A Response to Criticisms Leveled at Twilight
Author: Admin
I have noticed that there are a lot of Twilight haters out there. [If you are one of them, I suggest reading this wonderful article -- written just for you, and the Twihards who have to deal with you -- by Monica Hesse of the Washington Post.]
As we’ve discussed earlier, dislike, and its resulting criticism, is often tied closely to disagreement with the themes presented in a given story, film, song, or other work of art. If you don’t agree with the moral, you probably won’t like the story very much, and if you do agree with its message, you’ll probably like it more.
Criticisms of Twilight appear to be particularly leveled at Breaking Dawn, the last book in the series. These criticisms may grow as the final Twilight book is made into a film. In Breaking Dawn, the series culminates as our hero, Bella, reaches her high point (or low, if you happen to be a critic). So it may be natural that this book would take the hardest hits.
In any case, criticism of the Twilight series seems to morph over time, and I’d like to address a few recent critical trends:
-
1.) Bella’s story arc is anti-feminist, and thus, presents a bad example for young women. This criticism parallels a closely related one, which is that Bella suffers from low self-esteem, and relies upon her (often, male) friends for support and thus, presents a bad example for young women.
2.) “Breaking Dawn” is confusing because it violates the pre-existing milieu of the entire Twilight series.
3.) Recently, critics assert that the Twilight books are “anti-God.” Okay.
And, 4.) that “Breaking Dawn” book proves conclusively, as a very popular writer* of horror bluntly stated, Stephenie Meyer “can’t write worth a darn.” Ouch.
So let’s take a look at each of these criticisms and see if we can’t alleviate them, at least for some readers.
1.) Is Bella Swan an “anti-feminist” character?
Bella, through adherence to her principles amid changing circumstances (see earlier Meaning of Twilight posts), grows in maturity and becomes the most powerful character in the series, acting independently from Edward and others.
Edward, Jacob (and Carlisle, Charlie, etc.) contribute to the group’s success at times (notably when Edward saves Bella from being hit by a van). But eventually the men inevitably ruin things and it is left to the women — especially Bella — to ultimately work things out, warn about upcoming dangers, repair things, and otherwise save the day in situation after situation. As Alice notes: Edward is, sometimes, a disappointment.
For instance, in New Moon, as Edward wallows in misery while hopelessly misguided off the the right path in Brazil — not finding his quarry, not keeping Bella safe, not preserving his own sanity — it is Bella who finally takes the leap of faith that brings Edward back: she jumps off the La Push cliff.
As a direct consequence, all of the breaches caused by Edward’s foolish disappearance — vampire attacks around Forks, the werewolf pack in constant danger, too-few doctors in the local hospital, Mike ignoring Jessica, etc. — are repaired.
Soon after, because of Bella’s willingness to sacrifice herself rather than Edward to the Volturi’s justice, her life is spared on the condition that she be granted immortality. Thus, her leap leads not only to her immediate success but to her eternal transformation as well.
But — critics say — this was a suicidal act. Indeed, if she had died, it could have been seen in this light. But she doesn’t die, and doesn’t even realize what danger she was in until after she takes the leap. Bella is immediately remorseful afterwards for her foolishness, and for the pain she has — and could have — caused. So while she may be self-destructive, she isn’t suicidal. “You see,” critics say, “Bella is a terrible role model.”
Bella is the hero of the Twilight series. She saves Charlie from loneliness. She helps Renee grow up. She assists Alice in discovering her past, and in fulfilling her lost, human side. She helps Rosalie find peace and joy in caring for her child, and so forth. She is the key to helping each character reach their potential and find happiness.
Most importantly for the story, Bella saves Edward from being a “monster” — and Jacob, too. Both young men are profoundly distressed by their supernatural natures. Bella helps them both to see, and then to achieve, the goodness that their powers enable them to achieve. She transforms them from monsters into men, in the best sense.
Further, Bella saves herself from her awkward adolescence, maturing into an accomplished and powerful woman; she is much more powerful than any other human or immortal in the series, even more powerful than Aro, the pinnacle of vampiric royalty and power. And what is anti-feminist about that?
