Children’s Literature in Education (2011) 42:165–179

DOI 10.1007/s10583-010-9125-9

ORIGINAL PAPER

Virtuous Vampires and Voluptuous Vamps: Romance

Conventions Reconsidered in Stephenie Meyer’s
‘‘Twilight’’ Series

Lydia Kokkola

Published online: 18 December 2010

 Springer Science+Business Media, LLC 2010

Abstract It is presumed that readers of Stephenie Meyer’s ‘Twilight’ enjoy the

sexual tension between Bella and Edward; a tension that remains unresolved until
the couple are married. This very traditional solution to the couple’s carnal
desires is just one of many ways in which the novels adhere to the conventions
of romance writing for young people. Readers know what to expect and their
expectations are satisfied. Fans, however, claim that Meyer’s books offer them
something that other texts do not. By comparing the ‘Twilight’ series with the
conventions for adult romances, teen romances and children’s literature more
generally, I demonstrate that Meyer is combining conventions from related, but
slightly different, genres. The result valorises certain beliefs which run counter to
both those promoted by conservative Christian activists and those endorsed by
the liberal, feminist left.

Keywords Adolescent sexuality
Meyer
Twilight series
Romance

Abstinence
Mormon

Lydia Kokkola is Adjunct Professor at both the University of Turku and Åbo Akademi University, the
Finnish and Swedish language universities located in Turku, south-west Finland. She is currently on
research leave from her departments whilst she is working as a Collegium Researcher at the Turku
Institute for Advanced Studies (TIAS). She is working on a project Silence and Sexuality: Reticent
Responses to Adolescent Sexuality ‘‘and supervising seven doctoral students.’’

L. Kokkola (&)
The Department of English, Henrikinkatu 2, 20014 Turun yliopisto, Turku, Finland
e-mail: lydia.kokkola@utu.fi; lydwil@utu.fi

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Edward kissed me another time. ‘‘Do you get the feeling that everything is
backward?’’ he laughed in my ear. ‘‘Traditionally, shouldn’t you be arguing
my side, and I yours?’’
‘‘There isn’t much that’s traditional about you and me.’’
(Meyer, 2007, p. 400)
Bella Swan’s claim that ‘‘there isn’t much that’s traditional’’ about her relationship
with her vampire boyfriend, Edward Cullen, echoes loudly on the numerous fan
sites devoted to Stephenie Meyer’s ‘‘Twilight’’ series. The enormous sales figures
for these lengthy volumes centre around readers’ enjoyment of the sexual tension
between Bella and Edward, a tension that remains unresolved throughout the 1,500
pages of the first three volumes before the couple are married. The pair are so chaste
that it takes 250 pages of brooding tension and constant fantasising before their first
kiss, and over 1,000 pages of romantic narrative before they can confidently open
their lips when kissing (because the scent of Bella’s breath excites Edward beyond
his powers of control). And, despite Bella’s third millennium reluctance to marry,
Edward insists on taking her back to the morals of his Edwardian childhood and
marrying her before he will agree to have sex. Edward’s appreciation of matrimony
is apparently infectious: by the end of the third novel, Bella is also willing to wait
for this ceremony. In short, they are pin-ups for the ‘‘True Love Waits’’ (TLW)
(2001) movement.
To the best of my knowledge, Meyer has not publicly declared her support for
either the TLW movement or ‘‘abstinence only education,’’ although she has
frequently spoken about the importance of Mormon values in her own life (Morris,
2005; Grossman, 2008). All her novels contain a short biography stating that she
attended Brigham Young University (BYU), the Mormon university in Utah. BYU
students are required to uphold a code of honour which closely resembles the True
Love Waits pledge1 in that students are required to ‘‘Live a chaste and virtuous
life,’’ that is, abstain from extramarital sex (BYU, 2009). Thus Meyer’s exploration
of ‘‘the erotics of abstinence’’ (Morris, 2008; Grossman, 2008, p. 2) promotes the
same values as the socially powerful, conservative Christian groups behind the
TLW movement. This strange alliance between Mormonism, conservative Chris-
tianity and eroticism does mark the ‘‘Twilight’’ series as unusual, despite the books’
generic features.
The disparity between Bella and Edward’s claims that they are an untraditional
couple and the very traditional place of marriage in the resolution of their sexual
tension is such that only very unsophisticated readers, possibly the target audience
of these novels, will fail to notice the author’s coerciveness. Meyer’s series sits
securely within the tradition of children’s literature being a tool for socialising the
untamed child (Nikolajeva, 2010). Edward is the perfectly socialised young adult:
he desires both Bella’s blood and her body, but he can control himself. He responds
with gentlemanly grace to Bella’s inability to control her lust. He acts as a modern
day Mr Knightley as he educates Bella into mature, sociable behaviour. Bella’s role
1
The wording of the pledge is as follows: ‘‘Believing that true love waits, I make a commitment to God,
myself, my family, my friends, my future mate and my future children to be sexually abstinent from this
day until the day I enter a biblical marriage relationship’’ (True Love Waits, 2001).

