How a teenage vampire romance cracked my literary shell and led me to my own stories

This October marks two decades since Stephenie Meyer’s novel Twilight was published — and quickly became a global phenomenon.

There was nothing about it I should’ve liked. I was in my early forties, a mother of two small boys, a lifelong heavy reader with a defined taste. I didn’t shy away from pleasure reads, but my focus was mostly on literary fiction and nonfiction.

Twilight was the ultimate “never say never” experience. It seemed improbable that a teenage vampire romance would captivate me. Yet I remember it clearly: I came home from work with the book, reluctantly opened it that same evening, and finished it — dazzled — in the wee hours of the night.

I still don’t fully understand the lure of that novel, or the series in general. I loved the second book, New Moon, though less so the last two. Still, I read them because I wanted to know how the story ended. Many adored the series fanatically and obsessively; not a small number of critics and readers pointed out its flaws — from Meyer’s story premises and character development to psychological aspects and relationship dynamics. The funny thing is, I think both groups were right. The questionable particulars simply didn’t bother me, nor did her writing style, which was often frowned upon. In my opinion, it was fine. I think she’s a great storyteller.

(Something similar happened a decade or so later with Fifty Shades of Grey — that sharp division between fandom and critics. But there was never a doubt in my mind who was right that time. It was truly awful.)

I liked the characters, contrary to many critics; I understood their stance. Meyer did a good job portraying a 16-year-old girl. A bit of whining, overreacting, and drama is part of that age. I found Bella mature and responsible, loyal and unselfish — a parent to her own mother and a stranger to her father. An introverted child of divorced parents, a girl who had to change cities and schools — I could easily identify my teenage self with Bella. Some saw Edward’s behavior as misogynistic or controlling; I saw the tragedy and struggle of a young man imprisoned in immortality, a 17-year-old frozen soul burdened with a century’s worth of adult experience. Of course I rooted for them both.

I loved the simplicity, symbolism, and beauty of the cover(s).

Alongside the ever-lurking tragedy and quiet melancholy — subtle like the mist around the town of Forks — one of the best facets of Twilight is the “eroticism of abstinence,” which only amplified the incredible chemistry between Bella and Edward. It was beautiful and romantic, and I didn’t want more than that.

It was the book that young boys wanted to read and discuss in teen book clubs. Twilight did for teenagers what the Harry Potter series did for younger kids — it put a book into their reluctant hands and encouraged them to read.

I read Twilight and New Moon several times; Eclipse and Breaking Dawn only once. They tied up the loose ends and finished the story, but I didn’t like (spoiler alert!) Bella’s pregnancy, the fast-growing child, or that wild concept of imprinting. Most of all, I didn’t appreciate the resolution — which happened as a vision, not a real event. I felt cheated out of a good, bloody closing battle. Nonetheless, I have the whole set at home — they’re part of my eclectic bookshelves. I liked the movies too (I have them on DVD), and I think both Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson portrayed Bella and Edward beautifully and true to the book characters. Both turned out to be great actors after all.

The Twilight phenomenon was serious enough to yield numerous analyses, essays, and even nonfiction books. For me, it’s personal — and that might be why I liked it so much. In some way, it paved the path to another “never say never” in my life: my own stories.

Note: this post was edited by Copilot. It seems to have done a good job.