I'd been anticipating the release of Breaking Dawn, Part 1 with a mixture of excitement and preemptive frustration. The films have been consistently excellent interpretations of the series: artful, compassionately humanist, and loyal to the spirit of Stephenie Meyer's vision while still offering a unique interpretation of the story--the films are worthwhile in their own right, separate from the books. Something that cannot be said of the majority of the much-lauded Harry Potter films (with the notable exception of Deathly Hallows, Part One and arguably Half-Blood Prince). [I don't want to get bogged down in the HP v. Twilight debate right now, but anyone who wants to talk about it in relation to feminist ethics should really check out Sady Doyle's "In Praise of Joanne Rowling's Hermione Granger Series."]
So, anyway, I was excited about the film (which did not disappoint--I think it's actually the best so far), but preemptively frustrated by the reinvigoration of Twilight hate flooding the internets and other social circles I inhabit. All of which boils down to some combination of, "It's not aesthetically good," "It's not smart," and "It's not feminist." [See NPR's review of BDpt1.]
99% of the world's vampire hate is directed at 1% of the world's vampires.
I didn't want to respond directly to these criticisms because I don't think The Twilight Saga should have to defend itself--but apparently it does. I'd rather celebrate the complex and impressive things it's offering. So, I decided to split the difference, and came up with:
Three Reasons not to Hate Twilight and Three Reasons to Love It
Three Reasons not to Hate:
1.) Most Twilight hate is misogynistic.
Criticisms of Twilight revive a host of misogynistic cliches. Stephenie Meyer is mocked for her appearance, for having an imaginative inner life, and for having a sex drive. People assume she must not know anything because she's a wife and mother. Her writing is mocked as "purple" and "Baroque" by people who are happy to read pages and pages of manpain by all those dudes who go by three names that we read in classes on the contemporary novel--because only men are supposed to indulge their pens? (Hey, it had to be said.)
Actually, the reason a lot of people resist the writing is because they don't care about either adolescence or women's experience--they have no sympathy for it, possibly because they're trying to repress their own adolescence and/or frustration over gender norms. In any case, this attitude participates in the long tradition of writing off stories that concern women's lives as trivial and irrelevant to "common human experience"(Cf. Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own).
And of course, there's all the hate directed at fans--for being "silly" girls and middle-aged women. People that we refuse to take seriously. This is why I feel so frustrated when fellow feminists make fun of the series--doing so is leveling abuse at women for liking something, socially policing them. Exactly what feminism shouldn't be about.
Criticisms of Twilight revive a host of misogynistic cliches. Stephenie Meyer is mocked for her appearance, for having an imaginative inner life, and for having a sex drive. People assume she must not know anything because she's a wife and mother. Her writing is mocked as "purple" and "Baroque" by people who are happy to read pages and pages of manpain by all those dudes who go by three names that we read in classes on the contemporary novel--because only men are supposed to indulge their pens? (Hey, it had to be said.)
Actually, the reason a lot of people resist the writing is because they don't care about either adolescence or women's experience--they have no sympathy for it, possibly because they're trying to repress their own adolescence and/or frustration over gender norms. In any case, this attitude participates in the long tradition of writing off stories that concern women's lives as trivial and irrelevant to "common human experience"(Cf. Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own).
And of course, there's all the hate directed at fans--for being "silly" girls and middle-aged women. People that we refuse to take seriously. This is why I feel so frustrated when fellow feminists make fun of the series--doing so is leveling abuse at women for liking something, socially policing them. Exactly what feminism shouldn't be about.
This is the face of the enemy?
2.) While we're at it, lots of Twilight hate is homophobic.
People (usually male fans of other vampire franchises) get all pissy that Edward sparkles, wears custom-tailored clothing, is not interested in having sex with his girlfriend, and gets shirtless with Jacob all the time. In other words, they're afraid that liking Twilight will mean they've caught The Gay (or that their girlfriends will become Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys).
People (usually male fans of other vampire franchises) get all pissy that Edward sparkles, wears custom-tailored clothing, is not interested in having sex with his girlfriend, and gets shirtless with Jacob all the time. In other words, they're afraid that liking Twilight will mean they've caught The Gay (or that their girlfriends will become Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys).