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is equally generic: readers watch her transition from ugly duckling into beautiful
swan secure in the knowledge that she will manage this transformation.
The goal of this paper is to determine whether Meyer’s series simply dresses
traditional, conservative views on adolescent carnality in a titillating disguise to
appeal to an audience who might otherwise be tempted to satisfy their desires, or
whether it breaks genre expectations. Given the series’ popularity, we can assume
that it is offering something other texts do not, even though many of the surface
elements are highly generic. A closer examination reveals that she is combining
conventions from related, but slightly different, genres. I shall investigate Meyer’s
series in terms of the genre conventions of adult romance, teen romance and other
traditions within children’s literature. My contention is that, although Bella and
Edward are a highly conformist couple, Meyer’s pick-and-mix deployment of genre
conventions has resulted in the valorisation of certain beliefs which run counter both
to those promoted by conservative Christian activists and to those endorsed by the
liberal, feminist left.

An Anatomy of Adult Romance: The Centrality of Obstacles

The generic elements of literary romance have been examined most notably by
Denis de Rougement (1983/1940) and Janice Radway (1991), and updated from a
feminist stance by Lynne Pearce (2007). These critics, all of whom deal exclusively
with writings intended for adults, provide an invaluable starting point for examining
how the ‘‘Twilight’’ saga fits securely within the classical romantic genre
conventions, which have informed popular romance writing for adults. One of de
Rougement’s main claims, which Pearce (2007. p. x) supports, is that the last seven
centuries of romance writing are reworkings of Tristan and Iseult. The claim is
deliberately hyperbolic and provocative, but seems highly pertinent when exam-
ining the formal narrative structure of Meyer’s saga. De Rougement’s claim is also
supported by Radway’s (1991, pp. 134–150) formalist plotting of the ‘‘Narrative
Logic of Romance.’’ All three studies reveal how fixed the deep structures of adult
romance are: they can be identified in the classical Celtic mythology of Tristan and
Iseult, as well as in Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet (which are mentioned
in the ‘‘Twilight’’ series), as well as the blockbuster romances read by Radway’s
informants. Thus points of departure from these established conventions are
noteworthy.
When Bella Swan moves to Forks WA, she expects to be dismissed as a clumsy,
mousy girl. Like many narrators of adult romances, such as Jane Eyre and Esther
Summerson, she is surprised when she attracts male attention. Unlike her literary
forebears, however, she uses her attractiveness to manipulate others. She persuades
a slightly younger boy, Jacob Black, a Quileute Indian from the nearby reservation,
to provide information about Edward Cullen, a boy from Bella’s high school. In line
with the patterns identified by de Rougement, Bella and Edward have felt an
overwhelming attraction from the moment they met. In line with the courtly love
tradition, however, they do not immediately declare their love, but love one another
from afar (see Tuchman 1978 on the stages of courtly love).

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Edward belongs to a clan of virtuous vampires who forego the pleasures of

human blood and subsist on a ‘‘vegetarian’’ diet of wild animals (Meyer, 2005,
p. 164). Despite widespread disapproval, Edward and Bella start dating. The
intensity of Edward and Bella’s mutual attraction implies that this is their destiny.
Using the information gleaned from Jacob, Bella discerns that Edward is a vampire,
but she is not deterred. Instead, she tempts Edward with both her body and her
willingness to become a vampire herself. Edward tries to resist, and even tries to
force her into a relationship with Jacob by abandoning her at the start of the second
novel, New Moon (2006).
During Edward’s absence, Bella’s friend-love bond with Jacob flourishes. Jake’s
love for Bella is initially dismissed as a trivial crush, although later Bella recognises
her own desire for Jacob and mourns the fact that she cannot be with both men
simultaneously. Jacob’s main function in the saga is to act as a foil to Edward.
Whereas Jacob is hot, Edward is cold. Jacob is a werewolf2 and Edward is a
vampire; which in Meyer’s fictional world means that they are inevitably enemies.
Jacob is irresponsible, passionate and willing to force himself on Bella, even when
she attempts to fight him off, whereas Edward is responsible and his ability to
control his sexual desires frustrates Bella. Bella and Edward resume their
relationship, albeit now as part of a love triangle which includes Jacob, and
together they fight evil forces within the vampire world which threaten to destroy
the peaceful environment created by the Cullen family. The elite, ruling vampire
family, the Volturi, attempt to punish the Cullen family for the birth of Renesmee,
Bella and Edward’s accidentally conceived daughter (see below). But the Volturi’s
plans are foiled when enough vampires and werewolves favouring human life stand
firmly together.
The plot of the first novel, Twilight (2005), follows precisely the narrative
structure Radway (1991, p. 150) identified for blockbuster adult romances. The later
books cannot follow quite the same structure as the couple have already been united,
but, as de Rougement shows, the similarities between seemingly different romances
lie in the nature of the central couple’s love, and the problems they must overcome
in order to be together. For de Rougement (1983/1940), obstacles are so central to
the creation of the romance genre that it can be defined in terms of the lovers’ need
to seek out obstacles. Only when the couple face an obstacle which has tragic
potential can their attachment be considered truly romantic. Following de
Rougement’s argument, Meyer’s romance is only possible because Edward has
the potential to kill Bella. Once he has gained sufficient self-control to abstain from
biting her, other vampires then threaten her, allowing Edward to believe that he
endangers Bella by bringing her into contact with them. Even after Bella has
become a vampire, and so should be safe from other vampires, her daughter places
the couple at risk from the Volturi. In this way, Meyer can maintain the presence of
threats and obstacles, thereby fulfilling the norms of the courtly love tradition.
Unlike any of the adult romances discussed by de Rougement, Radway and
Pearce, however, the main obstacle in Meyer’s series is carnal desire. Even once the

2
In Breaking Dawn (2008a), it is revealed that Jacob and the other Quileutes are not werewolves but
shapeshifters. However, since they are always referred to as werewolves, I shall use that term here.