Since Socrates, who first pointed this out, stories thrive on conflict caused by the flaws (hamartia) of their characters, just like the most popular of Shakespeare’s tragedies, Romeo and Juliet. Accordingly, Bella and the other characters have pronounced flaws in their character, and thus make dramatic mistakes in their lives. “Dramatic” being the key word there. Moreover, the overcoming of these flaws becomes the backbone of this — and any other — story.
More pointedly, unlike real life, in drama the “ends justifies the means,” simply because it is a story and the outcome is assured in the writer’s mind. This is why the concept of destiny is so easily explored in drama; the author “destines” it, and so the characters must fulfill their destiny.
In real life, outcomes are rarely assured, so we must be more cautious — and we are. Usually. “And what if teenage girls start risking suicide because a boy breaks up with them?” critics ask.
I don’t recall anyone voicing fears that teenaged boys would start running off with homeless people when Luke Skywalker ran away from home with Obi-Wan Kenobi. Further, high school English teachers’ insistence that "Romeo and Juliet" form the basis of their curriculum for the past hundred years (or more) doesn’t seem to have resulted in sky-rocketing suicides every year — even among those ever-so-emotionally-fragile teenage girls.
If there is an anti-feminist point of view out there in relation to Twilight, perhaps it is seen among these very criticisms, pre-supposing that young women are incapable of learning a moral lesson via the extreme examples that drama provides.
The related criticism about Bella’s “poor self-esteem” doesn’t hold water either. While Bella can feel self-conscious from time to time — and occasionally agonizes over those feelings — she actually exhibits self-assuredness time and again in the face of physical danger, difficult social situations, spiritual quandries, and intellectual challenges. What she also exhibits, which may be confused by some as low self-esteem, is humility.
Simple, decent humility is a sign of greatness. How does one develop true self-worth? By adhering to one’s principles amid changing circumstances, adapting in upright ways as situations change, just as Bella does (discussed elsewhere in the Meaning of Twilight series). When one does achieve a measure of greatness, does that mean one can lord over others in arrogance and pride? Of course not. Thus, the need for humility, and why it is associated with greatness.
So if Bella is a real, feminine hero, why the harsh criticism of her character — especially among feminists? As we’ve explored earlier, it may be that they simply do not agree with her decisions. Or will not agree. In Breaking Dawn, for instance, the descriptions of the spiritual and physical joys of married intimacy are attacked by critics because they underscore the benefits of pre-marital chastity — benefits which may now be beyond the reach of some readers. And that can be hard to live with. Ugly feelings have a way of seeping into every aspect of a person’s life. Sad. But true. I’m sorry.
2.) Breaking Dawn, though with purposeful differences, is consistent with the rest of the books in the Twilight series.
Surprisingly enough, life goes on beyond the teen years. And contrary to what many teens (and John Hughes) may want you to think, the teen years are hardly the best years that life offers. To the contrary, once a person’s life becomes their own, and as they gain wisdom, people make wiser and wiser choices and increasingly enjoy the cumulative benefits of all those good choices. Unless you choose to act foolishly (failing to follow the Wisdom Cycle), life really does get better as you change and move forward. Really. I promise.
We will likely review this more later, but a key principal of Bella and Edward’s growing maturity is a commitment to be true to one another, to offer one another the best life they can have — which includes largely reserving their intimate life until after marriage. BD offers the payoff of their living according to their principles. Specifically, Bella and Edward are able to develop a profound emotional intimacy with one another throughout their courtship, even though (or perhaps: because) they haven’t actually been physically intimate. Further, despite the adjustments they must make (common in many new marriages), they enjoy a deeply rewarding sex life which celebrates and deepens their emotional intimacy. They don’t miss a thing. And Breaking Dawn underscores exactly that point — that devotion to principle is well worth it.
Despite the need to advance the story quickly through numerous life events which, for most people, symbolize an accomplished mature life — marriage, intimacy, college decisions, career choices, extended family relations, etc. — Breaking Dawn reveals that physical intimacy at any time of life opens a new world of options, including pregnancy, childbirth, and raising a family. Whether those steps make one’s life better, or worse, largely depends on one’s commitments, including the formal commitment of marriage.
