "Read!" ad campaigns geared toward young kids? Why else should everyone be so excited about the revolution caused by "Harry Potter" in getting children to pick up a book instead of a remote? Of course, a relatively tiny number of American children are illiterate, and many read avidly despite the prevailing idea of the TV-kid.

What we should be asking ourselves is, why aren’t adults getting excited about literature the way kids are, and why aren’t we concerned about it? Both "Harry Potter" and "Twilight" have been touted as books for all ages, and although they may be, the overwhelming majority of readers are young. At this moment, eight of the top eleven books on the Amazon.com bestseller list geared towards young adults.

No one expects raving midnight parties for middle-aged men buying the latest page-turner on the Civil War, but maybe we should. Literature, as grade-school teachers so gleefully point out, is for all ages — so why are adults lagging behind? Books and the ideas they hold should not be an afterthought, not business-flight fare. Yet, the only demographic with palpable enthusiasm for the literature of their generation are the young-adult wizard and vampire-loving crowd. Literary or sensational, bravo.