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couple are married, carnal desire remains a threat as their nuptials leave Bella
covered in bruises and Edward horrified at what he has done (Meyer, 2008a,
pp. 79–89). So, in keeping with the philosophy that ‘‘true love waits,’’ Meyer’s
series promotes the view that carnal desire, outside marriage at least, is an obstacle
that must be overcome if romantic love is to be preserved. So although the presence
of an obstacle belongs firmly within the adult romance tradition, the nature of the
obstacle derives from the tradition of writing for adolescents (cf. Trites, 2000).
Meyer’s didacticism is obscured by one major exception to the view that ‘‘true love
waits.’’ Although the TLW pledge only requires sexual abstinence, those who
pledge also agree to abstain from sexual thoughts, touching intimately, seeking out
pornographic material and all other actions likely to cause arousal. Bella is a virgin
bride, but her mind is constantly filled with carnal desire. Presumably, readers are
supposed to find Bella’s sexual feelings somewhat erotic. Hence, Meyer finds a way
to endorse celibacy, thus maintaining notions of childhood purity, without
trivialising adolescent sexual desires.
A further way in which Meyer’s series resembles adult romances is in its use of
the obstacle of the third party. In Tristan and Iseult, the third person is Iseult’s
husband, King Mark; in Romeo and Juliet it is Juliet’s intended, Paris; and in
Wuthering Heights it is Edgar Linton. In the ‘‘Twilight’’ series, similar themes are
explored through the love triangle of Jacob, Bella and Edward. Bella’s feelings for
Jacob develop when Edward leaves Forks in an attempt to protect Bella. When
Edward returns, the couple are reunited; although Bella remains attached to Jacob.
She clearly enjoys having two boys vie for her attention:3
The idea of a distraction from all my worries had me almost excited. Maybe it
would be fun. A date with Jacob, a date with Edward… I laughed darkly to
myself. Jake could say what he wanted about us being a messed-up pair – I
was the one who was truly messed up. (Meyer, 2006, p. 310; ellipsis and
emphasis in original)
The use of the first-person narrator, especially one who speaks so intimately,
encourages the reader to forgive Bella and condone her behaviour. As Pearce (2007)
ironically points out, ‘‘the adventure, thrill, abandonment and spectacle associated
with romantic love in its unreconstructed form is a drug that is hard to quit’’ (p. x).
Not only is it hard for Bella and her men to ‘‘quit’’ each other, these elements are
also apparently addictive to readers. Readers are encouraged to condone the triad’s
normally unacceptable behaviour because it continues the ‘‘adventure, thrill,
abandonment and spectacle’’ (ibid.).
Although initially jealous of Jacob, Edward becomes more accepting and admits
culpability for allowing the relationship to flourish in the first place. Like King Mark
and Tristan, the two develop mutual respect, especially after the battle in Eclipse
(2007) where vampires and werewolves fight side by side to protect Bella. Meyer’s
deployment of triangular relationships draws on a long tradition in adult romances,

3
A similar set up characterises Meyer’s sci-fi novel for adults, The Host (2008b). Meyer summarises the
central tension of the novel as ‘‘a love triangle with two sides, a ménage à deux. Like Twilight, The Host
is a kinky set up – two girls in one body! – played absolutely clean’’ (quoted in Grossman, 2008, p. 3).

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but it is remarkably rare in the more conservative, adolescent romance genre. It is

also noteworthy that the women interviewed by Radway (1991, p. 123) disliked this
classical motif in the formula fiction they read. Given Meyer’s own conservative
values, her adherence to this particular plot element within the classical romance
tradition strikes me as surprising in a work intended for teenagers. The triangular
relationship is eventually resolved when Jacob ‘‘imprints’’ on (i.e. falls permanently
and unconditionally in love with) Renesmee, Bella and Edward’s daughter. This
decision conforms to the well-established romantic tradition of favouring agapic
love over erosic love, found in classical romances. But although Meyer adheres to
the established traditions, her twists at the thematic level are also decidedly
unexpected from a conservative Christian writer.

