I say blessed are those who get New Moon—and the rest of the Twilight Saga.
They’re in the zone where life is at its most raw, where emotions are sweetest and harshest, and loneliness is vital company (so unlike the colorless one of the old and indifferent).
Never mind the juvenile writing nor the characterless Bella and Eduard—we are young (or would like to be) and are grateful for stories that indulge our fantasies, give us our catharsis, or let us be as immature as we wish, completely, for its sake alone, without the distraction of sophisticated narratives.
We just need to feel sometimes. Yes, sure, this book is flawed by such lackluster characters—but who cares for them? I am Bella… and someone else is Edward.
Who in all the universe are as fascinating as we, after all?
Teens are especially adept at taking on angst-ridden roles—they are angst! And some are willing enough to forget, that they can go back to a more simple life in which wants and desires are the center of the universe.
And hey, in terms of plotting and characterization, New Moon isn’t that bad… Eduard leaves Bella, after all his avowals of love for some misguided notion of protecting Bella from himself. Bella falls into depression. The four pages labeled simply October, November, December, and January—almost like wordless chapters—are as close to pure agony as a book could get to.
I stared at these wordless chapters, stunned out of condescension; then as the story of Jacob unfolded, I was bemused, because I finally was reading about real people, young people who only have each other to turn to for courage, and a bit of comfort, in a world that has turned upside down.
How do we make sense of a book—but to try to relate it to our own experiences?
I finally get it—and I’m afraid, I remember too. And I believe I’m truly and absolutely flustered about it.
Unfortunately, Bella becomes a doll again in the end. Team Jacob’s human spirit wasn’t strong enough to completely transform her into human.