(no subject)
I finished New Moon last night at around 12:30, and I am proud to report that my brain did not actually melt due to the fiery passion of my hatred and wind up oozing out of my ears. Jolly good show, self!
I did, however, get so angry toward the end that I . . . sort of started letting out incoherent shrieks of wrath and hitting the book. Yes, hitting the book. Repeatedly. Kinda hard. Sorry, thepodsquad!; I’m pretty certain I left no lasting damage. Also, Derrickson was trying to sleep at the time, and she probably didn’t really appreciate my minor psychotic outburst. But it was something that sorely needed to be done.
And now:
Firstly, no matter how much I may occasionally like to delude myself, I am not remotely a book snob when it comes to my reading material. I grew up on every Sweet Valley series that has ever existed, and I devoured them with a truly terrifying passion. I still enjoy a couple of the Princess Diaries books every bit as much as I did when I was in seventh grade. I know I will never enjoy another written work as much as Harry Potter in my whole life, and even though those are brilliantly plotted, they aren’t exactly James Joyce or whatever.
Point is, I would very much like to be the sort of person who derives genuine unhindered enjoyment from Melville, Henry James, the Bronte bitches (although, really, from what I’ve gleaned, they were more or less Stephenie Meyer a hundred and some years ago), etc., but what I love the most in fiction is compelling characters with compelling relationships (bonus points for humor and general likeability), so really, wherever I can find something that catches my interest in that department, I’m going to get hooked. And if it doesn’t have any English major street cred - if it should send a self-respecting English major running as fast as they can in the other direction while screaming - then so be it. This doesn’t stop me, even if it doubtlessly should. Relatively depthless young adult literature can be entirely enjoyable, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. For example, I dare you to find anything that kicks as much ass as the Gemma Doyle books by Libba Bray. (Sidenote? Omg, everybody read them at once. They’re like everything that Twilight probably wants to be but will never manage. Plus a whole lot of rebellion against Victorian repression, and bonus femmeslashy undertones!)
So, really, what I have against Twilight and its oh-so-charming predecessors isn’t that it’s not literature of merit. I mean, I don’t think that they’re well-written - occasionally, they’re downright offensively bad - but it’s pretty easy to get used to once you’re immersed in it, and it’s not like I spend the whole time I’m reading going ‘Ughhh, I can’t even get into this because it’s such crap.’ It might not remotely resemble anything like literary mastery, but I still manage to get into it really quickly, so in that sense, Twilight and my brain have gotten along a whole lot better than me and, I dunno, Moby Dick - or, depressingly, anything by Jane Austen. (I do love Jane! I’m just not quite smart enough that I can read her for a really long time without getting a little exhausted and wanting to go find some fanfic or something. I'm dumb.)
There are certain aspects of these books that I completely enjoy. I like the bleak monotony of the Forks atmosphere in general; something about it is endearing to me. I like Charlie and the tentativeness of his relationship with his daughter. I love Jacob, who is adorable and engaging and so much more charismatic and three-dimensional than any of the other characters in this series. I even like Bella sometimes. I’m at least invested enough in her that I want Bella to like Bella, and find some sort of actual self-worth that isn’t dependent upon what one guy thinks of her.
(I also liked the really enthusiastic super-old vampire guy in Italy. He was fun!)
And the fact that there are aspects of these books that I genuinely am interested in just makes it all the more infuriating that their central message is so offensive. I’ve thought about it, and the only thing I can come up with is that Stephenie Meyer is so deeply, utterly attached to the idea of Edward/Bella that she’s just blinded herself to the story that she’s been telling. I’m assuming that the whole thing that prompted her to write the books in the first place was the idea of Edward and Bella’s relationship, and that she completely fell in love with the idea of creating this doomed love between two people who have all the odds against them but can’t live without each other. And, I mean, it’s a nice idea. A classic idea. I’m not going to hate on the notion of wanting to write doomed lovers, because on some level, who doesn’t at least feel a little tempted to tell that kind of story? It’s appealing.
