twilight and all its charms

"And so, the lion fell in love with the lamb."
"You are exactly my brand of heroin." (Stephenie Meyer, Twilight)

It's that sort of writing that earned Ms. Meyer a fortune (100, 200, 300 million?) and a fan population larger than the population of Canada. I know. It baffles me, too.
Like every other female I know between the ages of 10-40, I went through a phase better known as "Twilight insanity". Looking back, it is incredibly difficult to discern the root of said insanity.
Was it Ms. Meyer's dazzling writing? (For those of you who consider Twilight literature, consider too the number of times the word 'dazzling' appears in the first seven chapters.)
Was it the setting? Dreary Washington? Not likely. Was it the plot, characterization, theme--or the bloody vampires?
Nope.
It was the idea of perfect, unattainable love. The idea of Twilight is irrefutably attractive, undeniably magnetic--the idea of a beautiful, self-sacrificing, wealthy superhuman waiting in the wings is addictive. It's so addictive I spent a three days and two sleepless nights sprinting through the first three books of the "Twilight Saga".
The idea of Twilight is decadent, laden with suggestions of forbidden fruit and all.
The things that Edward Cullen says are most definitely swoon-worthy, if cheesy. It doesn't matter if the writing is belaboured, or if his comments are so surreal they'd echo with insincerity in reality. What matters is that he says it, and he means it. If Edward Cullen says, "I'm going to annihilate that guy who made a pass at you," he's going to do it. If Edward Cullen says, "I will never make you cry," he will actually never make you cry. And if he does, he is liable to give himself up to vampire murderers.
When we make mistakes, and we all do, we say, "Well, we're human." The idea of Twilight takes that edge away--the characters of Twilight are superhuman. They are above human. They do not have to bend to the demands of most human weaknesses. Meyer's protagonists do not even have to trade their consciences for their superhumanness--they don't kill humans, and therefore the reader is not forced to chastise herself (or himself) for moral degradation when she falls in love with the protagonist.
The best part is that Meyer's protagonists are not impervious to all human weaknesses--they think, and more importantly, they feel. And it's that fact that makes them more irresistable than ever--the fact that unromantic human qualities, like ugliness, gluttony, fallible eyesight, hearing, and arguably digestive systems--can be eliminated but the romantic qualities--emotion, love, jealousy, affection, beauty, grace, speed--are maintained or even upgraded...
I'd be lying if I said I don't love Twilight. I'd be lying if I said I don't want an Edward Cullen of my own. But here's the kicker--and Twilight's insurance policy--vampires, and all superhuman creatures, don't exist. Therefore, no one can call Meyer's creation completely unrealistic--because how could anyone know if vampires are achingly loving or not? Meyer has simply shown us what could be--one , an inexorably delicious one, of infinite possibilities.
Meyer's vampire world must not exist, but in the realm of the imagination, all can exist--and the idea of perfect love lives on, spinning dreams and delaying reality.

|all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players|

We are, indeed.
Do I remember the last time I considered what I wanted before I considered what I should I want? --No.
There is some sort of hilarity in the confusion that results from what we want, what we should want, and what we need. Is life pre-determined? Are we bowing obsequiously before a great audience--society--fumbling and fretting over minutiae that will never matter in the grand scheme of things? What is the grand scheme of things, this "stage" that Shakespeare so eloquently created, or some massive cloud looming over our own imaginations?
I like to think that Shakespeare meant that in our day-to-day lives, we behave in the way that our grand audience--our societies--expect us to on our massive stage--the world. From birth, we enshrine ourselves in our identities of gender--the little girl who plays with her Barbie dolls, the little boy who must play with his train set, when really, we could choose to play with what we would like. We trap ourselves in the maddened illusions of love, in this idea that we must succumb to the folly and the inanity, when really it could be quite a rational, biological thing. We force ourselves into the roles of "friend" and "family," paying our lip service and our sweet smiles, saying that which protects and shelters and damages our "friends" and our "family," hiding our true thoughts so that we may fit into our roles. We might not have any family or friends at all, yet we go on to be those "players" on that "stage," forever acting. Our acting changes as the setting changes--we should never speak of sex in a church, and never of academia in steamy little downtown bar.
And so, who are we--and who are the actors? Are we one?