Marriage itself shows society that a person has decided they are willing and ready to take serious steps, such as pregnancy. It is for this reason that Bella, humble as she is, is somewhat embarrassed to publicly reveal herself to have matured beyond her years, and well beyond her peers (just imagine how Jessica and Mike would handle a newborn).
3.) The Twilight series is hardly “anti-God.”
The series resolutely and seriously considers the importance of saving one’s (and one another’s) soul. The lead characters take a chaste approach to their romantic relationship specifically to preserve their clean and pure state into the afterlife — a portrayal of rarity in today’s popular culture.
This is a secular book, and God is not specifically mentioned (is He??). Yet Bella discusses and considers the importance of securing a happy afterlife, extensively, and to the very best of her abilities. Like Carlisle, she approaches spiritual matters with a limited understanding, yet with a resolute faith.
On a deeper level, the series explores another relationship people may choose to have with their Maker — to become more like God himself, in order to better act on God’s behalf, whatever that may entail in that person’s life. This happens in two different ways.
First, the characters of Twilight do good to others within the range of their abilities, in a sense acting as “angels.” For example, Edward Cullen, the male lead, is frequently compared with angels. Edward is sometimes said to be as beautiful as an angel, or as dangerous as a destroying angel. Yet he is most often and specifically said to act as a guardian angel. In Midnight Sun, the released yet unfinished story of Twilight from Edward’s point of view, this is made explicit. Edward is like an angel — which may be the actual inspiration for his glowing, sparkling light with which he shines in daylight.
But it is not just who he is that makes Edward angelic; it is what he does. As the story progresses, he puts off the natural man, through his love, to readily sacrifice any and all of his own pleasures and desires — all to serve a higher purpose, as needed. For instance, Edward continually protects Bella, even watching over her in her sleep (something that otherwise would seem awfully forward, if not criminal). Using his unique abilities, he is inspired to help others — ranging from helping Ben and Angela to overcome their shyness to get together, most likely for the rest of their lives, to protecting Bella from her various attackers as best he can.
Conversely, the villainous Volturi use their own supernatural powers only to preserve themselves and their exalted position in evil. Their court serves as an inverted mockery of the Vatican itself. They represent the fallen angels — the devils — of this world.
Thus, the Cullens and the Volturi represent two great possibilities of human nature: To serve the good and thereby become ever more like God, eventually to act as an immortal, veritable angel upon the earth; or, to become overthrown by their own greedy and carnal passions — until they become as vicious and heartless as the very devils themselves.
Second, the good vampire characters — the Cullen family and their closest friends — each posses various qualities of God which ennoble and empower them in doing good for others. They are filled with compassion for humanity (Carlisle). They are enormously caring (Esme). They are glorious (Rosalie) and powerful (Emmett). They see the future (Alice). They know the hearts (Jasper) and minds (Edward) of men, insomuch that they can perceive one’s innate potential (Eleazar). They even control the elements themselves (Benjamin), or alter the course of history as they will (Siobhan). And, of course, they protect the good and the weak (Bella).
In addition, they are immortal. They do not sleep. They are nearly indestructible. They shine with an unearthly glow. They are inconceivably knowledgeable, incredibly smart, and thus are (usually) very wise. They do not have blood, or suffer from human weakness, frailty or fatigue. They can, but rarely, eat. Indeed, their “food” is — though befitting the genre of the vampire tale — sacramental in nature. Their bodies are made perfect and transform into each person’s ideal form through their death as a human and passage into immortality. It is as though the author envisioned the possibility of what a resurrected being would be like (according to many faiths), and after making a few minor changes, called them vampires. (Note: According to the LDS faith, to which the author ascribes, angels are essentially exalted people, and their “wings” as mentioned in scripture are only metaphorical; the Cullens don’t have wings either, and they only “fly” metaphorically — and often.)
4.) The fourth criticism — that Meyer is not a good author — begs a more technical explanation.
