Abstract
The hit series Twilight replicates gender stereotypes that sociologists have been debunking for decades. Rebecca Hayes-Smith highlights the gravity of making light of harmful gender messages.
Chances are, you’ve at least heard of the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer (if only because of the film adaptations). For those new to the books, the series revolves around a love story between vampire Edward and human Bella. To liven up the plot, Meyer creates a triangle in which a werewolf, Jacob, is also in love with Bella, but the series essentially describes Edward and Bella’s “true” and mostly requited love and the many troubles they face due to their different worlds.
Among tween girls and their moms, these books have achieved tremendous popularity. On the one hand, I understand it. The books are entertaining (I read all four in a little over a week), and the romantic vampire story is somewhat beautiful and mysterious. The vampire theme is hardly new, but Meyer’s accessible, simplistic style, revamps familiar imagery of what it means to be a vampire. Her vamps are out during the day (where they can show off their beautiful sparkling skin), and she even makes some of them “vegetarian” (her vampires can “just say no” to human blood). By way of contrast, another famous novelist, Anne Rice, has vampires who are seductive but still retain an edge of evil that keeps them from becoming even remotely incorporated into the human world.
What nags me is how, as a sociologist, I find it difficult to ignore the underlying message of gender conformity in Meyer’s books. As a society we have multiple ways to communicate how men and women should act in order to be happy. These messages play an important role in the marginalization of women and girls, and Twilight reinforces these messages in several ways: through traditional notions of femininity and masculinity, and intersecting stereotypes of race, class, and gender.
Throughout the series, women are weak, passive, and in need of protection, while men are strong and violent. In the first volume, our heroine Bella narrates her story of how she came to fall in love with a vampire. Instead of a strong female lead who assists young women readers in the building of confidence and self esteem, we are presented with a whiny, unassertive, timid young lady. Bella complains, before the first day of school, that she doesn’t fit the stereotype of a girl from Phoenix: “I should be tan, sporty, blond—a volley-ball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps—all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.” Her insecurity is what makes her easy to identify with, but how can we change women’s (and society’s) views without challenging the romanticization of victimhood?
Continuing the stereotype, Bella selflessly takes care of everyone in her life, although constantly complaining about them all (except for Edward). She tells us from the start that she’s moved to her father’s home only now that her “loving, erratic, harebrained mother” has a new husband to guarantee “bills would get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, and someone to call when she got lost.” Only with a man to take care of her, can Bella’s mother do without her daughter. This fragility of female relationships is repeated in Bella’s interactions with her peers. A young woman, Jessica, attempts to befriend Bella, but throughout the books Bella complains about how Jessica’s jealous and talks too much. Reading how Bella and Jessica’s relationship never becomes a full-on friendship led me to think about how often I hear young women say, “I just get along better with guys.” I never hear men say that about other men. But it’s when women see one another mostly as competitors, that their common oppression becomes less visible.
Edward and Jacob also uphold their gender stereotypes—they’re strong, reckless, violent men. They act out their masculine dominance by treating women as property. Edward is constantly speeding in his car, “saving” Bella, stalking Bella (because after all she is “his”), and getting into fights. He rescues Bella from strange men, from a runaway van, and from various vampires (including his own family). Basically, Edward rescues Bella from herself and her bad choices, such as daring to walk alone at night. Then, there’s Jacob, who can’t control his temper, also gets into fights, and literally forces himself onto Bella. Inevitably, Jacob and Edward fight over the “prize.” They play out their masculinity and indicate that in the end, it is not Bella’s choice as to which man (so to speak) will win her love.
In the real world, most female victimization occurs between intimate partners, and this theme is prevalent in Twilight. When Bella has “sex” with Edward (if that’s what you can call it), she walks away from the event literally injured: “[L]arge purplish bruises were beginning to blossom across the pale skin of my arm. My eyes followed the trail they made up to my shoulder, and then down across my ribs, I pulled my hand free to poke at a discoloration on my left forearm, watching it fade where I touched and then reappear. It throbbed a little.” The expression of dangerous love-making in other vampire-themed novels is likely similar, but at least in those, the vampires are considered evil.
Stephanie Meyer has been quite clear about her message of abstinence, but at what cost? All right, I get it: a teenager becoming pregnant isn’t the best idea. Is that why the description of Bella and Edward’s consummation sounds more like a domestic violence incident? This isn’t so far from the music videos, films, video games, and other forms of popular culture that sexualize violence among intimate partners. In the end, Edward maintains his masculinity by acting aggressively even in a situation that is supposed to be about intimacy and love. The subtle message is that as long as you’re in love or at home, violence is not objectionable. The resulting pregnancy almost kills Bella, but here too, she ignores personal costs as she selflessly chooses the life of her baby.
In New Moon and Eclipse, Jacob, the werewolf, becomes a more central character. He eventually plants a kiss on Bella, and the description sounds like sexual assault: “His lips crushed mine, stopping my protest. He kissed me angrily, roughly, his other hand gripping tight around the back of my neck, making escape impossible. I shoved against his chest with all my strength, but he didn’t even seem to notice.” Bella initially attempts to say “No” but does not get it out. Afterward, she punches Jacob, but ends up hurting herself rather than him. Later in the book, she concedes, deciding she does love Jacob after all. This suggests women are not only physically weaker than men, but that women like Bella don’t even know what they want from men. Indeed, this repeats a common romance novel theme where women are accepting of their own subordination, all in the name of love.
Last, but certainly not least, are assumptions throughout the entire story that confirm existing systems of race, gender, and class. Bella—as a low-income, white woman—is weak, subservient, and deserves to be protected. Edward—also white, but of a high socio-economic status and, of course, male—is strong, powerful, and dominant. Jacob, as a low-income, Native American male, attempts to be powerful and dominant, but alas, he isn’t enough of either to beat out Edward. Indeed the device whereby Native Americans are werewolves (animals) and the white male is the “sophisticated” vampire upholds notions of racial superiority. A sly, but consistent reminder? Edward and the other vampires constantly complain about how the werewolves (dogs, they call them) smell bad.
Yes, these are novels: should feminists and scholars lighten up? These books might simply be innocent entertainment, or potentially harmful to young women. Plenty of research describes how people construct their social reality depending on the cultural messages around them. This is especially important when considering the sheer volume of media images young people now constantly absorb (both actively and passively). It occurs at all ages, but is especially important among teenagers who are navigating the in-between years of not quite being an adult, yet not a kid anymore. My concern is that the most popular young adult books of the last few years are repeating stereotypes sociologists have been debunking for decades. The reading we get is: “Young women, if you dress nice, go to school, and don’t have sex, you’ll find a nice boy to take care of you. Don’t worry if he’s a bit violent, that’s just how boys are.” We could be wrong—perhaps all young women will read Twilight purely as fiction without being touched, consciously or otherwise, by the underlying messages. Considering the messages, let’s hope so.