In which you will not be surprised.
And another thing!
I remembered what I was going to say about harlequin romance novels, and how they differ from Twilight. The “saga” is really amazingly unsatisfying in that there isn’t much sex at all. I hesitate to call it a chaste romance– it’s not– since they both clearly want to screw like jackrabbits. It’s not a question of “will they, won’t they,” because they will, it’s just a question of “when they,” or…”how they,” since a major subplot of the movie is Bella and Edward negotiating when exactly he’s going to snake his tiny, sparkling little undead wiener in her, and Edward’s puzzling, borderline suspicious hesitation to even step up to the plate, much less go for first base. He continues to plead that it’s “too dangerous,” whether it’s because of his physical strength (ever hear of riding cowgirl?), or his own conflicting passions for blood (which is never really adequately expressed beyond stammering and him mumbling, “I can’t…not now…”). A smarter book might have explained the insatiable, desperate vampiric thirst and how he would lose control in the heat of the moment…ugh, just thinking about it makes me puke a little. But their reluctance to having sex until marriage is more a matter of physical limitations (Superman/Lois metaphor?) than any kind of moral hangups. They WANT to, they just can’t.
And that smacks of just plain lazy, uncreative writing. Trust me, a lusty couple would work something out. They’re called handjobs. Get a vibrator, Edward. This isn’t complicated, and this whole sheepish, “we mustn’t for I have the strength of a hundred douchebags and I might harm you with my vampiro-cock and its mighty shotgun load” routine spells “limp dick bore” to me. If Edward’s had a hundred years to learn how to love, you’d think he could have spent one of those to learn how to go down on a girl. For fuck’s sake.
The other thing that baffled me was the constant reminders from every peripheral character about all the things Bella would be sacrificing to be with Edward. Charlie, her school friend, Jacob, Bella’s mother, all give touching speeches about how they value companionship, the rich experiences of a normal life, growing old with someone and having grandchildren, making mistakes and learning from them, being enriched by family and all the highs and lows over the passage of time…and with Bella, it’s in one ear and out the other. She never even pauses for a second to rethink her decision. Not. One. Second. Again, perhaps a smarter novel would have made this into a very tragic story, where a young girl allows her lusts and passions to blind her into making a devastating and eternally damning decision, forever hating herself for her own ignorance and for not listening to people she should have trusted. Instead, the movie seems to imply that nobody understands Bella, that they’re being closed-minded or perhaps they could never understand what Bella’s going through, since they’ve never experienced a love as true and pure as her love for Edward.
No, I’m serious. I’m not making this up.
Despite all these perfectly well-reasoned arguments (so reasonable, in fact, I have to question aloud whether or not it was actually in the book), Bella enthusiastically discards her friends, family, any hope for a normal life, her loving mother and devoted father, and any chance at ever being integrated into society… for Edward Cullen. And all this leads back to my initial search for one thing, just One Thing connecting Edward and Bella besides their desire to fuck. Give me something. Give me anything. I’ll take it and run. With a romance story, you have to be able to somehow justify this blind, utter devotion to a person beyond purely physical or chemical terms. And no, “he gives her stuff” is not a basis for a relationship. At least, not the kind you’d swoon over.
I hate this series.