But the thing is, I think she put so much thought into what their relationship could potentially be that by the time she got around to writing it, it had sort of corrupted itself. I know that everyone’s got their own perception, but when I read the scenes between these two characters, there’s nothing organic or natural between them. There’s no inherent chemistry, no fire, no genuineness. There’s a very stilted, very cliché relationship that’s substantiated by melodramatic, unrealistic dialogue and a whole lot of Bella’s heart beating way too quickly or her being about to faint because kissing him is apparently just that overwhelming. Which is - well, no, it’s not all well and good, it’s pretty crappy to begin with. But more than that, we don’t for a second know why they click on an emotional level, why they’re drawn to each other. Okay, Bella’s blood smells extra-pretty to Edward, making him more filled with malevolent vampire thirst than ever, but is that the basis for a healthy relationship? Really? That’s like some horrible merging of “She’s so flippin’ hot; enough small boom, let’s boom the boom!” (God bless you, Flight of the Conchords) and “Mmmm, cake!” And Bella, meanwhile, thinks Edward is physically breathtakingly beautiful. I don’t think we get to hear a lot about his mind from her, or what he’s like as a person, but we are never, never spared a description of how overwhelmingly, unnaturally gorgeous he is, to the point where she can never be worthy of him because she looks like a normal human being. Which, needless to say, is an incredibly shallow reason to fall madly and desperately in love with someone. In terms of the foundation of this relationship, we have hunger on his side and superficial awe on hers.
It is not great.
And the thing is, on some level I don’t fault Stephenie Meyer for it. I completely get this as a writer. It’s happened to me before. My oft-mysteriously-alluded-to-EBB, a.k.a. the original I have been devising for the past three or so years, was originally based upon the notion that these two main characters would fall for each other and have this incredibly awe-inspiringly brilliant relationship. The first thing that ever popped into my head regarding this story - which has since become gigantic and elaborate and sprawling and owns a considerable portion of my brain and heart - was a conversation between these two characters that I scribbled down in math class, not even knowing what it was but immediately being just thrilled. Around a year ago, when I tried to finally write my first draft, I was so jazzed! I wanted their relationship to be brilliant! Incomparable! This was going to be my own personal Mulder/Scully - yep, that mighty. There probably would have been fanmixes devoted to their splendor.
And it sucked.
I just couldn’t get their interaction right. It was so artificial, so entirely defined by my anticipation for them to be wonderful together. It felt phony, and unoriginal, and my female character wound up having no personality beyond being The Woman Who Was Incredibly Perfect In All Ways For My Main Character, But In A Feisty Way So They Have Lots of Hawt Sexual Tension, Too! It was lame and empty and it just plain didn’t feel good to write them together; I always felt vaguely dissatisfied and gross after I’d written a scene between them, and it made me so sad, because I love writing relationships where people are falling for each other. Objectively, it’s a slightly disturbing experience, because you sort of feel yourself fall in love along with them, from both sides. And technically, they’re both creations from your head, so - you’re in love with yourself? I don’t know. It’s best not to give it any actual extensive consideration. The day that I wrote Fairish and the Slovenly Goatherd, I was floating happily around for the rest of the day just because the two characters had fallen for each other in a way that was quirky and unique and sweet and really unexpected to me. In that particular story, I hadn’t planned for them to. It just happened.
But anyway! Back to what I was saying! I was incredibly disappointed that my Epic Mighty Ship Of Glory did not want to sail, because this was the foundation of this story. All the rest that had come later (and while it’s not brilliant by any means, I’m sure, it sort of feels that way to me just because it amazes me that I’ve been able to craft plots and backstories at all)? It never would have come into existence if it weren’t for the relationship I had planned between these two characters.
And I finally just had to acknowledge that they weren’t right for each other, that putting them together wouldn’t work. The story had grown up too much around them, and their theoretical perfect relationship was still the same, and it just didn’t fit. It was incredibly hard to give that up; it’s kind of lame how disappointed I was over it for quite a long time. As we all should do in times of solace (hee), I turned to good ol’ Joss Whedon - on the commentary for the Angel episode “Waiting in the Wings”, he talked about how the episode was originally conceived of based upon the idea that Amy Acker would get to dance ballet on the show. They shot a wonderful dream sequence with Amy (and Alexis Denisof, HEE!) dancing, and it ultimately had to be cut from the episode. And I remember Joss saying something along the lines of that ultimately, to make the story work, you very often have to cut the thing that had originally seemed the most important to it.