Actually, Twilight does in fact give us an exciting bunch of queer possibilities. Many have pointed out that Edward Cullen can easily by read as closeted. [Jesse Ataide, who blogs here, gave a particularly brilliant paper at the 2009 Midwest Popular Culture Association conference about the correspondences between EC and the trope of the "Sad Young Man."] The film adaptation of Breaking Dawn, Part One shows a real knowledge of queer fan readings of the show, especially at the moment where Bella suggests naming her baby Edward/Jacob [for fandom outsiders, name mashups like that are how you refer to characters, usually two men, whom you ship: e.g. Kirk/Spock, Ron/Harry, Spike/Angel].
And between Alice, Leah, and the Amazons (coming in Breaking Dawn, Part Two), lesbians aren't left out either.
3.) And most Twilight hate is just inane. Examples:
-"It doesn't make sense that Bella and Edward don't know about birth control."
This coming from the same people who lament the lack of comprehensive sex education in schools. If anything, the series tells an important story about exactly how unplanned pregnancies occur: people a.) enjoy sex and b.) don't think pregnancy will happen to them. This is not a story that is anti-birth control--it's one of the few that, as Sarah Blackwood points out in her brilliantly titled post "Our Bella, Ourselves," offers a frank exploration of what the culture of reproductive sex can mean for women.
-Twilight will cause girls to become (too religious/not religious enough/afraid of sex/too into sex/obsessed with its story world/have unrealistic expectations/etc).
First of all, I hate this condescending, knight-in-shining-armor stance people take towards adolescent girls. As though young women (and the many other women who enjoy Twilight) need another person denying that they have any agency. This high-minded moralizing is mostly just an indirect, sex-panicky way of trying (yet again) to control women's bodies and minds. Because letting women explore their experiences and desires as they relate to sexuality is just too scary.
-And, finally, my personal favorite: "Vampire baseball is stupid."
No, baseball is stupid. Or at least, playing it makes you look stupid.
Which is why we can't imagine immortal supercreatures playing it. Given the amount of money and attention we collectively spend on sports, that says something about the shame we have deep down about how we occupy our leisure time. [This critique also applies to Twilight-haters who make fun of the fact that the characters go to high school, get married, and have babies--apparently these are the things we're secretly embarrassed about?]
Three Reasons to Love:
1.) It is a powerful contribution to the canon of feminist thought.
It takes women's bodies seriously, exploring the realities of sex, pregnancy, and childbirth in raw and sometimes frightening detail. It takes women's social experience seriously, showing what it means to be the object of the Gaze, to face society's lack of knowledge about women's health (Carlisle), to be subject to street harassment (which it depicts very accurately), to have confusing passionate friendships with other women, to demand control over your own body.
It's also a story that a lot of women like. Written by a woman, relevant to her own experience of the anxieties, desires, hopes, and fears that characterize her social reality. These factors alone make it of interest to feminist thought.
But, finally, it is in sync with and practically begs to be read alongside Michel Foucault, Julia Kristeva, Simone de Beauvoir, and other major contributors to contemporary thought. The academy, if no one else, should take it seriously.
2.) It offers a critical perspective on U.S. self-mythologizing.
Carlisle, the Cullen patriarch, is a 17th-century English Puritan who founds a new way of living (he is literally a Renaissance humanist), moving to America and putting together a group of like-minded people who band together under the social contract he promotes. They go on to establish and then break treaties with Native Americans, play baseball, and live an almost parodic version of the white, capitalist, upwardly mobile lifestyle. They seem suspiciously Mormon--the American religion if there ever was one--and consider themselves a "City on a Hill" to their fellow vampires.
If you have any interest in U.S. social history in the popular imagination, in U.S. religion, the American Dream, or in the fine, fine line between imitation and satire--this is the place to go.
3.) It addresses key questions about how to conceptualize the body (and soul) in the age of 21st century technologies.
-"It doesn't make sense that Bella and Edward don't know about birth control."
This coming from the same people who lament the lack of comprehensive sex education in schools. If anything, the series tells an important story about exactly how unplanned pregnancies occur: people a.) enjoy sex and b.) don't think pregnancy will happen to them. This is not a story that is anti-birth control--it's one of the few that, as Sarah Blackwood points out in her brilliantly titled post "Our Bella, Ourselves," offers a frank exploration of what the culture of reproductive sex can mean for women.
-Twilight will cause girls to become (too religious/not religious enough/afraid of sex/too into sex/obsessed with its story world/have unrealistic expectations/etc).
