Breaking Dawn, the fourth and final installment in Stephenie
Meyer’s Twilight series, hit shelves in the summer of 2008, just about a
year after the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
It wasn’t a pop culture event of quite that magnitude, but it was
probably the most anticipated book of the summer, at least among my
friends. Curious, but not convinced that I would ever actually pick up
the series myself, I read a few reviews of the finale and found the
overall reception to be negative. I felt sorry for all of the ardent
devotees who had invested themselves in the series only to be let down
in the end.
Of course, different people are satisfied by different things; certainly there were many fans who didn’t love Deathly Hallows
as much as I did. Still, I came away from my review-reading with
several spoiled plot points and even less assurance that I wanted to
start reading something with an ending that would be disappointing. But
once I did pick up the series for myself, I knew that I would have to
see it through to the end. I’m glad I didn’t let those comments sway me;
while I enjoyed the first two books in the series well enough, I much
preferred the final two volumes, and for me, Breaking Dawn was just about perfect. (I tried to avoid too many spoilers here, but I do mention a couple of rather prominent plot points, so tread carefully...)
It begins as Bella Swan, a nondescript 18-year-old living in Forks,
Washington with her father Charlie, is on the verge of getting married
to Edward Cullen, the man of her dreams, who just happens to be a
vampire. For the first few chapters, Bella puts forth one last burst of
whininess, one of her defining characteristics. It’s rather tedious to
slog through her “Ugh, my fiance just bought me a bulletproof car!
Blech, I’m marrying the most perfect man on the face of the planet!
Gack, my sweeter-than-honey future sister-in-law is giving me the most
beautiful wedding imaginable!” I mean, boy, Bella, you have it tough.
The funny thing is that in her human life, the better things are for
her, the more she complains. Thankfully, she seems to get over this once
she becomes a vampire; she does have a rather vicious response to one
revelation involving Jacob, but once the shock wears off, she comes to
understand it as a fortuitous circumstance.
Yes, she does make
the transformation; was there any doubt? Meyer tried to introduce
nuggets of it, mostly through her relationship with Jacob, who spends
half his time as a wolf and most of his time hopelessly in love with
Bella. Jacob narrates the second portion of this novel himself, which I
suppose muddies the waters further, since it seems at one point that
Bella might not survive beyond the first half of the book. But after all
that buildup, I think many fans would have been up in arms if she had
chosen a human life or died before Edward could change her. And seeing
her in vampire form helps to demonstrate just how unusual some of her
characteristics are and how she almost seems to have been destined for
this very different life all along.
Aside from a brief chapter
at the end of the third novel, Bella has served as the lone narrative
voice, so getting Jacob’s perspective for a couple hundred pages is a
welcome change. At first, his tone is so aggressive that it’s
uncomfortable to read his ramblings; even the chapter titles are
sarcastic rants, as opposed to Bella’s terse one- or two-word summaries.
But Jacob, who oversees the most gruesome portion of the novel,
undergoes a powerful change in this book as his fondness for Bella
forces him into close quarters with Edward’s vampire family. Though he’d
fought alongside some of them before, it’s not until this point that he
is able to really appreciate them as individuals, developing genuine
affection for gentle patriarch Carlisle, his tender-hearted wife Esme
and their adopted daughter Alice, whose sprightly enthusiasm makes her
my favorite character in the series. It’s fascinating to watch so many
of his prejudices gradually dissipate, and though her solution is
unconventional, I thought Meyer’s way of firmly resolving the
werewolf-vampire feud was quite clever and satisfying.
There
is more adult material in this book than the others. Though celibacy is
something Edward insists upon throughout the first three volumes, once
they wed, he consents to consummating the marriage while Bella is still
human, owing to her assumption that once she becomes a vampire, she’ll
be too thirsty to think about canoodling, at least for the first few
years. We see the immediate aftermath of a couple of these encounters,
but Meyer really doesn’t go into any detail, mostly leaving the readers
to fill in the blanks if they so choose. Edward’s fears about hurting
Bella are confirmed in the worst way when he impregnates her, a feat he
thought impossible. This was the element that seemed to garner the most
complaints. Bella suffers through a hideously painful, albeit rapidly
accelerated, pregnancy and labor. It’s an incredibly violent process
that involves the infant sapping away all of Bella’s nourishment and
breaking her bones from the inside. But the thing is, now that she has
all the reason in the world to whine, Bella, seized by a fierce,
protective love for her unborn baby, suddenly learns forbearance. And
when she takes it all in such stride, it’s hard to get too grossed out
by what is happening to her.
The book takes several directions
that surprised me, or that would have if I hadn’t read about certain
twists beforehand. The child, who even old-fashioned Edward and Carlisle
immediately want to abort for fear that the pregnancy will kill Bella,
turns out very differently than I expected. Bella’s parents don’t simply
disappear from the book after the wedding. Jacob matures, and the
trials and complications of the first three books start to feel like
stepping stones instead of roadblocks. One of the reasons I decided to
read the series was that it had become a topic of discussion at a couple
of my favorite Harry Potter websites, and I found myself particularly
reading through the lens of John Granger’s comments on literary alchemy
in Looking for God in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Lectures.
So many alchemical elements are present in this concluding volume,
including a wedding, a death/rebirth and the merger of a “quarreling
couple” - in this case the vampires and werewolves. From the beginning,
the Twilight series has invited comparisons with Romeo and Juliet; happily, Meyer brings the feuding parties together without killing off most of the major characters.
At this point in the series, the main characters are well established,
but some gain greater prominence, particularly Seth Clearwater, who only
recently became a werewolf. Young Seth is an earnest lad of about 15,
and he’s probably my favorite character in this novel next to Alice,
though he isn’t as involved in the second half. He alone among his peers
is able to instantly put aside the natural prejudice against vampires
after their alliance with the Cullens in Eclipse. Sweet-natured
and brave, he forms a lasting friendship with Edward, and his loyalty to
his own people is tested when Sam, the werewolf leader, has reason to
see the vampire family as a threat to be eliminated. His sister Leah,
the lone female werewolf, also takes on a bigger role as she makes a
clean break from the man who broke her heart and strives to find meaning
in her life once again.
We’re reintroduced to the Volturi, an
ancient group of vampires in Italy who serve a similar role to Harry
Potter’s Ministry of Magic. Caius is hot-headed and eager to make
trouble, while Aro comes across as mostly gentle and compassionate,
though never quite safe. Their brother Marcus resurfaces with them but
contributes so little that his presence is easy to forget. They dole out
justice among immortal beings, and though the vampire world owes them
much for maintaining order, these are not authorities to be trifled
with. Meyer also introduces several other vampires who have associated
with the Cullens in the past, and it’s interesting to see how they
interact with one another. Lest all the new names become confusing,
Meyer provides a list of who’s who in the back of the book.
In
a series as in-depth and complex as Harry Potter, the conclusion Meyer
offers might seem excessively simplistic, but for the series at hand, in
which one is used to small misunderstandings blossoming into major
crises and fairly one-dimensional characters falling madly in love with
one another at first sight, I think it’s just right. Perhaps Meyer made
things easier on herself by sidestepping a few opportunities for
conflict, but as someone who’s always rooting for a happily-ever-after, I
appreciated the approach she took here. At about 750 pages, this volume
could still benefit from a little trimming, but I really didn’t mind
the slow pace. By the time I turned the final page, I was rather sorry
to say goodbye to her world but pleased to do so on an unexpectedly high
note.
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