Becca

I remember reading this book when my youngest sibling was a baby and coming to my mom absolutely distraught that they would in fact grow up. I reread it today for the first time in forever and I am sorry to report that I do not love this book forever. In retrospect, creepy and scary. We can't be breaking into peoples' homes to pick them up while they're sleeping. We can't be doing that.

I have an established grudge against World War historical romance. I don't like when a horrific setting is included primarily to raise the stakes of a relationship. If you need to invoke images of mass violence to make your love story that much sweeter, that much more agonizing, frankly, I think your love story sucks. Romance shouldn't need held up by whitewashed war. All this is to say, I went into Lovely War with trepidation. And while it wasn't my favorite, I concede that it was better than I thought it would be. The writing is lyrical. Though it's long, I couldn't put it down. And, fine, it made me tear up more than once.There is a lot of instalove—characters go quickly from seeing each other for the first time to being sure they want to spend their lives together. Berry justifies this with Aphrodite. See [b:Exit West 30688435 Exit West Mohsin Hamid https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1477324680l/30688435.SY75.jpg 51234185] for a more realistic (and, I think, compelling) depiction of love in times of political turmoil.Unfortunately, the aspect of the story that interested me most—the mythology—added nothing. If anything, it detracted. The gods' commentary about the Power of Love™ was painfully trite. I kept waiting for more. The historical note at the end was a pleasant surprise. It even includes a bibliography. It's apparent Berry worked to understand WWI's impact on people like her characters: younger generations, women, and Black Americans. I still have my hang-ups about the genre—the title is Lovely War, for one—but I appreciate the clear efforts to be thorough and sensitive.

I'm torn on this one. It started out so strong—hilarious and compelling. Unfortunately, the middle really dragged for me. Everything gets bogged down with angst and failure to communicate. The tropez (ha) get heavy-handed and tangled up. The ending was better than the middle, but I still think the book loses momentum over time.

I did like the ambivalence in characters. Elliot is hurt by people physically, but hurts people verbally. He's committed to diplomacy, but highly abrasive. Luke is an idolized jock, but also a withdrawn bookworm. Serene spends the whole book puzzled by the logic of patriarchy in contrast to elvin culture's intense matriarchy.
This added dimension, though I wish Brennan had allowed her characters to challenge their worldviews earlier on, and more substantially. Elliot was needlessly antagonistic...the whole time. Serene was patronizing...the whole time. Luke should probably have remembered Myra and Peter by some point. That's all I'm saying.

I think fantasy as a genre provides opportunity to explore culture and identity in really expansive ways. And in some ways, Brennan does that. Serene's matriarchal culture of origin shows how contrived gender stereotypes are. Elliot refuses to accept that interactions with those different than or unfamiliar to us have to be violent. Brennan uses several characters to normalize both queerness and its acceptance by peers and family.

Here's the but: talk about prejudices against dwarves and mermaids sits atop a background sorely lacking racial diversity. And then Serene's superlative beauty is repeatedly and explicitly tied to her pale skin. This is an issue in SFF as a whole, but it feels more obvious when a book is nuanced enough to tackle biphobia across several species and realms, but every human just happens to be white.

A few smaller gripes: on two separate occasions, adult characters pursue characters they know to be underage (because they ask), both times responding with some variation of “close enough!” I don't like that. A 20 year-old man was 16 year-old Elliot's first romantic experience with a guy. I don't like that. ALSO, the on-and-off again hyperbolic “I might not come back next year” from Elliot. That misery just doesn't make sense in conjunction with his misery over having absolutely nothing in the human world. I think Brennan was going for a “he feels caught between worlds and doesn't know whether he can belong or be loved anywhere,” but I had trouble buying it.

To end on a good note: I loved Elliot sneaking massive bags of technology to school every year, despite it immediately smoking, Luke saying he looks like “a snail that's about to explode.” I loved Luke and Elliot yelling at one another as Luke comes out in class while Dale holds his hand up for his turn to come out and Serene holds her hand up to ask a question pertinent to the actual lesson.

In all, this would surely be more enjoyable for someone who doesn't care as much about the things I care about. But I'm me, so here we are. I loved some of it, but it's not a favorite.

★★★☆☆ —1) Twilight
★☆☆☆☆ —2) New Moon
★☆☆☆☆ —3) Eclipse
★★★★☆ —4) Breaking Dawn

Strap in for a review almost as long as this godforsaken book. Considering going to grad school so I can write a Twilight dissertation ten years too late.

Plot Summary

Edward and Bella, together at last! Except no, because Bella got a paper cut that convinced Edward he had to end their relationship forever, gaslighting her on his way out and also for some reason leaving her alone in the woods. He had no other choice. What's the alternative? Respecting Bella's preferences and boundaries by not having the birthday party where she nicked herself on wrapping paper? Obviously impossible.

