Rant on Twilight

I can finally say that I have read Twilight. This does not mean that I am now obsessed and feel the urge to run out to Hot Topic and garnish myself with memorabilia. I understand why there is such a hype surrounding the novel, but I don't believe that I would categorize myself in that distinct group of people. Not to say that liking Twilight is bad. But I'm not a prepubescent teenage girl coming to terms with my hormones, nor am I a middle aged house wife desperate to escape my mundane existence with mildly erotic fairy tales. I find myself on the outside, able to recognize the distinct charm of Edward Cullen, but not being charmed myself. Yes, there was a time in my life where I was allured by the ever-so-sexy temperamental bad boy, who professed his love for me but also tried to control every facet of my life, and was distraught by his inability to read and also control my thoughts. No, those days are over. And while I sympathize with Bella on her social awkwardness and love of literature, I am not a pathetic whiny child who faints at the sight of blood and devotes her entire life to a man who mentally and potentially physically abuses her. With that introduction, I find it's only fitting to delve deeper into a sociological and cultural criticism of the "phenomenon" known as Twilight.

Beginning the novel was particularly difficult, as I had promised myself that I would never jump on that bandwagon, that I'm just not the bandwagon type of girl. But I was initially surprised by the moderately well-written style of Stephanie Meyer. While her prose is nowhere near mind-blowing, it isn't awful for young adult literature. It could always be worse. I tried to allow myself to get lost in the story, strip myself of the critical lens I am so used to implementing. And for a while I felt how most women must feel; almost giddy with anticipation. When would Edward notice her? Why was he so mean? Did that secretly mean he liked her, even liked liked her? Then I realized I was acting foolish, and decided I should be true to myself, the cynical, overly-analytical critic that I am.

Let's talk about the scene in which Bella nearly fainted at the mention of blood. Keep in mind that she didn't actually lose any blood herself, just the idea of losing a few droplets made her woozy. Am I supposed to empathize with someone that pathetic? And then, to top it off, this weakness required not one, but two men to save her. Alright Twilight, let's instill patriarchal values in young girls, and remind them that they are unable to fend for themselves. Be like Bella and cook dinner every night and the big strong men will take care of you. That's what gets me. A seventeen year old actually knows how to cook intense meals? Okay, so let's try to believe that's true. But then her dad doesn't even stay around to wash the dishes, he just goes back to watch the TV while she handles the after dinner clean up. And this goes on every night. Maybe in a few years Edward will come around and settle on a bride price for Bella. I mean, that must be what she wants, fantasizing over the details of Jane Austen novels. The whole thing makes me sick. More than fifty years of work correcting the oppressive status imparted on women, and this novel comes around and glorifies the dichotomy between men and women that places men on the top of the hierarchy.

I guess it's safe to say that I didn't like Twilight. Sorry, I tried.