I can personally attest to the fact that it’s hard as hell and initially a little bit completely devastating, but ultimately, you’ve gotta let the story take the reins. It knows itself; it knows what it’s doing so much more than you’re ever going to. When the writer finally steps aside and relinquishes control, that’s when the magic happens. And there is seriously no beating that feeling, which I know a lot of you guys (er, the brave ones among you who have made it this far in this post, anyway!) know.
But anyway! Back to Stephenie Meyer.
It’s funny, because you can see in New Moon precisely where the story tries to grab the reins from Ms. Meyer. To save itself, dear God please. (Hee.) And it’s when Jacob Black shows up. When Jacob and Bella interact, all of a sudden the book becomes so warm and engaging and weirdly free; all of a sudden Bella is laughing and practically vibrant, all of a sudden this girl’s got a distinct personality. It might not be confirmed in the text, but in the tone, under the words, Bella and Jacob fall for each other like that. These are two characters that quite simply want to be interacting with each other. This is even confirmed by the author herself on her website: “Ah, and then there is my favorite gift that New Moon gave to me: Jacob Black . . . Something happened then that I didn't expect. Jacob was my first experience with a character taking over-a minor character developing such roundness and life that I couldn't keep him locked inside a tiny role.”
It’s kinda obvious that Jacob and Jacob/Bella were the story taking over, with lots of flashing lights and bright shiny colors, all ‘hey, look at me! Look at me! I am salvation! I am the way this story is meant to go! I am the road to NonSucksville!’ (Vampires. Sucksville. I kill myself. But not in a ‘I’d-rather-than-live-without-you’ way, Edward/Bella :P) But by this time, it has become quite firmly established that Edward/Bella is The Ultimate Love Story To End All Love Stories. Stand aside, Romeo and Juliet! Forget y’all, Rhett and Scarlett! Cathy and Heathcliff say what now? Anne and Gilbert, get gone. (Poor Anne/Gilbert, with its sense of equality and its general adorability, doesn’t even stand a chance.)
It’s clear that Edward/Bella ain’t going anywhere, no matter how badly it’s coming off, or how much it’s compromised the whole book. It seems like Stephenie Meyer just keeps fighting, just keeps clinging to this “perfect” love, and as a result the whole thing just gets more and more corrupted and distorted.
I can't believe that any woman in this day and age would genuinely want to communicate the message that it is right for a young girl to eagerly give up her family, her friends, and her future in order to utterly change herself for a guy who makes her feel plain and unworthy. (Every single one of these is an indisputable in-the-text 200% canon fact, by the way, and I am not distorting anything at all to make it sound worse than it is. If you really want me to, I'll bust out textual evidence. But this is already very, very long.)
If I didn’t know anything about Stephenie Meyer’s intention with writing the book, and was judging on the text alone, I would be completely, doubtlessly sure that the books would ultimately end with Bella having grown enough as a person to realize that while she loves Edward, she deserves better - she deserves to live a full life, to find herself and get to have a family and a career and a future that’s based on herself and her own desires rather than her utter attachment to another human being. To be able to go out in the damn sunlight, for heaven’s sake! To be able to enjoy a hamburger, or have a bad hair day, or sleep. (I genuinely think that’s the most terrifying concept ever presented in these books: the notion that vampires can never sleep. The idea of never having that repose, of having eternity stretched out in front of you without a single break or divide, entirely without the sense of ever getting to start fresh in the morning is so disturbing to me. I wish that a defter writer than Meyer had come up with it, because it is fascinating and horrible.)
The idea that she wants to abandon her humanity - her whole life; everyone that she loves, everything that she could have, every chance at variety and devastation and joy and life, at finding herself and loving herself just as she is - to be with a boy makes me sick. The fact that not for a single second, Bella doesn’t think it’s worth it. That she wants to stop right here, freeze herself in this form forever. She will always be eighteen. She will never get to find out what she’ll look like at age thirty, or what it would be like to have a child with her eyes; she’ll never go to college, figure out what it’s like to live on her own. It just feels like she’s so impossibly young and so blinded by love, and it’s sick that any of the Cullens would genuinely think it was a good idea to steal all of this from her. They’re supposed to be hundreds of years old, for God’s sake! Haven’t they seen enough of the world to understand youthful folly, and the way that everything seems like the most important thing in the world when you're a teenage girl?