Well, relationships end. Breakups are painful, but with Edward gone, this is a chance for Bella—the protagonist, after all—to develop as a character absent a male love interest. Oh, what's that? She breaks down and shuts down and alienates all of her friends and wakes up screaming every night? But therapy is obviously out of the question? And she's somehow always about to die in various outdoor locations and she needs carried and/or set in someone's lap while she's sobbing or unconscious? And the only thing that brings her any measure of comfort or hope or joy, sparks anything in her at all, is the memory of her ex-boyfriend yelling at her to stop what she's doing? And she only starts to really bounce back once there's another supernatural brooding possessive boy to keep her safe and happy? And by that I mean unsafe and unhappy? But this time with racism? And named after Stephenie Meyer's brother, which creeps me out? And then when Edward returns she realizes hearing his anger after he left is proof he cares, so she can trust his love for her is true?
Cool, that works too.

The Racism

Let's expand on that racism point, because I didn't pick up on any of that when I read the series for the first time.

Jacob Black belongs to the indigenous Quileute Tribe, and lives on a reservation in La Push, a village close to the city of Forks. The Quileute people exist, and you're not going to believe this, but they are not werewolves. Meyer features a real group living in a real place, but depicts them as mythical creatures. Her depiction of the Quileute people thrust them into the international spotlight. As the books snowballed into movies, merchandise, and tourism, misinformation and invasions of privacy abounded. Journalists trespassed and filmed sacred areas. Their history and culture were co-opted and billions were made, yet the Quileute received no compensation. Meyer took so many liberties that Seattle's Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture has a whole section of their website dedicated to debunking Twilight's misrepresentations.

Currently, the Quileute are fundraising to relocate reservation buildings especially vulnerable to tsunamis, including the tribal school. You can learn more about the Move to Higher Ground (MTHG) project and donate here.

Cultural appropriation aside, how are the Quileute characterized in the series? Especially compared to vampires, since Meyer has cast them as opposed groups? Here's a few examples:

Billy, Jacob's dad, is the cryptic, superstitious elder. Despite understanding more than most, his credibility is shaky. Bella, Charlie, and even Jacob roll their eyes at him, can't figure out what he's on about. Silly old man. Contrast that with Edward's dad, Carlisle. Carlisle is a doctor. He is a capable, measured, calm authority figure that many adore and respect. His wisdom is undeniable.

In the first book, Edward explicitly, repeatedly tells Bella that he is a threat to her survival. He tells her that he's dangerous, his family is dangerous, who he is, itself, is dangerous. Despite his repeated warnings, Bella can't manage to conjure up any real fear. She stubbornly pushes back against assertions that Edward is violent or monstrous. She is more sure of his ability not to hurt her than he is. Not only does she not feel threatened around Edward, she feels safe. She feels safer with him than anyone else. Because she knows, deep down, he is good.

Contrast that with the conclusion Bella leaps to when hikers start disappearing in New Moon. She has a pit in her stomach, because she knows what's really going on. The dark savage beasts are slaughtering innocents. They're primitive animals who can't control their impulses. They might not even be able to help it, that's just their nature. But maybe Jacob can find another way, a way to deny himself. Maybe he can become more civilized, if he really tries. And he has to at least try; look what's at stake! But then it turns out it was a white lady all along. America, I tell you.

The vampires are pale and white. They represent civility, restraint, sophistication and wealth. They wear designer clothes and have a thing for fast cars. The werewolves, when human, have brown skin and black hair. They walk quietly, as natives do, but don't get it twisted; they are a rowdy and rambunctious lot. They bicker and wrestle. They're often without either clothes or decorum. They sprint around on all fours without shoes.

Despite Edward growling and snarling and lunging all over the place, he's convinced that by comparison, Jacob's anger is erratic. Edward is a beacon of self-control, but Jacob might not be able to help hurting Bella. Edward's violence is in defense of a vulnerable young white woman. He is all that stands between her and the nearby savages, and her wellbeing is contingent on distance from them. Jacob represents an alternative way of life for Bella, but ultimately, he doesn't stand a chance. Who he is and what he has to offer simply cannot measure up to Edward. This is inevitable.

The Sexism

The overarching issue is this: codependent and abusive relationship dynamics are justified by Edward being a vampire and Bella being human. It is a pitiful catch-all for copious red flags.

Edward might seem controlling and intense from the outside looking in, but he's just trying to protect her from the risk of other vampires. Their bond despite her mortality makes her a salient target for others of his kind.

He might treat her as someone in constant need of rescuing, as a liability to her own welfare, but well, she kind of is. She's so clumsy and vulnerable, especially compared to his otherworldly agility and grace.

Edward isn't isolating her socially; on the contrary, he encourages her to be social and have human fun. But how is she suppose to forge meaningful relationships with people who don't know he's a vampire? Even if she betrayed him and told the truth, no one would believe her anyway.

He tells her what to do a lot, and ignores her when she objects to what he's decided for both of them. He may seem quick to anger. He may not spend effort and time listening to Bella or explaining his rationale. But he's been around for over a century. He can read minds. Bella is stubborn, but she lacks his perspective. And besides, we all know his top priority is always her. We know his heart.

It might seem odd and alarming that a teenager wants to throw away adulthood and all of her own aspirations or independence just to remain entangled with a man much older than her who belongs nowhere near a high school. It really might. Like, it really might. But she isn't throwing away her future; would you call wanting to become immortal anything of the sort? And wouldn't that justify crumbling from the inside out if that person yanked themselves away? Wouldn't that literally feel like the end of forever?

