Critical Thinking: This really must be the last one.

Okay, things are about to get weird.

Arisia made a point that Twilight and Harry Potter are dissimilar enough that the only viable comparison between the two would be why they’re so popular. (I think that’s what you were saying. Did I get it right?)

Several years ago, Maj Tom and I went through a study based on John Eldredge’s Wild at Heart. Since then, I’ve picked up themes in other stories that seem to corroborate some of the points he makes.

He says that all men have three basic desires that drive them. Three missions that they yearn for to make their life mean something: a battle to fight, an adventure to live, and a beauty to rescue.

Although, at age eleven, he was probably a bit young to tackle the last mission, I can see the first two all over Harry Potter. The poor orphan finding he is a dangerous man with a grand heritage is a universal theme, but Eldredge says there’s a reason for that. It’s because it’s what men want for themselves—to know they’re part of a bigger story, to know they have a role to play. To know that when the battle comes, they have what it takes to succeed.

Little kids the world over live this. How many boys pretend to be super heroes? All of them? How many men live vicariously through their sports teams? (Or their RPGs?)

As you may recall, Maj Tom is a serious Louis L’Amour fan. I’ve only read a few of his books, but these three themes run through every one that I’ve read. The hero is usually a reluctant gun slinger who can fight with his fists as well as his pistols. Even if he’s a loner, he’s driven by a bigger story than the cow town he’s stuck in, whether it’s justice or peace or patriotism. And there’s always a girl. There’s gotta be a girl.

Twilight comes pretty close. There’s definitely a girl, and dangerous situations that test Edward’s strength (most of which involve saving Bella). I don’t know that there’s a terrible-great adventure for him, though. Unless you count the discipline it takes to live on animal blood instead of human.

Twilight does fit pretty well into the three things Eldredge says women desire: to be cherished, to be invited into an adventure, and to have a beauty to unveil. (Although it’s a little ambiguous as to how much Edward cherishes Bella versus how much he’s addicted to the smell of her blood.) Edward loves her and invites her into this whole (for her) other, more dangerous world. And a running theme throughout the books is how Bella wishes she wasn’t so plain looking—to the point that she’d become a vampire if it meant it would make her beautiful.

Eldredge is careful to point out that women want to be invited into the adventure; they don’t want to be the adventure. The first and third Twilight books don’t reflect this, as most of the stories are about Edward saving Bella’s life. But, in the second, it’s she who saves Edward, at great risk to herself. (After much patheticness. An amazing amount of pathicness.) It’s not until the fourth that she can take her place, show her own strength.

I haven’t read a lot of romances—okay, I’ve read one, and it was written by Anne McCaffrey. But I’ve read a lot of Anne McCaffrey, and she slam dunks these three desires. Look at Menolly and Lessa. Both know they have a beauty that should be unveiled and admired, not shut away. Both are only fulfilled when they’re invited into a bigger adventure—music for Menolly, thread-fighting for Lessa. The “being cherished” bit comes a little later for Lessa, but quickly becomes a key part of her personality. She could have tried to manipulate the whole world, but her relationship with, and trust in, F’lar gives her a security that only enhances her power and influence. Menolly thrives under Petiron’s attention and then Robinton’s.

That’s not to say the series are perfect. The writing in Harry Potter can get choppy and confusing. A friend of mine, who otherwise loves the series, has a real problem with all the lying in it—and the fact the kids don’t endure any repercussions for their lies. Having an eight-year-old warrior at home, I don’t like how little the kids trust the adults in their lives. But then, it’s a fantasy series about wizards and witches, not a Sunday school lesson.

And what can you say about Twilight? I asked our babysitter, a well-read, erudite 15-year-old, what she thought. “I hate it!” she said. “It’s terrible! The writing’s horrible, and Bella’s just stupid!” “So you read all of them?” I asked. “Well yeah! I had to make sure they were all as bad!” I think that speaks eloquently to both the technical writing skills of the author as well as her ability to create an addicting piece of work.

As they say, it is what it is. It’s YA supernatural romance. It is undeniably feminine. Where Hermione is shrill and excitable and Ginny is confident but somewhat androgynous, the women in the Twilight series are stereotypically, almost misogynistically, feminine. The most respected female character is the most maternal. The most aggressive is the least sympathetic. Only one female character is physically beautiful, quintessentially feminine, and strategically dangerous—as well as universally loved. The lead’s strength is completely defensive and almost every decision she makes is motivated by either getting the guy or protecting those she loves.

I found that somewhat annoying. But then, I’m an old, grouchy, forty-year old who joined the military and spent three years convincing a Southern Belle friend it was okay to sweat. (It worked. Sorta. Her oldest daughter now plays volleyball.)

I asked an equaintance, a single mom trying to raise socially responsible zombie-fighters, what she thought. She said what bothered her was it portrays a completely unrealistic view of love and relationships. (Her, about her discussion with her 11-year old son when he read the series: “Plus I had to talk to the boy to ensure he understood that women do *not* allow men to be that controlling unless they are fictional, sparkly vampires.”) Edward loves Bella because her blood smells good. Bella loves Edward because he’s a vampire and, as “the world’s most dangerous predator,” naturally draws her in. Half the wolfmen “imprint”—involuntarily and instantly fall in love. While Meyer uses Edward’s self-control in not biting Bella (as well as his self-control in not sleeping with her) as a metaphor for abstinence—he crawls into her bedroom window every night and lies on the covers, watching her sleep! Come on! How is this an appropriate illustration of love for hormone-hopped teenagers? Girls, if you really believe your boyfriend is going to be satisfied with this kind of relationship, you’re nuts.

But the worst part is how the men in Bella’s life treat her and how she puts up with it. She’s smart enough to ace honors classes, independent enough to choose to live with her dad so her mom can travel with her baseball-player husband, but she’s torn between two relationally abusive boys. No girl should have to put up with a guy as controlling as Edward. I lost count how many times he told her to be careful so she doesn’t get hurt. (That’s not inviting someone into the adventure. That’s keeping them home, out of the way.) Yet when they're apart, she is a complete basketcase. And her best friend, Jacob? After she’s made it clear, several times, that she’s not interested in a romantic relationship, he forces a kiss on her anyway. That’s sexual assault; and girls across the country swoon.

I don’t know if John Eldredge is on the right track or not. I do believe that the stories we enjoy most have something in them that we relate to. And if ten million people relate to the same story, there must be some universal truth to it.

A friend asked me once what I thought about Harry Potter. I told him I understood why kids would be attracted to a story about a boy who finds his small, abusive world suddenly replaced by a (literally) magical place and powerful people who tell him he’s so much more than what he’s been brought up to believe. Maybe girls flock to Twilight because they’re tired. Tired of trying to be someone worth being cherished. They’re clumsy and not overly attractive. They can’t be everything everyone tells them they should be. Maybe they want someone wonderful and beautiful and dangerous to take care of them—and then tell them that they’re wonderful and beautiful and dangerous. Or even a guy who loves them so much that he wants to wait before they hop in the sack. (Figuratively. ‘Cus there’s quite a bit of literal sack-hopping.)

Or maybe it’s the 1792 pages of sexual tension. (That’s the first three books. Once they get married, no more sexual tension.)

By the way, I was giving Maj Tom the rundown of the first two books at dinner a couple of weeks ago. The Creature was entranced. Several times since then, he’s asked me if there’s any more of “that vampire story.” What is the deal with that?

After I wrote this, I found this, a far more eloquent review.

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Kersley Fitzgerald is a wanna-be writer who would have gone with a wolfman over a vampire. Not Jacob. But not a cold, glittery statue, either.