I have a friend right now who has very, very similar feelings for a guy that Bella does for Edward, and it makes me sick that “true love” can make people feel so small and desperate and unworthy, so willing to take whatever the hell they can get. You know what true love is supposed to do? It’s supposed to make you feel great about yourself, not unworthy. Not ‘Oh, I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but you’d better not get me a birthday present because then the scales will be tipped forever, and by the way, God, do I look ugly standing next to you!’ You should feel like a damn goddess! You shouldn’t doubt for a second that that person thinks you’re brilliant and funny and utterly beautiful. You should be able to laugh with them and have screaming matches with them and tell them anything, no matter how silly or pathetic or strange, and never for a second stop to wonder why they’re with you. And when you’re not with them anymore (because everything ends sooner or later, and it’s certainly not eternity that defines real love - come on, people! Quality, not quantity, duh), that feeling should still linger, and you should be all the stronger for it, even if it ultimately didn’t work out. It’s not the outcome that matters anyway, it’s the journey. This person shouldn’t define your whole life; they should help you reaffirm who you are, and make you happy to be that.
(And, er, wow, could this be any cornier? No? Well, I don’t care, because IT’S TRUE.)
Edward/Bella is an incredibly juvenile, thoughtless portrayal of alleged true love. Sure, on the surface, it hits every mark on the check list - challenged but not stopped by adversity; the sentiment of “I would die without you” being exercised again and again, with each of them to some degree actually attempting suicide at least once; ultimately bound together by the promise of ‘forever.’ Because Edward’s going to make Bella a vampire, and then they’re going to spend eternity together. Until. The end. Of time.
The idea of this relationship lasting until the end of time kind of makes me want to slam my head against the wall. I pity both of them. But mostly Edward. (“Happy fifty-sixth anniversary, my dear shining beloved effervescent darling.” “What - Edward, no, what are these??” “Just - some flowers, you know, because it’s our - anniversary.” “No, Edward, you can’t! You’re not supposed to get me flowers; I don’t deserve flowers! Not when I get to gaze upon your glorious godlike visage day after day! And besides, it’s not our anniversary! It’s my anniversary of my love for you!” “Bitch, I’m so over this. Maybe I’ll hook up with Drusilla.”)
The Romeo & Juliet parallels are far from subtle (it’s quoted at the beginning of the book! They watch Romeo & Juliet! And intently discuss what they would do if they were Romeo & Juliet! Oh, Meyer, you slay me with your nuanced writing skillz, woman), but guess what? If Romeo and Juliet had lived, Romeo would have been on to the next lady in like a month, and Juliet would have been left to deal with the unfortunate but universal truth that most men are bastards and she should’ve married Paris. (Especially when he takes the form of a) Jacob, or b) Paul Rudd. There is no wrong to be found in either of these options!) I think the true power of that story, the sickening genius irony of it, is that they die for something that wouldn’t have been worth living for. They never would have lasted, no question. They were young and stupid and impulsive, the end. Also, it’s a tragedy. Not the smartest model to base your life off of, Bella Swan.
And so, if I thought this series had a brain, I would be entirely sure - no question in the whole wide world - that it would end with Bella choosing Jacob. It’s so inherent in the poor, ignored, ‘hey! Let me do my own thing, will you, Stephenie? Please? Please? Pleeease?’ subtext that every time Bella feels cold cozying up to Edward (“like cuddling against a sculpture” - oh, yeah, because that’s so pleasant), as opposed to being so comfortable and warm every time she has any physical contact with Jacob, I just want to hit something. It’s so there and so right and so obvious and it shouldn’t even be doubted for a second.
But instead? Instead, I just really really fear for the relationship-related mentality that a generation of middle school-aged girls is going to have after devouring this series.
It’s gross.
I want better for Bella. I want Stephenie Meyer to want better for Bella, I want Bella to want better for Bella.
And I don’t even like the damn book.
(And, yes, it's sort of lame that this inspired me to ramble this much, as it's not exactly a great literary masterpiece for all the ages. But people do get into these books in an extreme, Harry Potter-type way, and I figure that makes it valid enough to really analyze the message that's being sent.)
