By Heather Cowan
(January 2009)

Ah, Christmas. Amidst the chaos that is a visit home for the holidays, I have promised to take my fourteen-year-old cousin to a movie of her choice. She picked Twilight. Now, as a woman in my thirties (early!), I thought an acceptable response to be a groan, a sinking despair or a barely audible involuntary gag reflex. Star-crossed teen vampire love rates just above an eyebrow threading on my Richter scale of "Oh, hell, no." I should feel numb resignation at having to see Twilight for what would be her third viewing. And I would have - if it weren't also the third time I would be seeing it as well.

Oh, the shame! My head is bowed as I confess. I am obsessed with Twilight. I began the series in earnest, Twilight being the only book in English remaining in the Cabo San Lucas airport bookshop. By the time I landed in Florida, I didn't care that I hadn't seen my man in three weeks; I needed a Barnes & Noble stat to complete my series collection and allow the vamp ecstasy to course through my veins. I became a pusher upon my return to L.A., loaning my copies to anyone who would lend an ear. I hoped, as time passed, that my fervent Mrs. Robinson crush on Edward Cullen and, subsequently, his human actor representative Robert Pattinson would abate if not dissipate entirely, but no. When I finished the four novels and saw the picture twice, I became morose at the ending of my Edward time. After a two-week attempt at going cold turkey failed miserably, I began a second reading of the books.

Let me be clear. I am embarrassed by my obsession with Twilight and by the US Weekly pic of "RPatz" taped, 8th-grade style to my cell phone...and also to the inside of my Marc Jacobs big-girl wallet. What happened to me? To all the unsuspecting adults who should know better? What is the draw? I know there are people who dismiss the phenomenon as shallow teen-lust drivel, who thought the movie was a weak depiction of the book, or who just don't care about it. I am usually one of those people. Where did I go so horrifyingly wrong?

And what the hell is it with Twilight? Could it be so simplistic as to be "love"? Is misguided love luring us toward mythical homicidal creatures? Non-jaded fourteen-year-olds seem to pronounce "love" as the reason for Twilight fanaticism with less rank skepticism than I can. I've decided Twilight's a cure-all. Job stress? Save your Ativan, dream of Twilight. Did your boyfriend say he saw the movie Big and realized he didn't love you enough to move to L.A., um, allegedly? Don't despair; dream of Edward Cullen and it'll be all right. I'm pushing the literary drug onto my sister, as her job is so stressful there's a reason they have windows that don't open in her building. I believe a few hours at the Cullen house can calm her right down. Hell, I'm a hair's breath away from dropping a crate of these Stephenie Meyer novels on Wall Street. Transport yourself to Forks, Wash., and you forget all about your portfolio. Maybe Madoff's clients would enjoy a read.

When I ask my cousin why she likes the series so much, she says it's because "if you could have anything happen to you in life, that's what you would want to happen." I'm sure there are multiple layers to her answer, involving not only the impossible forbidden love story but also the fantastical properties of the characters' superhero abilities. Could she do without the bloodsucking of wild animals, though? I marvel because I haven't seen a topic of conversation unite so many opposing forces since Monica Lewinsky's blue dress. If you read the books, you loved the movie for the most part. If you didn't read the books and found yourself exploring all the hoopla of the movie, you might agree with my friend June, who said, "I wanted to poke out my own eyes." But her seventy-seven-year-old father-in-law loved Twilight. He didn't view the long, silent stares between Bella and Edward as prolonged torture, but as unspoken intimacies and completely comprehensible communication. He didn't care that Jasper looked constipated; he knew he was a new vampire trying to conceal his thirst for human blood. And he knew Edward wasn't channeling Ziggy Stardust in the sunlight; he was glittering in his hot-ass, excuse me, I mean "painfully beautiful" vampire skin and showing a particularly new vulnerability to his lady-love, Bella. Grandpa knew it, my cousin knows it, and I know it.

The Twilight books tell a mesmerizing, heavenly story of two people climbing nearly insurmountable obstacles to realize a love that makes even the most cynical person believe in the concept of destiny and - dare I say, in an era of Craigslist casual encounters - in the idea of a soul-mate. It makes the life of a vampire seems strangely utopian. Though I feel I should hang my head in disgrace, I find myself unabashedly devoted to these stories. And yes, I will see the movie tomorrow night for the third time with my cousin, and we will be wearing our matching "Team Edward" tees. Out of all the addictive substances out there, my drug of choice seems fairly innocuous... for now. -MPM

Photo courtesy of Summit Entertainment.