I promised some friends I would share my commentary on the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer, and I think I have been putting it off because I wasn’t sure how to go about it.  The best overall comment I can make is that I liked it like I like milk chocolate; it’s sweet, not good for you, but I enjoy it anyway.  There is, however, something to the series that strikes me as inspiring. *

The sweetness behind this vampire-human love story resides in its simplicity.  Two souls in love.  They cannot live without the other, and they will overcome all obtacles to be together.  Star-crossed lovers, indeed.  The story line hits all romantics at heart.  Make one of the characters a vampire, and there’s so much more drama and action involved, more images and history to pull from.  There’s also the innocence in the story, the moral platforms involved in which the heroine ends up making all the “right” choices.  The books are so relatively “clean” that I don’t mind my 11-year-old reading them.  (Of course, the killing might bother some.)

One can only take so much sweetness (even though I tend to binge on mine, thus reading all four books in a week or so).   Reading the books to me was like watching a movie.  They are highly entertaining, but I did not find them intecllectually stimulating.  I felt like all the plot lines were developed without having a great deal of research behind them, though I did read in the credits that Meyer learned a bit about motorcycles for New Moon.  It saddens me that pop lit is almost movie-ready material.  As someone driven by emotions, I felt carried through the series, but the logic in the novels doesn’t seem to me to be fully engaged.  I tried to get my husband to read the books to get his perspective on this, but he won’t.  Maybe that says enough.

I also know of people who criticize the reality of the situations.  The books are idealistic; perhaps that’s partly why I enjoyed them so much.  They’re predictable.  They girl gets the guy, and the guy gets the girl.  There’s a strong sense of family.  The heroine beats the odds and comes through as a powerhouse in the end.  But these books are fantasy.  Our emotions and imagination are engaged and can play along nicely if we allow them.

What inspires me in this series is that all of us who write should write.  I hold my own standards very high and worry that I won’t be good enough to compare to Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Wolfe, Steinbeck, etc.  But all stories that come as a gift should be told, for we never know who will respond, who needs to hear that story.  I hope that others who desire to write, after reading this series, are encouraged to share their stories.  My sincerest hope, though, is that the strength of a heroine comes not only from her deep love for another or some fantastic gift of mental control or superhuman strength.

Looking at the Twilight series as a whole, as a microcosm of life (even in the undead),  we can see many elements of our desires, weaknesses.  Utimately, most of us do hope to find our soul mates, the other whom we cannot live without, but I think the series falls short in assuring our young women in society that it’s not about smelling good and falling in “love.”  What a different story it would have been had Bella recovered from Edward’s absence, realized she had dependency issues and went on to find her true self, her true strengths — however human they may be.  Of course, I still want her and Edward to hook up in the end, too, but if she’s strong enough to mentally overcome newbie vampire craze, shouldn’t she be able to stand on her own?

I’m glad I read the books, mainly so I know what my daughter will be reading but also to have insight into our pop culture.  I did enjoy them for their entertainment value and for the work Meyer put into attaching to the reader’s emotions.  Even more, though, I appreciate the inspiration given to share my own stories in their own realistic way.

Oh, and I did like the movie and plan to see New Moon with my daughter and her friends.    I have a HUGE sweet tooth!

*I’m sure you can Google millions of Twilight reviews that are more literary based and biased one way or the other.  All statements here are completely my meager opinion, written before reading any of the aforementioned reviews.

(I, too, dabble in the fiction realm.  Enjoy, and pass along to others you feel might benefit.)

I wander through the woods.  The thicket scrapes against me, and my laden vest pulls me down.  It’s so heavy.  I can go no further.  I fall to the ground.

I watch the glimmer of light come closer, flicker before my eyes, dancing around, it seems.  Suddenly, it poofs into a fairy, more like a fairy godmother.

“Why have you stopped, dear?” she asks.

“I can go no further,” I say in despair, feeling the sweat all over my body, clothes soggy and clinging.

“Nonsense,” the fairy replies.  “You have all you need.  Now, get up and get moving.”

I protest, and she keeps telling me to move.  Finally, her little pixie body yanks me up, pulling me out of my pit of despair and into her full attention.

“Empty those pockets,” she orders.

So I pull out the wipes, tissues, diapers, toys, the snacks, drinks and medicines.  I pull out more toys and crumbs.  I carefully remove the sewing machine and sewing box, the computer, about half a dozen cookbooks and a small bag of make-up.  I look at the fairy pleadingly. 

“Isn’t that enough?”  I ask.

“Is it?” she asks me.

I feel lighter, but there’s still more weight than I feel I can carry.  So, I empty more pockets.  Out go all the CDs, a shelf worth of books, fancy garden tools and kitchen gadgets.  Out go the fancy planters and delicate vases.  I take the vest off for a bit and realize I have layers of clothing on.  I peel the layers off until finally I’m in a simple dress over my pretty yet practical undergarments.  I take off large rubber boots and large clunky boots until I’m left with just my sandals.  I even had extra socks on, so I take those off altogether.

I pick up my vest and put it on.  It slides on easily and hangs loosely, comfortably.  I smile.

“How’s that?” I ask, looking up at the fairy.  “Fairy?” I call out.  I look for her in all directions, but I don’t see her.

“Check your pockets now, and leave the rest behind you.  Enjoy the journey.”

I look around for her, but I only heard the voice.  Was she out there or just in my mind?

Looking in my pockets, I find a needle and thread, wooden spoon, a spade and cultivator and a pen and notebook.  There’s a mound of things around me, and I was tempted to pick some of it back up.  I love that so much; that comes in so handy; I paid so much for that . . . But my pockets now are too small.  I wasn’t sure how I had carried it all in the first place.

So I leave it.  I turn and don’t look back.  Just over the rise of hill and around the bend, the woods clear and give way to a beautiful, enchanted woodland with a rippling spring and flowers and everything I love about the forest.  No more would I feel I didn’t have room to enjoy myself, my life.

I sit on a carpet of moss by the creek, eat from the berries I picked from a nearby bush and pull out my pen and notebook.  The possibilities are endless.