The worst part of all this is that I suspect I am going to wind up buying Eclipse, just so I can finish off this whole damned mess and lament its inevitable conclusion. I’m ensnared now. Grr.
I did, however, get so angry toward the end that I . . . sort of started letting out incoherent shrieks of wrath and hitting the book. Yes, hitting the book. Repeatedly. Kinda hard. Sorry, thepodsquad!; I’m pretty certain I left no lasting damage. Also, Derrickson was trying to sleep at the time, and she probably didn’t really appreciate my minor psychotic outburst. But it was something that sorely needed to be done.
And now:
Firstly, no matter how much I may occasionally like to delude myself, I am not remotely a book snob when it comes to my reading material. I grew up on every Sweet Valley series that has ever existed, and I devoured them with a truly terrifying passion. I still enjoy a couple of the Princess Diaries books every bit as much as I did when I was in seventh grade. I know I will never enjoy another written work as much as Harry Potter in my whole life, and even though those are brilliantly plotted, they aren’t exactly James Joyce or whatever.
Point is, I would very much like to be the sort of person who derives genuine unhindered enjoyment from Melville, Henry James, the Bronte bitches (although, really, from what I’ve gleaned, they were more or less Stephenie Meyer a hundred and some years ago), etc., but what I love the most in fiction is compelling characters with compelling relationships (bonus points for humor and general likeability), so really, wherever I can find something that catches my interest in that department, I’m going to get hooked. And if it doesn’t have any English major street cred - if it should send a self-respecting English major running as fast as they can in the other direction while screaming - then so be it. This doesn’t stop me, even if it doubtlessly should. Relatively depthless young adult literature can be entirely enjoyable, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. For example, I dare you to find anything that kicks as much ass as the Gemma Doyle books by Libba Bray. (Sidenote? Omg, everybody read them at once. They’re like everything that Twilight probably wants to be but will never manage. Plus a whole lot of rebellion against Victorian repression, and bonus femmeslashy undertones!)
So, really, what I have against Twilight and its oh-so-charming predecessors isn’t that it’s not literature of merit. I mean, I don’t think that they’re well-written - occasionally, they’re downright offensively bad - but it’s pretty easy to get used to once you’re immersed in it, and it’s not like I spend the whole time I’m reading going ‘Ughhh, I can’t even get into this because it’s such crap.’ It might not remotely resemble anything like literary mastery, but I still manage to get into it really quickly, so in that sense, Twilight and my brain have gotten along a whole lot better than me and, I dunno, Moby Dick - or, depressingly, anything by Jane Austen. (I do love Jane! I’m just not quite smart enough that I can read her for a really long time without getting a little exhausted and wanting to go find some fanfic or something. I'm dumb.)
There are certain aspects of these books that I completely enjoy. I like the bleak monotony of the Forks atmosphere in general; something about it is endearing to me. I like Charlie and the tentativeness of his relationship with his daughter. I love Jacob, who is adorable and engaging and so much more charismatic and three-dimensional than any of the other characters in this series. I even like Bella sometimes. I’m at least invested enough in her that I want Bella to like Bella, and find some sort of actual self-worth that isn’t dependent upon what one guy thinks of her.
(I also liked the really enthusiastic super-old vampire guy in Italy. He was fun!)
And the fact that there are aspects of these books that I genuinely am interested in just makes it all the more infuriating that their central message is so offensive. I’ve thought about it, and the only thing I can come up with is that Stephenie Meyer is so deeply, utterly attached to the idea of Edward/Bella that she’s just blinded herself to the story that she’s been telling. I’m assuming that the whole thing that prompted her to write the books in the first place was the idea of Edward and Bella’s relationship, and that she completely fell in love with the idea of creating this doomed love between two people who have all the odds against them but can’t live without each other. And, I mean, it’s a nice idea. A classic idea. I’m not going to hate on the notion of wanting to write doomed lovers, because on some level, who doesn’t at least feel a little tempted to tell that kind of story? It’s appealing.
