Those Subtle Weaknesses

Since fiction is one of my favorite topics, I'm keeping with the theme of characters and imperfections. Yesterday, I talked about Wolverine and how, despite his differences, regular people could identify with his limitations and his resilience.

So, what about another popular character right now: Edward Cullen from Twilight? Many of the younger set I've seen don't like him, call him too perfect, as opposed to the sloppy teenager, Jacob, friendly and thoughtless (capable of pushing unwilling kisses), or Bella who makes no sense at all unless you're another teenager. But I get Edward.

Not because I don't age or am effectively made of rock or impervious to most if not all harm. I couldn't identify with that but I don't think that's important because that's not who Edward is (though that immortality has flavored who he is). Edward is the person who looks like it's all too easy. He's the person who's popular without being nasty about it, who makes it look effortless. He's the smartest guy in class who always has his homework in and always has the answer when called on. He's the one who never drops the ball, who is being scouted out in high school when he's still a junior because he's so good. Most people aren't all of these things or even one of these things, but, if you have been any of these things, you know all about Edward.

Because, when it "comes easy," no one's impressed even when you outdo yourself. Because, when you're "the best," you can never let your guard down, never let anything slide. Because, the bar is ever higher (often because of your own achievements) and no one appreciates what it takes to do that level, day in and day out, and even beat it.

And, even knowing what you can do, even knowing how good you are, you never see yourself as good enough. You see the things you could have done better, the traits you don't have (smart, but unpopular or unwieldy for instance). There's a voice that tells you what's wrong with you instead of letting you be satisfied. In Edward, it's a conviction that he's damned, damned for what he had no control over (his being a vampire) and damned for what he did before he developed control.

But that's not enough. He blames himself for what Bella does, takes responsibility for even her stupidest actions (sorry, Bella irritates me), for what she feels, for the things she asks him to do that are so very hard for him. He blames himself for not doing them better.

That, my friend, is a serious flaw and I bet a few of us can identify with that.

Some people are disturbed by his effective stalking of her. Folks, he wants/needs to drink her blood desperately. Stalking someone is most disturbing because of what it can lead to. In his case, it leads to protection of her, even against himself, against her own missteps. True, one can't tell that at first glance, but, in many ways, he plays the parent her parents really aren't. Which is OK, because he's really not a teenager either; he's old, very old. His forbearance is not only practical (really!) but also an offshoot of his upbringing when romance was epitomized by protection of what you loved, even against your own baser instincts. Oh, in reality, even in the early 1900s it really wasn't that pristine, but the perception was there. It's what he once knew.

It makes me reminiscent. Romance novels used to be about that, heroes protecting heroines from the heroine's folly and the hero's baser instincts. It was about loving something more than oneself no matter what the cost, cherishing the happiness of someone else, even if it was uncomfortable for oneself. Romances today have moved away from that and, though women aren't the doormats they once were, we've lost something in equating love with an itch you have to scratch rather than someone so precious you're careful to handle her thoughtfully.

Edward is old school, romantic, unsure of himself, unsure of his worthiness, despite his apparent perfection. Perhaps kids today can't identify with that, but this old broad sure can.