Agapic Love: The Love that Conquers Eros

Romance writing for adults draws thematically on the classical Greek tradition of
distinguishing between four forms of love: storge, philia, eros and agape. Meyer
adheres to generic conventions by including and idealising all four. Storge is the
term used to describe the deep, unending, committed but asexual love between
parents and children, or between siblings. In character, storge resembles philia: love
between friends. As the word ‘‘filial’’ has come to refer to familial relationships, we
see that philia and storge have become mixed in everyday language. In classical
romances, however, the focus is on the division between eros and agape.
Agapic love, which de Rougement (1983/1940) defines as ‘‘Christian love’’ (pp.
66–68), is characterised as the love of God, or the love of one’s neighbours, or
God’s love for his chosen people. Agapic love is unconditional, self-sacrificing,
infinite, irrational and spiritual (Pearce 2007, p. 5). In the romance genre, it is
contrasted with erosic love. Although ‘‘eros’’ provides the root from which the word
‘‘erotic’’ is formed, one cannot simply summarise erosic love as sexual love, despite
its bodily character. Erosic love is love that is motivated by reason: the erosic lover
desires something in return from the loved one (e.g. sexual satisfaction); it is
decidedly earthly, and human. (See Pearce 2007, pp. 5–7 for a useful summary of
the key features of agape and eros.) The Western tradition has always favoured
agapic love over erosic love, so relationships in romantic writings may begin
erosically and then become agapic. This happens in the ‘‘Twilight’’ saga: Bella is
initially attracted by Edward’s physical beauty, and he is attracted by the scent of
her blood. Once it has been established that Edward is a vampire, erosic desires
place the couple at risk and so their love is presented in agapic terms.
There is a decided difference between the roles Bella and Edward play in terms
of the agapic-erosic divide. Prior to the marriage, Bella’s love for Edward is often
expressed in erosic terms: the text constantly returns to her desire to touch and be
touched by Edward, to gaze at his physical features, as well as her more overt carnal
desires. Her love begins to be more consistently expressed in agapic terms when she
develops feelings for Jacob. She recognises that, had she not met Edward, she would
consider Jacob an ideal partner. Yet her feelings for Jacob are characterised as being
of a lower order; her feelings for Edward, in keeping with the courtly tradition, are
elevated to defy logic and reason:

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About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire.
Second, there was part of him – and I didn’t know how potent that part might
be – that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and
irrevocably in love with him. (Meyer, 2005, pp. 170–171)
The irrationality—madness—of Bella’s love for Edward is presented as though it
were a positive trait. That is, by rigidly maintaining the genre conventions of
classical romance, Meyer depicts Bella’s willingness to risk her life in terms that
suggest it is something readers should admire. Readers are also supposed to admire
Edward more than Jacob because his love is characterised as agapic from the onset.
At 109 years of age, Edward is still a virgin. Despite several female vampires’
attempts at seducing him, he has remained chaste, waiting for someone he can truly
love. Unlike Bella, Edward understands what it means to be a vampire, and he
struggles against his involuntary attraction. Once he admits his feelings, his love is
expressed in terms of self-sacrifice. He willingly foregoes sexual pleasure,
repeatedly risks his life in order to protect Bella, and showers her with gifts. The
only erosic aspect of his love for Bella is his carnal desire, but even this is raised to
the agapic level when it is denied unless connected to matrimony and the protection
of Bella’s mortal soul. Bella’s adoption of Edward’s view of love is presented as a
sign of maturity.
Asexual, agapic love is presented as a socialising force which transcends the
kinds of attachments formed by readers of the saga. In fact, it seems rather odd that
the relationship between Edward and Bella is somewhat undermined by its
decidedly carnal element. Meyer circumvents this problem by suggesting that
attraction between vampires is also far more powerful than that between humans.
Vampires form tighter bonds than humans. The primary threat Bella faces in Eclipse
is Victoria, who raises an army of young vampires to avenge the death of her lover,
James, at the end of Twilight. Bella is human; she cannot form vampiric bonds until
after her transformation (an implied maturation). The metaphors used to describe
her attractions are decidedly less positive: she is an addict, and her love interests
are narcotic: ‘‘I needed Jacob now, needed him like a drug’’ (Meyer, 2006, p. 192).
And, as already noted, ‘‘romantic love … is a drug that is hard to quit’’ (Pearce,
2007, p. x).
However, not even Bella and Edward’s love for one another can compare with
the all-consuming, agapic power of werewolf imprinting. Werewolves are destined
to love forever the person upon whom they imprint. It can happen only once, and the
‘‘choice’’ of love object is often unlikely, albeit always heterosexual. Of the four
imprinted werewolves in the ‘‘Twilight’’ saga, three love interests are irrational.
Sam must abandon Leah when he imprints on her cousin, Emily. Quil imprints on
two year old Claire. And, most irrationally of all, Jacob imprints on Bella and
Edward’s daughter, Renesmee, just moments after her birth. Only Paul’s imprinted
love for Jacob’s sister, Rachel, resembles a typical teen relationship. Imprinted love,
the series strives to clarify, is a perfect love, unclouded by petty concerns like sexual
desire. Quil is content to remain celibate until Claire grows up, and Jacob loses all
desire for Bella once he has imprinted on Renesmee. Both young men are happy to
wait for their respective love interests to grow up. Moreover, in keeping with the