But the thing is, I think she put so much thought into what their relationship could potentially be that by the time she got around to writing it, it had sort of corrupted itself. I know that everyone’s got their own perception, but when I read the scenes between these two characters, there’s nothing organic or natural between them. There’s no inherent chemistry, no fire, no genuineness. There’s a very stilted, very cliché relationship that’s substantiated by melodramatic, unrealistic dialogue and a whole lot of Bella’s heart beating way too quickly or her being about to faint because kissing him is apparently just that overwhelming. Which is - well, no, it’s not all well and good, it’s pretty crappy to begin with. But more than that, we don’t for a second know why they click on an emotional level, why they’re drawn to each other. Okay, Bella’s blood smells extra-pretty to Edward, making him more filled with malevolent vampire thirst than ever, but is that the basis for a healthy relationship? Really? That’s like some horrible merging of “She’s so flippin’ hot; enough small boom, let’s boom the boom!” (God bless you, Flight of the Conchords) and “Mmmm, cake!” And Bella, meanwhile, thinks Edward is physically breathtakingly beautiful. I don’t think we get to hear a lot about his mind from her, or what he’s like as a person, but we are never, never spared a description of how overwhelmingly, unnaturally gorgeous he is, to the point where she can never be worthy of him because she looks like a normal human being. Which, needless to say, is an incredibly shallow reason to fall madly and desperately in love with someone. In terms of the foundation of this relationship, we have hunger on his side and superficial awe on hers.
It is not great.
And the thing is, on some level I don’t fault Stephenie Meyer for it. I completely get this as a writer. It’s happened to me before. My oft-mysteriously-alluded-to-EBB, a.k.a. the original I have been devising for the past three or so years, was originally based upon the notion that these two main characters would fall for each other and have this incredibly awe-inspiringly brilliant relationship. The first thing that ever popped into my head regarding this story - which has since become gigantic and elaborate and sprawling and owns a considerable portion of my brain and heart - was a conversation between these two characters that I scribbled down in math class, not even knowing what it was but immediately being just thrilled. Around a year ago, when I tried to finally write my first draft, I was so jazzed! I wanted their relationship to be brilliant! Incomparable! This was going to be my own personal Mulder/Scully - yep, that mighty. There probably would have been fanmixes devoted to their splendor.
And it sucked.
I just couldn’t get their interaction right. It was so artificial, so entirely defined by my anticipation for them to be wonderful together. It felt phony, and unoriginal, and my female character wound up having no personality beyond being The Woman Who Was Incredibly Perfect In All Ways For My Main Character, But In A Feisty Way So They Have Lots of Hawt Sexual Tension, Too! It was lame and empty and it just plain didn’t feel good to write them together; I always felt vaguely dissatisfied and gross after I’d written a scene between them, and it made me so sad, because I love writing relationships where people are falling for each other. Objectively, it’s a slightly disturbing experience, because you sort of feel yourself fall in love along with them, from both sides. And technically, they’re both creations from your head, so - you’re in love with yourself? I don’t know. It’s best not to give it any actual extensive consideration. The day that I wrote Fairish and the Slovenly Goatherd, I was floating happily around for the rest of the day just because the two characters had fallen for each other in a way that was quirky and unique and sweet and really unexpected to me. In that particular story, I hadn’t planned for them to. It just happened.
But anyway! Back to what I was saying! I was incredibly disappointed that my Epic Mighty Ship Of Glory did not want to sail, because this was the foundation of this story. All the rest that had come later (and while it’s not brilliant by any means, I’m sure, it sort of feels that way to me just because it amazes me that I’ve been able to craft plots and backstories at all)? It never would have come into existence if it weren’t for the relationship I had planned between these two characters.
And I finally just had to acknowledge that they weren’t right for each other, that putting them together wouldn’t work. The story had grown up too much around them, and their theoretical perfect relationship was still the same, and it just didn’t fit. It was incredibly hard to give that up; it’s kind of lame how disappointed I was over it for quite a long time. As we all should do in times of solace (hee), I turned to good ol’ Joss Whedon - on the commentary for the Angel episode “Waiting in the Wings”, he talked about how the episode was originally conceived of based upon the idea that Amy Acker would get to dance ballet on the show. They shot a wonderful dream sequence with Amy (and Alexis Denisof, HEE!) dancing, and it ultimately had to be cut from the episode. And I remember Joss saying something along the lines of that ultimately, to make the story work, you very often have to cut the thing that had originally seemed the most important to it.
