She's constantly risking her life for her loved ones, either by attempting to sacrifice herself (as in the first book), or by racing off to Italy to save Edward from evil vampires (as in the second) or by using her magical powers to save her entire family in the last book. And, though you wouldn't know it from reading Rosenberg's summary, Bella actually has to practice intensely and at length to master those powers, so her final success is shown to be as much about determination and commitment as about innate skill.Actually, I've got a whole section in the piece about Bella's adventures and powers. I'm aware they're there, especially since Meyer spends so much time telling me how amazing Bella is after she gets vampired. And I think Noah's actually mistaken: when Bella finally uses her powers, she exerts them much farther than she's ever been able to in her practice sessions, which kind of defeats the point if you're trying to make an argument about "determination and commitment." (Also, to the point Noah makes in a paragraph I pull out below about Bella being more powerful than Edward, Meyer seems to establish pretty clearly that that's just because she's a new vampire, not that it'll be permanent.) The point, though, is that her quests are all internally-focused. There is no larger world beyond family and Forks in the Twilight books, and if I were immortal, I think I might get kind of bored with that after a while. But then, I was never the kind of girl who could stare at a guy's face for that long.
Then, Noah writes:
The real issue is, as Rosenberg says, that Bella's actions are all inspired by her love for family and friends, rather than by a desire to save entire kingdoms and uphold "justice and freedom." Of course, by this standard, Elizabeth Bennett isn't much of a role model either—why, she never saves anyone! And what about Jane Eyre, refusing to sacrifice herself by going off to do mission work among the poor and heathen and benighted. What kind of model for young girls is that?Not much of one! I think Noah forgets that I'm writting a critique of Twilight within the realm of fairy tale, and about why it's a step backwards within the innovations of that genre. But I absolutely agree that I would be completely and utterly freaked out if teenage girls wanted to emulate Jane Eyre. Less so if they wanted to be little Lizzy Bennets, since she's an intellectual and stands up to class prejudice (to the extent capable within her constraints of course). But I do think those books are regularly read with the acknowledgment that a) they're about an era when women's choices were substantially limited, b) frequently read in a context like a classroom where those roles can be discussed, and c) presented social criticisms in the times they were written. Twilight is neither set in another era (although it's curiously removed from the technology of today) nor is it mostly read in a critical context like a classroom. And while I recognize that many, many Twilight readers can distinguish fact from fiction, I do think that some of the book's themes demand a critical context, particularly the obsessiveness of the love affairs. Perhaps it's just me, but I think it's important, especially with young girls, to have a conversation about the fact that sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, if he leaves you, he is never coming back. I don't think this is a trifling point: Bella never experiences permanent romantic loss, something a lot of contemporary fairy tales have managed to incorporate into the genre, and that's a genuinely valuable lesson in a society where most people date before they marry.
And finally, he gets to me! (This is so much fun you guys!), and provides a good example of the first rule of argument, Thou Shalt Not Mug Thine Self, and its sub-tenet, Particularly Not By Making Baseless Assertions About Other People:
Rosenberg might as well just come out and say, "You know what? I don't really like romance—and, on top of that, I'm kind of a liberal do-gooder who thinks that abstract notions like justice and power are more important than love and family." Rosenberg accuses Meyer of turning Bella into a "metaphorical princess in a metaphorical tower." But she's not a princess in a tower; she's a wife in a family, and one who at the end is not only equal to her husband in strength and magical powers, but actually superior to him. That hardly seems rabidly anti-feminist to me-but I like Pride and Prejudice too, so what do I know.Actually, I love romance and romance novels. Particularly Julia Quinn's, where heroines regularly do things like write anonymous scandal sheets, go on ill-advised quests for diamonds, find alternate homes for abused daughters, help veterans overcome war trauma, and are mistaken for tempestuous Spanish spies in addition to falling insanely in love. I just don't see why those two things are incompatible. In fact, there are a huge number of romances where the protagonists fall in love by working together towards a common end, a process that tends to be a good proving-ground for common values and for proving trust and committment. And I love Pride and Prejudice just as I thank G-d every day that I live in a country and in a time where entails on property don't exist and I'm allowed to have a career.
As for the assertion that "I'm kind of a liberal do-gooder who thinks that abstract notions like justice and power are more important than love and family." First, it's a mistake again to conflate the abstract concepts of justice and equality as they exist in fairy tales with contemporary politics. And one of the things I find fascinating about contemporary fairy tales of all stripes is the ways they've managed to make the condition of societies and of individual marriages co-equal. In a lot of contemporary fairy tales, the main characters have to establish peace or societal equilibrium in order to craft a space where a marriage can thrive. In the Enchanted Forest novels, Cimorene and Mendanbar have to prevent war between wizards, dragons, and the Enchanted Forest. In doing that, they fall in love and set the stage for a productive marriage. And when Mendanbar is kidnapped, getting him back is both a matter of politics and family for Cimorene: the safety of the kingdom and the safety of her husband are one and the same. In Tamora Pierce's Lioness quartet, not one, not two, but four couples come together under conditions of war. Saving Tortall is the process through which all of them fall in love. When they've defeated Duke Roger, all four couples marry, and settle down to productive work in the kingdom together. In Wise Child, Juniper and Colman, the same sorcery that infects the kingdom is what tears apart Juniper and Finbar. And in The Mists of Avalon, the love that binds couples is integral to the strength of the kingdom. I actually think it exalts love to tie it to larger societal concerns, rather than to isolate it entirely from society, and it makes for wider-ranging and more interesting stories, too.
Second, I'm a non-partisan reporter. I don't have politics (she says sarcastically). Although, I am extremely excited that my very generous employer is going to give me at least 8 and as many as 10 weeks of paid parental leave when I do eventually have children (something I'm really looking forward to someday) so I can be both a good mother and a good employee! This whole "feminists hate the family" canard is tired, people. And it has zip to do with my textual analysis, either.
I'm a big fan of girls and women, being one and all. And while I believe we all get our choices, I think they have to be genuine choices. From the day Bella showed up in Forks and Edward got a whiff of her tasty blood, she's toast: she never seriously considers any other path, except for an instant when Jacob gives her a serious smooch. Bella, even though she's fictional, stands, like the rest of us, on the shoulders of giants, like Elizabeth Bennet, like Morgaine,whose fictional lives provided templates for rebellion in their own time. If what we choose to do with those fictional struggles is to ignore them, to fail to build on them, that strikes me as more than a little sad. We deserve the best stories we can possibly get.