Spoiler alert: You might want to skip this entry if you haven't yet read (but are planning to read) Twilight. I won't give away too much about Hero.
I finally read
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. You know the one: getting rave comparisons to the Harry Potter series, new movie released, has sold a bajillion copies. On Barnes & Noble it has a rating average of 5 stars from 6, 290 readers.
So, there must be something to the story, but I just can't bring myself to recommend it.
This much is true: it's a quick read. There's plenty of suspense. The story line pulls the reader along and you almost can't help but want to know what will happen next.
But...
I think my problem was one of expectations. This book has received such high reviews that I expected something extraordinary when I slipped between these covers. What I found instead is a story that is more cliched than original and a love story that becomes more unsettling and neurotic the more objectively you look at it. Sure Edward is gorgeous ~ we read about his godlike beauty ad-nauseum ~ but the central element of the attraction is both derivative and misogynist: he's the gorgeous bad boy who will either kill the girl or protect her forever.
Another reason I couldn't quite like Twilight: I expected it to be a vampire story. After all, Edward is a vampire. But really, Twilight is Wuthering Heights in the drippy Pacific Northwest. Instead of class prejudices keeping the young lovers apart it is the problem of Edward getting all sparkly in the sunshine. Instead of social mores keeping them chaste and sexually frustrated, it's the inconvenient fact that if Edward gets too excited his super-human strength might cause him to pop Belle's head like a tomato.
Sorry for the snark. I really tried to like this story. In fact, for the first half I was hooked: there were all these enticing little leads that I thought might go somewhere, and I couldn't wait to see what Meyer might do with them. But she kept returning to teenage-girl-swoons-for-sexy-bad-boy-and-keeps-secrets-from-her-parents.
Ohh-kay.
I wanted to reach through the pages and shake Meyer, "Why is Belle so clumsy?" "Why does she have such chemistry with Edward when no one else has?" "What about this ethical question of a doctor who is a vampire?"
Obviously, none of these questions get answered. In fact, at this point I almost doubt that Meyer knew she had (potentially) raised them.
Still, I can understand why a lot of parents are happy to have their daughters reading Twilight and others in the series (I'm sure most boys gag by page 2). On the surface it seems almost uniquely chaste and sober. There's no sex to speak of, although there are about 50 swoons per chapter. There's no profanity or gore at all. In fact, the climactic fight scene happens "off-stage" so that instead of the climax being about the fight to protect Belle from the bad vampire (as opposed to Edward's lovely family) the climactic scene is Edward's internal struggle to resist the desire to consume Belle after the bad vampire spilled some of her blood.
However, look deeper and the story becomes so unsettling. Edward has all the power: he's stronger, smarter, calls the shots and makes all the splendid rescues. Belle is more his adored pet than anything approaching an equal.
This leads me to my biggest disappointment with the book: Belle never develops her strength. She starts the story insecure, timid and weak and she ends the story by walking to her own demise. She might run but she never fights, never tries to outthink the vampire who is set on killing her. No, she just shudders, feels terrified... and faints.
Of course, at that point Edward and the Cullens arrive to rescue her. Right on cue.
Contrast that with Thom Creed, the main character in the phenomenal YA fantasy
Hero by Perry Moore.
Hero is set in a funky alternate reality where Martina Navratilova is a tennis superstar, parents separate and teenage girls get pregnant, and Captain Justice and the League fight villains and keep normal folks safe from harm.
Thom is a basketball star but that doesn't make him popular with the other high school kids. Thom's quiet, introverted and gay, and his dad, once one of the most famous of superheroes, is a social pariah after a rescue gone tragically awry. Thom's mom has left, so it's just Thom and his dad in a lonely social isolation. Then, strange things begin happening, and Thom comes to realize that he might be a "super" too.
He discovers this right around the same time that he's outed at a basketball game. In front of his father. And the cute guy he's been practicing with.
In contrast to Twilight, there are lots of big questions in Hero. It's all about issues of identity and loyalty and what truly defines bravery in a world populated by superheroes like Uberman and Warrior Woman.
Also, there is sex and violence in Hero, as well as some smartly placed F-bombs. None is gratuitous, and frankly the more blatant sexuality in Hero seem both saner and ~ strangely ~ cleaner than the overly-romanticized, swooning, throbbing, never-ending sexual tension of Twilight.
I could go on, but I don't want to spoil it for you. It won't be coming soon to a theater near you, so you'll just have to read it yourself. Trust me, Hero is powerful fiction, the sort of book that inspires readers as well as writers. It left me thinking about its themes for days afterward, recommending it to others, and generally wanting to proselytize the transformative power of stories. It's this kind of book: I finished the last page, closed the book, held it to my chest and said, "Wow."
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