I can personally attest to the fact that it’s hard as hell and initially a little bit completely devastating, but ultimately, you’ve gotta let the story take the reins. It knows itself; it knows what it’s doing so much more than you’re ever going to. When the writer finally steps aside and relinquishes control, that’s when the magic happens. And there is seriously no beating that feeling, which I know a lot of you guys (er, the brave ones among you who have made it this far in this post, anyway!) know.
But anyway! Back to Stephenie Meyer.
It’s funny, because you can see in New Moon precisely where the story tries to grab the reins from Ms. Meyer. To save itself, dear God please. (Hee.) And it’s when Jacob Black shows up. When Jacob and Bella interact, all of a sudden the book becomes so warm and engaging and weirdly free; all of a sudden Bella is laughing and practically vibrant, all of a sudden this girl’s got a distinct personality. It might not be confirmed in the text, but in the tone, under the words, Bella and Jacob fall for each other like that. These are two characters that quite simply want to be interacting with each other. This is even confirmed by the author herself on her website: “Ah, and then there is my favorite gift that New Moon gave to me: Jacob Black . . . Something happened then that I didn't expect. Jacob was my first experience with a character taking over-a minor character developing such roundness and life that I couldn't keep him locked inside a tiny role.”
It’s kinda obvious that Jacob and Jacob/Bella were the story taking over, with lots of flashing lights and bright shiny colors, all ‘hey, look at me! Look at me! I am salvation! I am the way this story is meant to go! I am the road to NonSucksville!’ (Vampires. Sucksville. I kill myself. But not in a ‘I’d-rather-than-live-without-you’ way, Edward/Bella :P) But by this time, it has become quite firmly established that Edward/Bella is The Ultimate Love Story To End All Love Stories. Stand aside, Romeo and Juliet! Forget y’all, Rhett and Scarlett! Cathy and Heathcliff say what now? Anne and Gilbert, get gone. (Poor Anne/Gilbert, with its sense of equality and its general adorability, doesn’t even stand a chance.)
It’s clear that Edward/Bella ain’t going anywhere, no matter how badly it’s coming off, or how much it’s compromised the whole book. It seems like Stephenie Meyer just keeps fighting, just keeps clinging to this “perfect” love, and as a result the whole thing just gets more and more corrupted and distorted.
I can't believe that any woman in this day and age would genuinely want to communicate the message that it is right for a young girl to eagerly give up her family, her friends, and her future in order to utterly change herself for a guy who makes her feel plain and unworthy. (Every single one of these is an indisputable in-the-text 200% canon fact, by the way, and I am not distorting anything at all to make it sound worse than it is. If you really want me to, I'll bust out textual evidence. But this is already very, very long.)
If I didn’t know anything about Stephenie Meyer’s intention with writing the book, and was judging on the text alone, I would be completely, doubtlessly sure that the books would ultimately end with Bella having grown enough as a person to realize that while she loves Edward, she deserves better - she deserves to live a full life, to find herself and get to have a family and a career and a future that’s based on herself and her own desires rather than her utter attachment to another human being. To be able to go out in the damn sunlight, for heaven’s sake! To be able to enjoy a hamburger, or have a bad hair day, or sleep. (I genuinely think that’s the most terrifying concept ever presented in these books: the notion that vampires can never sleep. The idea of never having that repose, of having eternity stretched out in front of you without a single break or divide, entirely without the sense of ever getting to start fresh in the morning is so disturbing to me. I wish that a defter writer than Meyer had come up with it, because it is fascinating and horrible.)
The idea that she wants to abandon her humanity - her whole life; everyone that she loves, everything that she could have, every chance at variety and devastation and joy and life, at finding herself and loving herself just as she is - to be with a boy makes me sick. The fact that not for a single second, Bella doesn’t think it’s worth it. That she wants to stop right here, freeze herself in this form forever. She will always be eighteen. She will never get to find out what she’ll look like at age thirty, or what it would be like to have a child with her eyes; she’ll never go to college, figure out what it’s like to live on her own. It just feels like she’s so impossibly young and so blinded by love, and it’s sick that any of the Cullens would genuinely think it was a good idea to steal all of this from her. They’re supposed to be hundreds of years old, for God’s sake! Haven’t they seen enough of the world to understand youthful folly, and the way that everything seems like the most important thing in the world when you're a teenage girl?