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socialising role of children’s literature, Jacob’s feelings for Renesmee are far more
mature and less self-interested than his love for Bella ever was. As a result, neither
Bella nor Meyer’s readers need to mourn the dissolution of the love triangle.
The agapic love of werewolf imprinting is overtly distinguished from erosic love
between humans. When Jacob tells Bella that Quil has imprinted on a two year old,
Bella admits she finds this ‘‘creepy.’’ Having experienced imprinting vicariously
through Quil, Jacob is adamant that it is not:
I’ve seen what it’s like, through his eyes. There’s nothing romantic about it at
all, not for Quil, not now.’’ He took a deep breath, frustrated. ‘‘It’s so hard to
describe. It’s not like love at first sight, really. It’s more like… gravity moves.
When you see her, suddenly it’s not the earth holding you here anymore. She
does. And nothing matters more than her. And you would do anything for her,
be anything for her… You become whatever she needs you to be, whether
that’s a protector, or a lover, or a friend, or a brother. (Meyer, 2007, p. 156;
emphasis in original)
Bella asks about whether the person on whom the werewolf imprints has any
rights. Jacob assures Bella that she does, but that she would not choose differently
because, ‘‘He’ll be her perfect match. Like he was designed for her alone’’ (Meyer,
2007, p. 157). In interview, Meyer constantly stresses the importance of free will in
the Mormon faith (Grossman, 2008; Morris, 2005), yet it is hard to square the girl
child’s lack of agency in choosing her own partner with Meyer’s declared beliefs.
The lengthy conversation between Jacob and Bella is intended to prepare the ground
for Jacob’s later imprinting on Renesmee. Yet Bella’s reaction when she learns that
Jacob has imprinted on her daughter indicates that she has not entirely stopped
thinking that imprinting is ‘‘creepy,’’ and perhaps neither should the reader, even
though the bond between Jacob and Renesmee proves so valuable in forming
alliances. The discussion is also intended to assure the reader that there is nothing
sexual (and thus paedophilic) about these werewolves’ love for babies and infants.
The adoration the imprinted werewolves feel for their love interests belongs to
another well-established tradition in Christianity: the adoration felt by those who
attended Christ at his nativity. The love inspired in the shepherds, wise men and,
above all, Mary, is the topic of numerous hymns, paintings and religious writings.
This notion is picked up in the fourth novel when Bella notices ‘‘an almost religious
devotion’’ in the responses of those who have met her daughter (Meyer, 2008a,
p. 396). Thus Jacob’s agapic love of Renesmee draws heavily on a long-standing
tradition of sublime love for the infant Christ.
So far I have examined Meyer’s ‘‘Twilight’’ series in terms of its adherence to
the tradition of classical romance. Its only departure from the conventions of adult
romance is that sexual desire is portrayed as an obstacle to love. In this, Meyer
draws on traditions associated with adolescent problem novels. However,
modelling her series on adult genre conventions has occasionally led to the
presentation of elements which seem unusual in teen romances. On the plot level,
there is the valorisation of triangular relationships and, on the thematic level,
Meyer’s simultaneous adherence to the conventions of courtly love and the
Christian traditions surrounding the adoration of Christ, the latter resulting in the

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valorisation of a love that seems to resemble paedophilic attraction (but which, we

are assured, is completely different). I turn my attention now to examining how
the ‘‘Twilight’’ series’ adherence to teen-romance conventions interconnects with
its belief system.

Generic Features of Teenage Romances

Children’s literature is one means by which youngsters are socialised into adopting
adult-approved behaviours and a value system which dictates that power is not, and
should not be theirs (Nikolajeva, 2010). And as Roberta Seelinger Trites (2000) has
forcefully argued, ‘‘Sexual potency is a common metaphor for empowerment in
adolescent literature, so … for many characters in YA novels, experiencing
sexuality marks a rite of passage that helps them define themselves as having left
childhood behind’’ (p. 84). So although ‘‘rigid oppositions between childhood
innocence and adult passion, particularly sexual passion, are difficult to maintain’’
(Higonnet, 1998, p. 10), sexuality has retained its significance in adult-adolescent
power relations.
Meyer’s teenage characters experience sexual desire whilst maintaining de facto
innocence in the limited, rigid sense that they are virgins. However, this tension
magnifies the importance of sexuality as a rite of passage. The result is a disjuncture
that Higonnet questions:
Absolute distinctions between child and adult leave teenagers stranded on a
very uncomfortable boundary. How can children possibly become adults from
one instant to the next? The English and American cultures which above all
others have glorified the ideal of childhood innocence deal badly with
adolescence. (Higonnet, 1998, p. 194)
This inability to ‘‘deal’’ with adolescence is evident in the literature produced for
teenagers. Many traditional teen-romances (such as the ‘‘Sweet Valley High’’ series)
are characterised by a decided lack of carnal desire. And when the adolescent
characters do become sexually active (thereby claiming adult knowledge for
themselves), they are likely to be portrayed as monstrous and/or be punished.
Punishments include rape, destroyed relationships, disease or unplanned pregnan-
cies (Trites, 2000, pp. 84–116). Despite the characters’ carnal fantasies, the
‘‘Twilight’’ series draws on this tradition as it first presents Bella’s desires as
monstrous and then punishes her with an unplanned pregnancy.

