Twilight

There are three series that have remained dear to me over the years, and I anticipate they will continue to do so throughout my life. I revisit them almost every year because the worlds, characters, and language of each story are so familiar to me that they feel like a second family. These series, beloved by many throughout the world, have entertained a generation. Of course, I'm referring to Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Twilight.

If you're the type of fan who's ready to throw a wand, ring, or sparkling vampire at sacrilegious comparisons, I suggest you skip this paragraph. Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Twilight all follow epic adventures where the main characters grow and learn life lessons; themes of friendship and loyalty are central to each story, and while Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings subtly touch on themes of romantic love, in Twilight it takes a more prominent role. Many readers have found comfort in the shared themes of growth, friendship, and the search for belonging, making them beloved around the world. As readers of a generation grew “up”, we started noticing the glaring flaws in Harry Potter, Twilight, and Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings, for all its epicness, seems to have missed the memo on gender diversity. Harry Potter's author shamelessly airs her views on transgender individuals and their civil rights, utilising language and expressing sentiments widely denounced as overtly transphobic. Twilight epitomises toxic relationships and dubious morals, glorifying possessive obsession and abstinence until marriage. Discovering their flaws is part of our journey with them; it's crucial to both critique and appreciate them as we mature. Yes, I may be a bit disrespectful by comparing the three. Tolkien wrote in a different era than Rowling and Meyer, and laid the groundwork so without him there might not be Harry Potter, and without Harry Potter, perhaps no Twilight. My tongue-in-cheek comparison should mostly serve to illustrate the parallel trajectories of their respective fan bases. Despite their differences, each narrative retains its unique charm, offering distinct pleasures to readers.

Here are the reasons I enjoy Twilight:
1. Women in their 30s who grew up reading Twilight have recently analysed why they still like it - and their thoughts converge around an idea I have been toying with too. Twilight speaks to both our longing for committed loving relationships and our recognition of toxic ones, embodying everything we've desired as teenagers and experienced as adults, resonating with our complex selves. I cherish the memories of my teenage obsession with Twilight, and I enjoy it today. As the renewed interest in the series persists, it's crucial to recognise Twilight for what it is: a cautionary tale of a highly toxic relationship as much as it is an idealised romance. However, amidst its flaws, Twilight presents new lore, showcasing complex characters navigating moral quandaries and inner struggles. Departing from clichéd vampire tropes, Meyer portrays reformed vampires living covertly among humans, embracing a “healthier” lifestyle. The series blends fantasy romance and suspense, and in its finest moments, skilfully walks the line between intrigue and absurdity.
2. I personally find the Twilight series fascinating for the same reason I adore anime for offering us the most compelling villains where antagonists have as much depth as (and stronger ideologies than) the heroes they oppose, undergo redemption arcs, and prompt audiences to reconsider their perspectives. Twilight approaches the complexities of romantic love in a unique way. While other stories with love triangles often portray jealousy as a destructive force, Twilight acknowledges that one can be in love with multiple people simultaneously. It suggests that love can transcend boundaries and that common ground can be found. It is willing to explore such themes, and it ultimately reinforces the status quo in so laughably toxic a manner that it ironically contradicts the very points it attempts to make about marriage and monogamy. If it is not obvious, I disagree with Meyer's portrayal of marriage, influenced by her Mormon beliefs, personally viewing it as an institution that perpetuates patriarchal norms, denying individuals their liberty and equality while enabling violence against women. I see little value in seeking validation from governmental or religious authorities through an institution designed to reinforce subordination, economic dependence, and even marital rape. I have personally experienced how the institution, intended to establish familial structures and manage property inheritance, can keep one trapped in adultery, foster dependency among spouses, and result in harm to children when the strains of marriage between incompatible partners become overwhelming. Concurrently, like most who engage in the institution, I hold onto the dream of passionate and committed romantic relationship(s), where partners embrace their connections (while celebrating each other's freedom). I cherish my memories of romantic love as narratives that shape my journey (despite endless mistakes) and add meaning to my life. I hope my perspective serves as a reminder of the multiplicity of experiences and interpretations that books can evoke, and how they intersect with personal beliefs and values.