What is art?

That title is a cheap joke, but it is followed by a serious enough issue. I noticed that my brother, my sister, and two of their friends were having a mini debate about Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series on Facebook. I thought to myself "Ooh, ooh, I'm going to get involved in this literature debate. And I feel highly qualified to herewith enter in. I do, after all, have a degree in English; I am, after all, a writer; and I am, after all, getting a Master of Fine Arts in said field."

So, here we go:

Lincoln, you're absolutely right. The Twilight series is not and never will be great literature, much as Rowling's Harry Potter series never will be. And, unfortunately, Meyer's books do not have the same widespread appeal as Rowling's, (chiefly appealing, I believe I have every right to say, to teenage girls, and moreover teenage girls who are prone to like vampire literature. I was one of those teenage girls, and have grown into one of those adult women, so I don't think I'm belittling anyone here). As such, I do not know that it will even become classic young adult or children's literature (like Narnia).

BUT, and this is a big "but"...

I will side with Rosie and Christina in saying that I, too, have been absolutely sucked into Meyer's series. I have just (today actually) started Eclipse. I flew through the first book, Twilight, and absolutely loved it.

New Moon went equally as fast, though I kept thinking to myself, "Well, I did wonder how she'd keep this series going," and initially I could only shake my head at the obvious turn to werewolves. However, despite my initial reservations, she managed to keep me in by giving the werewolves a depth I've rarely seen, and presenting me (granted, I'm no vampire/werewolf scholar) with a newish twist on the mythology. Yes, we've seen vamps and werewolves fight before (think Kate Beckinsale a la Underworld), but the reasoning behind the fighting is new, as is the method by which one becomes a werewolf.

And this all goes without adding that I do find some of Meyers' foreshadowing and symbolism a little heavy-handed. If I wanted to, I absolutely could rip the book to shreds and point out all the reasons why it isn't "good literature."

But I am not interested in Meyers' books as "literature," said with phony British accent, either good or bad. I do not care to critique her style or use of technique. Meyers has latched on to a younger part of me, a part of all of us, that only cares about the story and how it affects us. It makes the question of "good or bad literature?" null and void.

This is where I would turn to a recent article in Baltimore's City Paper to help me explain why I would disagree with my brother. The article, by Tim Kreider, is called "When Books Could Change Your Life: Why what we pore over at 12 may be the most important reading we ever do."

As a caveat for both Rose and Christina, who are over 12, don't take that the wrong way; an important point he makes it that we fall into this category of YA lit until our mid 20s.

I'll quote a couple snippets, but in the interest of intellectual property, I'd urge you to click through and read the article in its entirety. Additionally, it is one of the best articles I've ever read, so much so that I cut it out and kept it. And there's no way I'm going to capture the whole sentiment in these few quotes.

"We love these books [our favorites from childhood], dearly and uncritically, the way we love the smell of our first girlfriend's perfume, no matter how cheap or tacky it might have been.

... Let me put it another way: When was the last time a book changed your life? I don't mean offered you new insights or ideas or moved you--I mean profoundly changed the way you see the world or shaped the kind of person you are? If you're like me, it's been longer than you'd like to admit.

... About the last time in our lives when books have this kind of effect on us is in our early 20s, which not coincedentally tends to be the age of people you see poring over Nietzsche or that awful Ayn Rand. There's something alarming about this. I don't want to believe that our personalities ossify so much in adulthood that we're no longer capable of being changed by art. But part of the reason art loses its power over us, is, simply and sadly, that we get old; our personalities, as soft, impressionable, and tempting as freshly poured sidewalk cement when young gradually set and harden over the years with whatever graffiti passers-by scrawled there still indelibly inscribed on it. But when a 14-year-old gushes that the Twilight series are the best books she's ever read in her whole life, it's easy for grownups to forget that this is not necessarily hyperbole. At that age, we haven't heard any cliches, and even dumb ideas are new."


He goes on to talk about the importance of such books in shaping us as adults, in giving us a sense of the world, of right and wrong. And probably the most poignant point he makes (for me at least) is how incredibly comforting those books are.

Here I am, in my mid-20s, about to ossify and become unchangeable, and I have latched on to Meyers' books. Why? Because everyone wants a love that pure, that real, that heart-wrenching.

Because who doesn't want to fall in love with Edward, beautiful and unearthly, who cares too much for Bella's soul to turn her into a vampire?

Because there's something very appealing about the idea of living forever, particularly with someone you love.

Because vampires have a unique sensuality, and they terrify and intrigue us.

Because they remind me of the books I loved growing up, including the very first "vampire book" I read: The Silver Kiss. My love affair with Simon and Zoe led me to writers like Anne Rice and Laurell K. Hamilton.

Because part of me still wishes, bloodsucking aside, I could be a vampire. The strength, the power, the beauty, the escape from the nothingness of death. It is everything I do not have as a human, as a twenty-something who is realizing her limits, her mortality.

So I will keep reading Meyer's books, although some might look down their noses at Bella and Edward. I will wait in line at the theater on November 21, my stomach fluttering, to see the new movie. And I, like Kreider, hope desperately that this is not it for me.

And as an artist, as a writer, that is what I strive for. I don't want some critic, newly annointed and starving in an apartment, clutching a typewriter; or old and wrinkly, hidden away in some musty old office, to declare that my book is a great work, worthy of canonization. I suppose that would be nice, but what I really want, what really matters, is entirely different.

I want someone, somewhere, to feel my words, to fall in love with my characters, my images. To find out something about themselves by reading what I've written. That is what I strive for.

I leave you with the newest trailer for Twilight: