The Why of Twilight (And 50 Shades, and Kings of Leon, and…)

The Why of Twilight (And 50 Shades, and Kings of Leon, and…)

It seems like my generation of women were in such a damn hurry to fast forward through adolescence and youth and college and be married homeowners with babies and jobs that only now are they waking up and saying, “Whoa. There went my youth. Now I am old. Shit.”

Enter Edward Cullen and Christian Grey and the Followill Brothers wailing about sex in every song. Enter stories about prom angst and the latent heroism of underestimated girls. There’s always a been market for those looking to escape into anything full of unresolved identity and extended sexual longing.

Why women of my generation sought to expedite their salad days is beyond me, however. It’s fully depressing. I did the same thing, though. Maybe everyone does this, every generation?

2 Comments

  • Carrie on Sep 05, 2012 Reply

    Yes, this kind of writing is focused on story, not wordsmithing, though that’s a generalization. However, when your narrator is a teenager, it doesn’t work to have him/her speaking in a lush, highly textured, metaphor-laden way.

    Not to say that this kind of writing isn’t beautiful in its own way. But it’s read for a different reason.

    I have no desire to return to my youth. I don’t envy high schoolers or 20-somethings. I really like that I’m at a place where a lot of major decisions have been made and I don’t have to wonder who will kiss me goodnight or whatever. But I think it’s a mistake to think that the past is over. I think we all deal with fallout from our growing-up years our whole lives. Deciding if those labels given to us by our families and peers were right or not.

  • Ela on Sep 04, 2012 Reply

    This definitely puts that entire phenomenon in perspective. It’s so true, though–I think I realized it a couple years ago, and had the realization cemented with the people I got to know over the past few months, that many people younger than me are already married homeowners with children and many rungs beneath them on the so-called ladder.

    Makes me feel left out in a way I’m mostly grateful for, but sometimes feel slightly bereft by, as if underneath all the hippy-fuzzy-unconventional-dwelling-poet-person, I’m still just a keen-eared philologist studying ancient word connections in the Bodleian library and writing EXquisite sentences with careful preposition placement. No wonder I don’t get that thread in literature.

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