The Voluptuous Vamp

Immortal beings, including vampires, are a well-established convention for

exploring the value of life, and connections between sexuality and death. (See
James, 2009, pp. 116–126 for a fuller discussion of connections between death,
sexuality and immortal beings.) The cover of Twilight connects the Christian fall
from immortality to the vampire motif. It depicts the outstretched hands of a girl
holding a red apple. This allusion to Eve’s temptation of Adam is evoked when

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Bella tempts Edward to take her, literally body and soul. The female vampire
embodies the vagina dentata. She seduces her prey, only to turn on her unsuspecting
mate and bite him. Superficially, Meyer writes against this tradition since it is
Edward who has the power to bite. But although Meyer has created a virtuous
vampire, she has not abandoned the role of the traditional voluptuous vamp: Bella is
depicted as a seductress who constantly tempts Edward to lose control. When she
emerges as a newborn vampire she is ‘‘indisputably beautiful’’ (Meyer, 2008a,
p. 372), even in her own estimation. She quickly puts her ‘‘dizzying beauty’’
(p. 373) to work as she toys with the black market trader, J Jenks. So although
Meyer has changed some surface elements, the underlying tradition of the
voluptuous vamp remains untouched.
Elizabeth Grosz (1995) discusses the imagery surrounding the vagina dentata,
focussing on its exclusively female characteristics. All the male vampires in
Meyer’s fictional world are described as being beautiful, but not as sexually
predatory as the females. Female vampires, including Edward’s sisters, are always
dangerous. Rosalie kills for revenge, and even Alice is described teeth-first after
Bella becomes a vampire: ‘‘the light sparkled off her teeth, another eight color
rainbow’’ (Meyer, 2008a, p. 359). Turning to the insect world in search of the
origins of the vagina dentata, Grosz (1995, p. 283) cites evidence demonstrating
that the female mantis devours the male’s brain purely to prolong and improve
coitus. The desiring female, for the mantis at least, presents a very concrete threat to
the male’s existence. It is, as Grosz (1995, p. 282) observes, an image which ‘‘is rife
with the possibilities of projection’’ as it represents ‘‘an intimate and persistent link
between sex and death, between pleasure and punishment, desire and revenge’’
(ibid., pp. 278–279). In the human world, Grosz argues, there is no necessary
connection between death and sexuality, but they ‘‘have become inextricably linked
… by linking sexual pleasure to the concept of death and dying, by making sex
something to die for, something that in itself is a kind of anticipation of death (the
‘little death’), woman is thereby cast into the category of the non-human, the non-
living, or a living threat of death’’ (ibid., p. 284).
Meyer’s saga draws heavily on the same traditions. Bella lacks vampire teeth for
the first three volumes of the saga, so in this sense she is not quite a vagina dentata,
despite her numerous attempts at seducing Edward. However, her intense carnal
desires do indeed present sex as ‘‘something to die for,’’ something which
anticipates her coming death, and which very literally casts her ‘‘into the category of
the non-human, the non-living, [and] a living threat of death’’ (ibid.). Her desire
makes her careless; she trivialises death:
Edward had drawn many careful lines for our physical relationship, with the
intent being to keep me alive. Though I respected the need for maintaining a
safe distance between my skin and his razor-sharp, venom-coated teeth, I
tended to forget about trivial things like that when he was kissing me. (Meyer,
2006, p. 15)
Bella knows exactly what the rules governing her physical relationship with
Edward are, why they exist and when she is breaking them. The rules are also clear
to the reader, and resemble those posed by many parents and promoters of ‘‘True

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Love Waits.’’ Edward’s ability to contain Bella’s desire allows her to walk the
border line, enjoying ‘‘adult’’ freedoms without ‘‘adult’’ responsibilities.
One obvious reason why sex is so marked is the genuinely transformational
experience of parenthood. Teenagers who are parents occupy a decidedly awkward,
liminal space in conservative American society. Since they are responsible for the
care of their own children, they cannot be treated like other children, but they are
not treated as adults either. Instead, they are seen as pariahs, scapegoats, in a society
which rigidly distinguishes between adults and children. In keeping with the
conventions for adolescent romances, Meyer manages to depict the ‘‘horror’’ of an
unplanned, teenage pregnancy, even though her characters are virgins on their
wedding day.

Unplanned, Teenage Pregnancies

Unplanned, teenage pregnancies appear with noteworthy frequency in adolescent

fiction depicting sexually active adolescents (Travis, 2008; Trites, 2000). This is one
means by which society warns teenagers about the horrors that may befall them if
they fail to control their carnal desires. Teenage pregnancies are almost always
presented as being unplanned and, at least initially, unwanted. Since Bella and
Edward do not have sex before marriage, Meyer had the potential to create a
revolutionary story of a planned, happy pregnancy resulting in the creation of a
traditional, heteronormative, nuclear family with strong, extended family ties. Such
a narrative would have been truly radical, and the resolution of the series as a whole
offers this traditionally adult conclusion to her teen-romance. The route to this
conclusion, however, is remarkably conventional in terms of adolescent romances.
Edward and Bella’s daughter is by no means planned. On the contrary, neither
the parents nor Edward’s doctor-father, Carlisle, knows that this is physically
possible until the foetus that will become Renesmee is embedded in eighteen year
old Bella’s womb. In this way, Meyer can maintain the virtue of her protagonists,
but still evoke the most fearful consequence of adolescent carnality: pregnancy. The
horror of Bella’s pregnancy, even when the fantastic premises of the narrative are
acknowledged, is hyperbolic. Yet nothing in the text suggests that Meyer is
attempting to be humorous, only admonitory and didactic. In keeping with Meyer’s
normative didacticism, I have attempted to summarise the key ways in which
Breaking Dawn (2008a) conforms to the didactic conventions of teen-romances.
The first didactic convention is, unsurprisingly, a moralising reminder to use
contraceptives as unplanned pregnancies can happen to anyone. Bella and Edward
are not portrayed as having been irresponsible; even Jacob accepts that Renesmee’s
conception was genuinely an accident since no-one knew that male vampires could
conceive children. The fantastic premises of the narrative thus enable the
protagonists to remain blameless, whilst the teenage reader is reminded of the
need to prevent such eventualities. Having discovered she is pregnant, Bella is
horrified by the speed of her pregnancy. The fantasy biology makes it possible to
reduce the gestation period and maintain the narrative flow. It also enables Meyer to
paint an extremely gory vision of pregnancy and childbirth in order to press home

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her belief that adolescents should abstain from having sex. In doing so, she adheres
to another tradition in writing about sexually active adolescents.
The speedy pregnancy also enables Meyer (2008a) to bypass arguments in favour
of early abortion. Within days of her conception, the foetus that will become
Renesmee makes her presence felt; Bella calls her the ‘‘nudger’’ (p. 118). The bulge
she causes in Bella’s abdomen is visible; the nudger cannot be dismissed as a
collection of cells. In this way, Meyer offers an unequivocal stance on the issue of
abortion (the option initially favoured by Edward and Carlisle). Even though
Renesmee is already threatening Bella’s life, and the werewolves believe she will
threaten the wider human community, Bella (supported by Rosalie and Esme)
refuses to abort her child. For Meyer, abortion is murder, and nothing can justify it.
Although numerous pro-life adolescent novels exist (e.g. Berlie Doherty’s Dear
Nobody, 2001/1991 and Geraldine Kaye’s Someone Else’s Baby, 1990), Meyer’s
presentation of her beliefs is sadistically forthright. If the possibility that the child
might kill Bella and destroy the population of Forks and the reservation does not
deter Bella from keeping her child, the merely mortal problems of finding a place to
live, money to live on and, perhaps, completing school, can be dismissed as trivial.
Pregnancy is certainly not pleasurable for Bella. Renesmee-as-foetus parasiti-
cally feeds off her, literally sucking the life out of her. Given that all foetuses do, in
fact, feed off their mothers, one cannot criticise Meyer for inaccuracy, only
brutality. Most of Bella’s pregnancy is narrated by Jacob. He considers the foetus to
be a ‘‘monster … looking for something to sink its teeth into – a throat to suck dry’’
(Meyer, 2008a, p. 217), which inspires Edward to suggest that Bella drink donated
human blood. If Meyer’s goal was to produce a text that would terrify her young
readers about the horrors of pregnancy, she certainly succeeds, but even this is
surpassed in her depiction of Renesmee’s birth. Highlights include the sound of the
placenta displacing, a detailed account of Bella’s bladder releasing followed by her
vomiting ‘‘a fountain of blood,’’ a graphic description of Bella’s spine breaking,
leaving her paralysed before Renesmee is finally born by caesarean section
performed with vampire fangs (Meyer, 2008a, p. 320 et seq.). By presenting teenage
pregnancy as a horror story, and Bella’s body as abject, Meyer paints a grim image
of the process of becoming a mother. The result is in keeping with generic
conventions, but the forceful brutality of her portrayal makes Meyer’s series stand
out.
Once Bella recovers from her transition into a vampire (now necessary to prevent
her death), motherhood is remarkably easy. Renesmee is a perfect baby who inspires
love from everyone. Bella receives unlimited support from her extended family, and
neither she nor they need to sleep. Moreover, since Renesmee prefers donated
blood, Bella does not even need to nurse her daughter. In fact, being the mother of
Renesmee seems rather like playing with a doll. In this, Meyer’s novel differs
markedly from other recent novels such as Margo Lanagan’s The Best Thing (1995)
or Dyan Sheldon’s And Baby Makes Two (2000). So, despite her transformation into
adult and vampire, Bella seems remarkably untransformed by her transition into
motherhood. In reality, sex is rarely transformational but parenthood usually is. In
undermining the transformational power of motherhood, Meyer draws on another
well-established convention in children’s literature: the fear of growing up.

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The Fear of Growing Up

When Jacqueline Rose (1984) first drew our attention to the ways in which
children’s literature inculcates adult views of the ideal children into the child
reader’s value system, her test case, Peter Pan, foregrounded the desire to remain a
child. This desire, Rose claimed, resided in the heart of the adult author rather than
the child reader. Although Rose’s argument has been criticised and much has been
done to develop her ideas, her claim that the desire to maintain childhood as long as
possible stems from the Romantic tradition remains unchallenged. Meyer celebrates
the preservation of childhood through vampire immortality. Breaking Dawn is
prefaced with a quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay: ‘‘Childhood is the kingdom
where nobody dies.’’
Bella longs to become a vampire so that she can stay with Edward for eternity.
Edward was turned into a vampire at seventeen. He is close enough to legal
adulthood, and has been alive long enough (a century) to have gained a civilised
veneer and sufficient mastery over his uncivilised emotions. Yet, at 109 years of
age, he is still a virgin. Bella’s incessant harping on about Edward’s perfection,
especially his bodily beauty, along with the reader’s observations about how noble,
self-sacrificing and understanding Edward can be, underlines his traditionally adult
virtues, whilst his initial jealousy over Bella’s relationship with Jacob, his sudden
bursts of rage and his initial difficulties in keeping his desire for Bella’s body and
blood in check, reveal a more traditional adolescent character. He represents the
perfect balance between adult and adolescent: the model Bella is expected to
emulate. Only once Edward has educated Bella into accepting the importance of
marriage and controlling her emotions and desires is she ready to become a
vampire: she is frozen at the height of perfection, when she has sacrificed her life for
her child. Their relationship is also frozen so that the emotional whirlwind of falling
in love for the first time is preserved, and never needs to be domesticated by
everyday life.
Bella is very clear and vocal about her desire to remain a child forever. The
second book in the saga, New Moon, starts with Bella having a dream in which she
sees a reflection of herself in a mirror, being embraced by Edward. Initially, she
does not recognise herself, and thinks that she is looking at her grandmother; then
she realises she is seeing the future in which she will be an old woman whilst
Edward remains ‘‘excruciatingly lovely and forever seventeen’’ (Meyer, 2006, p. 5).
She wakes up in a state of panic. It is her eighteenth birthday. Although still in high
school, Bella is legally an adult. As she checks her face for wrinkles, she
contemplates the fact that Edward will never reach this great age. The emergence of
an age disparity between them is Bella’s ‘‘worst nightmare’’; her fears are integrally
linked to the loss of beauty (ibid., p. 6). The thought of turning thirty reduces her to
tears (ibid., p. 456) and she refuses to leave her teens: ‘‘No way. Nineteen I’ll do.
But I’m not going anywhere near twenty. If you’re staying in your teens forever,
then so am I’’ (ibid., p. 477). In fact, Bella does not even need to ‘‘do’’ nineteen,
since she becomes a vampire when she is eighteen. In keeping with the convention
for children’s literature first identified by Rose, Bella can fulfil the adult fantasy of
remaining a child forever.

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Bella’s transformation takes place to save her life when she has sacrificed her
body giving birth to her daughter. She is then plunged into a state of intense physical
pain, a state in which she remains for three days. She emerges as a ‘‘new born’’
vampire. The allusions to Jesus’s crucifixion, his descent into hell and his
resurrection to everlasting life are not difficult to discern. What is unusual is the way
in which Meyer’s adherence to conventions for writing for children results in links
being forged between the story of Christ’s passion and the valorisation of youth
within the cult of beauty. The result should please neither conservative Christians
nor liberal feminists.

Conclusion

Much of the appeal of Meyer’s ‘‘Twilight’’ series arises from its conformity to the
genre conventions of romance writing in general and teenage romances in
particular; readers know what to expect and their expectations are satisfied.
However, the tremendous commercial success and popularity of the series indicate
that its departure from certain norms is very appealing. By comparing ‘‘Twilight’’
with the conventions of adult romances, teen romances and children’s literature
more generally, I have identified several ways in which the series departs from
established genre conventions. These departures may also explain why the series
appeals so broadly, to both adolescents and adult women.
The central love interest in the series adheres closely to the adult romance
tradition wherein the titillating possibilities of a triangular relationship are explored,
but Meyer combines this convention with one derived from teen romances, where
carnal desire is repressed. The fantastic premises of a vampire-human union allow
Meyer to maintain the traditional, conservative, adult need to curb adolescent
libidos, yet admit her readers into the erotic fantasy of the me´nage à trois. The
combination confounds expectations from adult and teenage romances in a manner
which apparently appeals to adult readers jaded by over-exposure to depictions of
sexual intimacy and teen readers tired of being shamed for experiencing sexual
desire or fantasies of being desired.
Adult and teen romances share a common trope in the elevation of agapic love
over erosic desire. The series’ references to works as disparate as Wuthering Heights
and Romeo and Juliet underscore this similarity. Moreover, Meyer’s deployment of
agapic love supports de Rougement’s assertion that it is a Christian love. The
unusual twists in Meyer’s representation of idealised love connect the characters’
feelings to the Christian tradition. The werewolves’ imprinting connects mortal love
with the adoration of the infant Jesus. Bella’s desire to remain a child is linked to
immortality; her love for Edward leads to a temporary descent into a mediaeval
vision of Hell as a place of physical torture before she is resurrected as an immortal
vampire. The solution celebrates the process of falling in love by freezing the
relationship at that point as well as rejoicing in the preservation of youthful beauty.
The novels also respond to mainstream awareness of feminism and the political
correctness of empowering female characters. However, Meyer’s attempt to reverse
male–female roles in the negotiation of sexual activity, which served as the opening

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point for this enquiry, is very superficial. She reverts to the chauvinistic stereotype
of the femme fatale, suggesting that a sexually empowered adolescent girl is a
danger to herself and her society. Equally disturbingly, the series as a whole, and
New Moon in particular, glorifies female submissiveness and valorises self-abusive
behaviour as a consequence of true love. Although internet discussions show that
these elements have been noted and criticised by readers of all ages, their evident
appeal to large numbers of readers indicates that Meyer has identified a common
desire. Those of us who do not share these values would do well to consider why
novels depicting our own beliefs do not make for equally compelling reading.

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