He stays with her because he loves her so much. He leaves her because he loves her so much. He comes back because he loves her so much. Upon his return, it may seem like he's ripping her apart from the only person who provided her real solace in his absence, but Jacob is a threat to her safety. Vampires understand werewolves better than naïve humans.

Relationships look different from the outside looking in. Edward and Bella's relationship might seem unhealthy, but that's just because people don't know the whole story. People don't see him like she does. There are other sides to him, sides he reveals to no one but her.

It's not just that love can conquer violence, it's that violence sometimes shows how much you care, how hard you love. Your partner is simply so committed and protective they wouldn't hesitate, not even for a second, to do anything for you. You (and you alone) give them reason to live. They would die without you and die or kill for you.

If you think about it, it's a really great message to send young readers who have likely never been in a serious romantic relationship before. There's no way this goes wrong.

The Best Joke

In lighter news, I have zeroed in on another overused verb: murmured. So much murmuring, it's unbelievable. Here's a joke no one will get but rest assured it is HILARIOUS: perhaps Meyer was drew inspiration from Laman and Lemuel. HA. am I right guys

I can't tell you how determined I was to hate Breaking Dawn. I had my mind made up.

I've been losing patience with each successive reread. We get it: Bella is hyperfocused on both Edward and Jacob. She can't conceive of a future without one or both of them dominating it. Meyer perpetually tries to spin being controlling and forceful as the strongest evidence of a man's love for a woman. Power dynamic issues only become more pronounced and intrusive as the series progresses. New Moon and Eclipse especially put the romance genre to shame. But the thing is, I don't think Breaking Dawn is romance at all.

I think it's horror.

Pregnancy is presented as grotesque, parasitic, emotionally and physically traumatic, life-threatening. Meyer pulls out all the body horror stops: blotchy bruised skin, snapping bones, projectile vomit that's human blood, and not even Bella's. Is this Twilight or Alien? It is truly disgusting. I don't know why we gave these books to children. And yet, pregnancy is also presented as undeniably worth it. But maybe only because against all odds, Bella survives. So much so that now she'll never die.

Meyer raises fascinating questions about autonomy and parenthood. Plenty of taboo subjects are front and center. Abortion, fertility, surrogacy. If a doctor tells a woman her pregnancy will kill her, who has say in whether to see it through? Her? Her partner? Her doctor? Some combination? When does autonomy begin and end? Meyer almost flips the abortion debate on its head—fighting for the human life of the mother is more pressing than any concerns about the gestating fetus.

Is it more cruel to force medical decisions on others, or stand by and watch your loved one choose a path that will kill them? Is it wrong to intervene? Is it wrong not to? How do we protect our loved ones from harm they subject themselves to? If Edward and Bella not only belong together, but belong to one another, are their choices their own? The premise that Edward keeps Bella safe has never held less weight. But for once, and at last, Bella gets to know best. She survives her pregnancy. She becomes a vampire. Despite the fierce opposition of men in her life, her choices work out, better than even she could have hoped. She gets to be right.

So then, is Meyer arguing women can only really grow up into adults by giving birth and becoming mothers? Why doesn't Bella get to narrate her own pregnancy? Is it so Jacob can be looped back in to imprint on a baby (don't even get me started) named Renesmee (don't even get me started)?

Is Rosalie the only one willing to defend Bella's agency, or is she living vicariously through her because Bella has choices she wishes were possible for her? (I maintain that Rosalie and Leah are the two most interesting female characters, though both are vilified. Leah is put through so much I wonder if Meyer based her on a real-life nemesis. The best male characters, if you were wondering, are Seth Clearwater and both Bens, Angela's short king and an Aang-like vampire abruptly introduced in the ninth hour.)

It do still be racist though. A superstitious cleaning lady who doesn't speak English provides us insight about Bella falling pregnant. Jacob is regularly referred to as a dog and mongrel by various vampires, and at one point is brought a meal in a dog bowl. Amun, an Egyptian vampire, doesn't let his wife speak. Despite being constantly ordered around and not consulted by Edward, Bella finds this off-putting. The Amazon vampires are described as feline-like and uncivilized, clad in animal skins. Bella meets a dark-skinned man (Meyer seems leery to say Black outright except in reference to Jacob's surname) in the “ghetto” whose eyes bug out at her pale beauty. Another dark-skinned character (his skin tone is described as impossible??) is later introduced whose father is absent and selfish, a man whose violent disposition endangers innocent women. Edward is held up in stark contrast to him, exemplifying a devoted, involved patriarch. Blech.

The end of the book is laughably anticlimactic, it's hundreds of pages too long, and imprinting has disturbing connotations that go unacknowledged. But you know what? Stephenie is right. Pregnancy is gross and scary, and motherhood elicits either the deepest joys or the darkest turmoil, depending on agency and autonomy. Or maybe it does a little of both, regardless. Weird message to end on, but I'm far more compelled than when Edward and Jacob were taking turns touching Bella's face.