Twilight: Our Personal Brand of Heroin

Twilight first came into my life in September of 2008, a few weeks after the release of Breaking Dawn (the fourth and possibly last volume in the series). A friend-an Anne Rice devotee who herself had scoffed at the Twilight hype-put a copy of the book in my hands and told me, "you have to read this."

My first reading did not begin well. A few chapters into the book, I still wasn't convinced I'd make it to the end. The writing was simplistic and overly descriptive, even repetitive in its use of adjectives. The heroine was whiny and passive aggressive. The hero of the piece, the much-lauded Edward Cullen, was cold, angry, and mean. The supporting characters were stock elements: the goofy jock, the chess club kid, the nerdy girl, the gossipy cheerleader, the distant father. Yet I found myself drawn into the story. Letting go of my English-major snobbery, I became just as curious as Bella about the mysterious boy with the golden eyes. Although I knew going in that this was a vampire story, I was caught up in Jacob Black's revelation about the "cold ones." By the time Edward rescued Bella from the would-be attackers in Port Angeles, I was rooting for the unlikely couple. I wanted them to be together. I needed them to be together.

Within five days, I had bought and read the entire series. Yet I wanted more. I craved more. I had to have it. I searched online and devoured everything I could find. I discovered they were making a movie version of Twilight, and I read up on the actors involved. On Stephenie Meyer's Web site I found her playlists for each book-songs that had inspired and/or sustained her through the projects-and downloaded them from iTunes. I became a member of TwilightMoms, an Internet-based group for adult fans of the books. I read the now-infamous draft of Midnight Sun, intended as Twilight from Edward's perspective but shelved indefinitely by Meyer after a draft was leaked online. Midnight Sun ends before a key scene in Twilight-the meadow-so I had to read Twilight again when the MS draft left me hanging. Thus began a bizarre cycle in which I read the series through-all 2,400 published pages, plus the online draft of MS-repeatedly for months thereafter.

Yes, months.

The Twilight series, to its fans, is truly like heroin to an addict, like Bella's blood to Edward. It is an all-powerful force. It is emotional. It is hormonal. It triggers something in the brain that keeps us wanting. We can't explain it, at least not in any coherent way that doesn't end in "you just have to read it to understand." The first book, Twilight, embodies the tentative first steps of a new relationship, the revelations of good and bad in each other, the dangers of getting involved, the power of first love, and the first indications of rough times ahead. The second book, New Moon, is about the fear of falling, of being hurt, of bleeding-both figuratively and literally, in this case; it is about the pain of loss and the slow healing, about making the sacrifices or taking the risks necessary to protect your loved one. Eclipse, the third book, is about moving forward, making choices and commitments, and taking the steps toward an "eternity" together, even in the face of danger, even when making those choices means causing pain to others or a part of oneself. Finally, Breaking Dawn is the ultimate epilogue, the answer to what happens after "I do": the blush of the honeymoon period, the adjustment to a new life together, the creation of a family, the terrifying fear of losing one or the other, the difficulties of asserting the self within the confines of the marital unit, the changes in outside relationships and making them work within the new paradigm. It is also about the power of motherly love and determination, an assertion of the woman's power within the family, and the finding of one's own inner strengths in the face of potential disaster.

Bella has often been spat upon as a weak female character, a poor role model for young girls. She pines for the dangerous, mysterious bad boy who treats her badly at first and then tries to control her and direct her. Yet Bella makes her choices with eyes open, and whenever Edward tries to tighten his grip on her, usually with the noble intention of protecting her from harm, she finds a way of getting what she wants regardless. She faces death at the hands of the nomad tracker James, standing in the stead of her mother or of Edward, giving herself so that her loved ones will be safe. Bella risks her life to save Edward as much as he does to save her. Ultimately she gives her body and her life-at least her human life-to bring her child into the world, standing against Edward, Jacob, even the majority of her vampire family; then, as a newborn vampire, she stands with them, again willing to die, in order to protect that same child.

Edward, as the new "ideal" of the perfect man, bears strong resemblance to other brooding male leads of literature: Darcy, Rochester, and Heathcliff among them. They are all mysterious, possibly dangerous, arrogant men who time and again misjudge the women in their lives while at the same time being overcome by their love for those women. In their stories the women ultimately equal or conquer the men, for better or worse, just as Bella eventually becomes the more powerful, not only between her and Edward, but of the entire family. Edward, the "beautiful, angelic, brilliant, god-like" being of the first three books, ultimately falls second to the brilliance, beauty, and power of the woman he fought so hard to protect.

The power of the Twilight saga is not in the writing. Although I disagree with Stephen King's recent pronouncement that Stephenie Meyer "can't write worth a darn"-a disgraceful and unprofessional statement, in my opinion-I will admit that there are still times when the repetition of words and phrases in the books drives me batty. There are parts of the story that drag, and plot points that are given far more time and attention than is needed. Yet the flaws in the construction do not take away from the awesome emotional power of the story. If you allow yourself to be drawn into it, if you let go of preconceived notions, of media hype, of Harry Potter comparisons and literary snobbery, the saga may just have your head spinning in no time at all.