Plot: Edward sparkles. That sound you hear is Bram Stoker screaming from the beyond. Bella holds his hand. A conversation comprised entirely of murmurs, grins, challenges, and stroking of glittering skin ensues. That sound you hear is your blogger screaming from his kitchen. To make matters far, far worse, it appears that Bella smells amazingly yummy to people of the vampiric persuasions. Edwards explains that she is, to put it bluntly, precisely his brand of heroin. Oh, and his brothers killed some people. But that doesn't matter because they're all nice and everything now. Except for the one who sort of isn't, but that still doesn't matter because dazzle-love-sparkle-murmur-blah-fucking-blah. Your blogger googles "statute of limitations murder," and begins taking notes. Bella touches Edward's face. He spazzes and leaves (ed. not for long enough) but comes back to explain in much detail how easily he could kill her. Bella swoons (ed. see what I did there?). Edward puts her on his back and runs back to the truck, which takes like 3 seconds because love gives you special powers. Or something. Bella almost pukes. Our leads have their first kiss, and Edward declares his love by promising to try really really hard to not rip her throat out. Your blogger runs to the nearest church, weeping that he has lost all faith in humanity. Finis.
Rant: Aaaaaand we've reached a new low. Again. Still, I'd like to congratulate Stephenie Meyer for perfectly encapsulating her own book in one little passage about heroin. These two are addicts, defined by their blind and unhealthy need. That is the defining characteristic of their "relationship." Not love, not a desire to bring each other joy, to face the challenging world as a team and overcome every obstacle in their way. Ugly, senseless Want. And Stephenie Meyer thinks this is the foundation of a great romance. She thinks that the ability to control their wanton desires is the basis of true love. I feel ill.
Vampirism has always been about sex. Stoker's original (and quite brilliant) novel is basically a long diatribe against foreigners brining STD plagues to Britain. Think about it. Vampires visit their victims - usually young women- at night and often in their bedrooms. The vampire physically penetrates the victim, and corrupts through the exchange of bodily fluids. Not the most subtle bit of mythmaking ever, but the overt relevance to cultural experiences of the time is what gave the vampire so much staying power. And now, we have this pile of overheated feces stealing Stoker's legacy…
This entire chapter is about Edward and Bella wanting to screw themselves senseless, and resisting because…. I'm honestly not sure. The imagery and dialogue are highly sexualised (although with a disturbing overtone of rape and pedopehlia), especially in the "romantic" gesture of Edwards lips repeatedly being at her throat. What's weird, though, is that they take turns infantilising each other. Edward puts his head on Bella's chest (son to mother). Bella rides on his back (daughter to father). This, when Edward isn't rambling about the effort it takes to not bite/rape her on the spot.
I'm young enough to remember sex being very, very scary. I'm sure the girl I shared those first few experiences with was equally frightened. But we got through the fear, and started having lots of fun, because we each cared deeply about making the other happy. There's nothing wrong with being nervous, or flat-out terrified, about going to bed for the first time with someone you love. But you should never, ever, be scared of them. If you are, it isn't love. That's called rape, no matter how well its disguised or gallantly its presented. This chapter is about Edward telling Bella, flat out, that he is going to rape her and there isn't a thing she can do to stop it. No, this is not romance. Seek help, Stephenie Meyer.
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