I have a friend right now who has very, very similar feelings for a guy that Bella does for Edward, and it makes me sick that “true love” can make people feel so small and desperate and unworthy, so willing to take whatever the hell they can get. You know what true love is supposed to do? It’s supposed to make you feel great about yourself, not unworthy. Not ‘Oh, I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but you’d better not get me a birthday present because then the scales will be tipped forever, and by the way, God, do I look ugly standing next to you!’ You should feel like a damn goddess! You shouldn’t doubt for a second that that person thinks you’re brilliant and funny and utterly beautiful. You should be able to laugh with them and have screaming matches with them and tell them anything, no matter how silly or pathetic or strange, and never for a second stop to wonder why they’re with you. And when you’re not with them anymore (because everything ends sooner or later, and it’s certainly not eternity that defines real love - come on, people! Quality, not quantity, duh), that feeling should still linger, and you should be all the stronger for it, even if it ultimately didn’t work out. It’s not the outcome that matters anyway, it’s the journey. This person shouldn’t define your whole life; they should help you reaffirm who you are, and make you happy to be that.
(And, er, wow, could this be any cornier? No? Well, I don’t care, because IT’S TRUE.)
Edward/Bella is an incredibly juvenile, thoughtless portrayal of alleged true love. Sure, on the surface, it hits every mark on the check list - challenged but not stopped by adversity; the sentiment of “I would die without you” being exercised again and again, with each of them to some degree actually attempting suicide at least once; ultimately bound together by the promise of ‘forever.’ Because Edward’s going to make Bella a vampire, and then they’re going to spend eternity together. Until. The end. Of time.
The idea of this relationship lasting until the end of time kind of makes me want to slam my head against the wall. I pity both of them. But mostly Edward. (“Happy fifty-sixth anniversary, my dear shining beloved effervescent darling.” “What - Edward, no, what are these??” “Just - some flowers, you know, because it’s our - anniversary.” “No, Edward, you can’t! You’re not supposed to get me flowers; I don’t deserve flowers! Not when I get to gaze upon your glorious godlike visage day after day! And besides, it’s not our anniversary! It’s my anniversary of my love for you!” “Bitch, I’m so over this. Maybe I’ll hook up with Drusilla.”)
The Romeo & Juliet parallels are far from subtle (it’s quoted at the beginning of the book! They watch Romeo & Juliet! And intently discuss what they would do if they were Romeo & Juliet! Oh, Meyer, you slay me with your nuanced writing skillz, woman), but guess what? If Romeo and Juliet had lived, Romeo would have been on to the next lady in like a month, and Juliet would have been left to deal with the unfortunate but universal truth that most men are bastards and she should’ve married Paris. (Especially when he takes the form of a) Jacob, or b) Paul Rudd. There is no wrong to be found in either of these options!) I think the true power of that story, the sickening genius irony of it, is that they die for something that wouldn’t have been worth living for. They never would have lasted, no question. They were young and stupid and impulsive, the end. Also, it’s a tragedy. Not the smartest model to base your life off of, Bella Swan.
And so, if I thought this series had a brain, I would be entirely sure - no question in the whole wide world - that it would end with Bella choosing Jacob. It’s so inherent in the poor, ignored, ‘hey! Let me do my own thing, will you, Stephenie? Please? Please? Pleeease?’ subtext that every time Bella feels cold cozying up to Edward (“like cuddling against a sculpture” - oh, yeah, because that’s so pleasant), as opposed to being so comfortable and warm every time she has any physical contact with Jacob, I just want to hit something. It’s so there and so right and so obvious and it shouldn’t even be doubted for a second.
But instead? Instead, I just really really fear for the relationship-related mentality that a generation of middle school-aged girls is going to have after devouring this series.
It’s gross.
I want better for Bella. I want Stephenie Meyer to want better for Bella, I want Bella to want better for Bella.
And I don’t even like the damn book.
(And, yes, it's sort of lame that this inspired me to ramble this much, as it's not exactly a great literary masterpiece for all the ages. But people do get into these books in an extreme, Harry Potter-type way, and I figure that makes it valid enough to really analyze the message that's being sent.)
The worst part of all this is that I suspect I am going to wind up buying Eclipse, just so I can finish off this whole damned mess and lament its inevitable conclusion. I’m ensnared now. Grr.