Setting aside the possibility of jealousy among critics and peers in the face of Meyer’s enormous success, as well as her obvious talent at creating a vividly engaging milieu, along with her delightful skills in writing dialogue, and her masterful control of what the reader does and doesn’t know, I believe that many readers (especially critics) are confused by the impact of Meyer’s most obvious literary device: first-person perspective. The matter requires a technical explanation.
To simplify, here’s a little story: As a college freshman, I studied Joseph Conrad’s landmark novel, “Lord Jim.” In it, Conrad changes perspective from the first-person view of the lead character after the first few pages, to a third-person narrative, where a semi-omniscient narrator describes the remainder of the story. The book is powerful and inspiring, but problemmatic for English scholars. Historically, the main issue was that Conrad was publishing the book little-by-little, over several months in a magazine, so he couldn’t re-write the first few chapters. So, when the hero makes a terrible mistake at the end of the first-person perspective portion of the book, the narrator takes over as the lead character tries to redeem himself. He is ultimately successful and becomes a true hero — albeit one with a martyr’s complex (though, like Bella, we love him anyway).
Why the change? Because it is extremely difficult — and some (like my professor) might say, impossible — to make a first-person narrator into a hero. Because readers see things through his eyes, we know his flaws, his reasons, and his reasoning, so the hero’s actions are completely understandable, rather than the sort of thing which inspires awe. Thus, authors very rarely use first-person narrators, and when they do, they are either outside observers of the story (as in “Moby Dick”) or anti-heroes we aren’t supposed to revere (as in “Catcher in the Rye”). And this is why the great Joseph Conrad had to bail out on Lord Jim’s perspective, when Jim bailed out of his own troubles.
What Meyer has done in the Twilight series is to create a truly heroic character while relying only upon a first-person narrator — a remarkably compelling addition to the world of English literature.
While Bella marvels at the powers of those around her, she believes herself to be weak, yet triumphs again and again. Only in Breaking Dawn’s denouement does Bella finally, in embarrassed humility, ever even notice that fact. But although Bella’s humility makes her blind to her own greatness, we as the readers do not need to be so blind, especially when we see her extraordinary triumphs. She traps James where he can be killed. She saves Edward from suicide, and is the convincing factor so that the Volturi don’t kill her, Alice and Edward. In Eclipse, she cuts herself at the cliff to entice and distract the attacking vampires. And so on.
However, it appears that many critics, no doubt well accustomed to this once unbreakable “rule” of literature that no hero can be portrayed through their own first-person perspective, fail to see Bella for what she is: a true hero.
Further, Meyer’s critics fail to see her own artistic triumph, even when the pattern remains while Jacob briefly becomes the self-sacrificing hero in Breaking Dawn, and the narration obligingly shifts over to his own first-person view.
Thus, critics’ growing confusion as they progress through the series, as they continue misunderstanding the texts, resulting in their particular dislike for Breaking Dawn.
And their obviously incorrect insistence that Bella is as weak of a female lead as the character herself (also, mistakenly) believes herself to be.
And their failure to recognize Meyer’s work in the Twilight series for what it truly is: a triumph of English literature.
So, thank you, Stephenie (who, as if to drive the point home, takes this concept even further in The Host). Thank you, Bella, our true hero.
And, thank you, dear readers. You may hold your head high.
Yet, in humility, please remember why some people — as described above — will never understand the light that we see, ironically enough, in Twilight.
Please feel free to comment below. And thanks for visiting TwilightNewsSite.com. Tell your friends!
*Yes, it was Stephen King. More on that later but briefly, Meyer’s worldview is that the world is based upon cause and effect — Law of the Harvest, “you reap what you sow.” Hence, the long origin stories of each of the Cullens, Edward and Bella’s discussion on the creation vs. evolution of vampires, etc.
In contrast, the horror genre argues that life has no cause and effect — horrible things just “happen.” Thus, if something bad or difficult arises in your life, you can declaim any responsibility for your own life. Good luck with that.
Thus, the horror worldview says that it’s not your fault if: a magical dome encloses your town; a giant dog attacks your car; or say, you aren’t paying attention walking down the road when an equally inattentive driver hits you with his car from behind.
So I suspect what King really disagrees with isn’t Meyer’s writing ability, but her worldview. And her massive book sales.