First of all, I hate this condescending, knight-in-shining-armor stance people take towards adolescent girls. As though young women (and the many other women who enjoy Twilight) need another person denying that they have any agency. This high-minded moralizing is mostly just an indirect, sex-panicky way of trying (yet again) to control women's bodies and minds. Because letting women explore their experiences and desires as they relate to sexuality is just too scary.
-And, finally, my personal favorite: "Vampire baseball is stupid."
No, baseball is stupid. Or at least, playing it makes you look stupid.
No offense, guys.
Three Reasons to Love:
1.) It is a powerful contribution to the canon of feminist thought.
It takes women's bodies seriously, exploring the realities of sex, pregnancy, and childbirth in raw and sometimes frightening detail. It takes women's social experience seriously, showing what it means to be the object of the Gaze, to face society's lack of knowledge about women's health (Carlisle), to be subject to street harassment (which it depicts very accurately), to have confusing passionate friendships with other women, to demand control over your own body.
It's also a story that a lot of women like. Written by a woman, relevant to her own experience of the anxieties, desires, hopes, and fears that characterize her social reality. These factors alone make it of interest to feminist thought.
But, finally, it is in sync with and practically begs to be read alongside Michel Foucault, Julia Kristeva, Simone de Beauvoir, and other major contributors to contemporary thought. The academy, if no one else, should take it seriously.
2.) It offers a critical perspective on U.S. self-mythologizing.
Carlisle, the Cullen patriarch, is a 17th-century English Puritan who founds a new way of living (he is literally a Renaissance humanist), moving to America and putting together a group of like-minded people who band together under the social contract he promotes. They go on to establish and then break treaties with Native Americans, play baseball, and live an almost parodic version of the white, capitalist, upwardly mobile lifestyle. They seem suspiciously Mormon--the American religion if there ever was one--and consider themselves a "City on a Hill" to their fellow vampires.
If you have any interest in U.S. social history in the popular imagination, in U.S. religion, the American Dream, or in the fine, fine line between imitation and satire--this is the place to go.
No joke: Carlisle Cullen has been featured in a Forbes Top 15 Wealthiest list.
Twilight vampires and werewolves have genetically altered bodies that make them immortal and superhuman. Their creation (in which Carlisle, who is an MD, has significant influence) is directly relevant to contemporary concerns about genetic engineering and the posthuman. Much of the characters', especially Bella's, fears about her child involve the uncertainty about what this new kind of person will be--whether it will respect human life, whether it will make us all obsolete, whether it will have a soul. The series raises all kinds of questions about the nature of the soul in a secular age of advanced biotechnology. And its concerns for the future of humanity are as real and significant as those raised by any science fiction story. Quoting the Volturi (the vampire government) leader, Aro:
...how ironic it is that as the humans advance, as their faith in science grows and controls their world, the more free we are from discovery. Yet as we become ever more uninhibited by their disbelief in the supernatural, they become strong enough in their technologies that, if they wished, they could actually pose a threat to us, even destroy some of us ... This last raw, angry century has given birth to weapons of such power that they endanger even immortals (Breaking Dawn 715-716).
The use of "given birth" is no coincidence there. This is a story world where attention to women's reproductive agency is central in any question about the future.
Final Thought: I've avoided addressing exactly what I think is aesthetically good about the series because it would be a pretty involved discussion and this post is already unreasonably long. So I'll just say: anyone who has a doubt about this, try watching Breaking Dawn, Part One with this quote in mind:
More perfectly than any other fairy-tale, Snow-White expresses melancholy. The pure image of this mood is the queen looking out into the snow through her window and wishing for her daughter, after the lifelessly living beauty of the flakes, the black mourning of the window-frame, the stab of bleeding; and then dying in childbirth. The happy end takes away nothing of this. As the granting of her wish is death, so the saving remains illusion. For deeper knowledge cannot believe that she was awakened who lies as if asleep in the glass coffin.
...
So, when we are hoping for rescue, a voice tells us that hope is in vain, yet it is powerless hope alone that allows us to draw a single breath. All contemplation can do no more than patiently trace the ambiguity of melancholy in ever new configurations. Truth is inseparable from the illusory belief that from the figures of the unreal one day, in spite of all, real deliverance will come (Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia 121-122).
