Edward Cullen Must Die

1. I am Introduced to Edward1

I was introduced to Edward Cullen during my Freshman year of College. It was lunch time, and I was eating with a table full of girls. I was eating with them, well, because at that point I had long blond hair and when I sat down they thought I was one of them, and by the time they realized their error they were too embarrassed to say anything.2

The story I was telling seems embarrassing now; it was about a childhood incident in which I had been sent to bed without any supper. I was talking about the sad, mad state in which I went to bed that night, and being a pretentious English major I said I went “Bedward, sullen,” at which point all the women at the table jumped, their eyes widened, and they giggled. They seemed to do this involuntarily. 3

They also gave me a strange look. I am not a complete blockhead; I know that look. It is the same look one gets from a Lutheran to whom one has mentioned recently purchasing an indulgence; or from a Roman Catholic with whom one speaks of theses, especially if there are ninety-five of them; or from a sneezing atheist one has wished “God bless you.”4

I wondered if I had stumbled across some arcane sexual taboo, shrugged, and moved on.5

Soon my story segued into a rant regarding the movie career of Johnny Depp. I was talking about the film in which he plays the worst movie director of all time, a scene in which said director had to think very hard. I had somehow digressed from high-level discourse to my native Midwestern slang. The phrase I used was, “Ed Wood mullin’,” and this jumping wide-eyed giggling behavior repeated itself, along with some seemingly involuntary twitching. 6

After that I talked about a friend who was actually privileged to meet Mr. Depp, and who talked to him about the fact that his (my friend’s) first name was the same as the first name of two of the characters Depp had played in Tim Burton films. That story reminded me of one about the same friend, Ed, and I in basketball camp, and the English basketball coach who insisted on using our full names. The story was about a drill we had run so we could become more familiar with the out-of-bounds lines. I was quoting our British teacher, and I said, “Edward, ball-in!”7

At this point all the girls giggled and then screamed, as if in delight. A couple of them fainted. Being a backward homeschooler and not well-versed in the ways of women, I assumed it was normal behavior for them to screech and faint once in a while. Not wanting to impose upon what they might consider a private moment, I bussed my tray and left them to their trials.8

Having some time before my next class, I went to a computer lab, logged into my account, and Googled “bedward sullen.” I got unsatisfactory results, but Google suggested helpfully, “Did you mean ‘Edward Cullen’?” Shaking my head at the foolishness of Google, I typed in “Ed Wood mullin’,” to even less satisfactory results. The text at the top of the page said, “No, we’re pretty sure you meant ‘Edward Cullen.’” I shook my head again and typed, “Edward ball-in,” and for just a second the whole screen said “Here you go, idiot,” and it took me to a page entitled EDWARD CULLEN FAN PAGE.9

This was where my eyes were opened, my mind was blown, my world expanded. I found out about Edward, his true love Bella, all the trials and tribulations they had been through, all the kissing they felt themselves forced to do.10

It was, quite frankly, disgusting. 11

But I decided to keep an open mind. After classes were over for the day I went to the library and checked out all four books in the series, and read them over the course of the next eight hours. I must say, there was something nefariously entrancing about them. I thrilled when Bella looked like she would die; laughed and cried with Edward and Bella when he rescued her. I wept, openly, in the middle of the college campus when I read in New Moon about Edward leaving forever, and I wept again upon his return. I laughed at both the camaraderie and the rivalry between Edward and Jacob; I wept once again, with happiness, upon Esme’s birth, and at the end of the last book… well, some things are best left undescribed. 12

I returned the books to the library, feeling a little ashamed of myself, but glad at least that I knew about this Edward Cullen.13

2. Edward Steals All the Women14

I am, as previously stated, an English major. As such, I am attuned to certain aspects of reality of which normal people and real people are largely unaware—aspects of reality of which it were probably better to remain ignorant. This is, perhaps, why I started seeing Edward everywhere.15

It started the night after I read the Twilight books. I came home from my sundry extracurriculars to find my roommate and his girlfriend, Johanna Spyri, sitting on my roommate’s bed. This was fine; I like them both. But I noticed a third occupant of the bed, of whom my roommate seemed to be unaware. He was strongly built, with skin like granite that sparkled in the fluorescent overhead light. He was, or so I am told, incredibly handsome.16

To my bemusement and increasing horror, my roommate would talk to his girlfriend, would say pretty things to her, and while she nodded and smiled and gave all the right signs, the third occupant of the bed continually leaned over and whispered in her ear. To him, she giggled, and batted her eyelashes, and positively simpered. 17

Another friend of mine, whose nickname is simply Black (because he is very white), and his girlfriend stopped by. They were holding hands, as usual, but on his girlfriend’s other side there was a big granite sparkly man also holding her hand. Black didn’t seem to notice.18

They left, and I left with them, and I stopped in another friend’s room and he and his girlfriend were there and Edward was there, too, and he was in all the other rooms with girls in them and all the boyfriends seemed to be ignorant. I ran across campus to the girls’ dorms and ran through the girls’ dormitory tearing doors open, hysterically, panting as I ran from room to room. Edward was in every room. Sometimes as many as three or four times in the same room, depending upon the number of female occupants. On the top floor of the girls’ dormitory I sank to my knees, tearing my hair, and yelling “WHY‽‽”19

It was at this point that Campus Security tracked me down and dragged me out of the girls’ dormitory, informing me that I now had two strikes and if I did something like this a third time serious action would have to be taken. I said Thank you, and wept, and they thought they knew why, but of course they had no idea. I said for them to keep an eye on their women, if they had any, and they looked at me oddly and dropped me in a sad heap on the floor.20

So the next day I called a meeting with all the young women on campus. This may sound like an exaggeration, but I go to a small school and it’s not very hard to gather them all in one place, and if you put out cookies and punch they feel obligated to come since you’ve gone to all that trouble. 21

“Ladies,” I said. “I’ve read your books, I know your secret. Don’t you think it’s time to confess it to, I don’t know, all your boyfriends and potential boyfriends? This seems like very disingenuous behavior, ladies.”22

As one they looked at their feet and then looked up at me, glaring. “You don’t understand,” they said.23

“I understand!” I said. “Suppose I was dating one of you. Suppose I were to spend the night outside your window, watching you sleep. What would you do?”24

“But...” they said. “But, he understands me! And he’s so dreamy! I just want to be with him!”25

“Fine!” I said, for I with a point am like a rat terrier with a rat. “I think I will inform all of you that I like you by sitting outside of your window and watching you sleep night after night.”26

Which, strangely, someone recorded on their cell phone, took to court, and… long story short, I found myself with about four hundred restraining orders filed against me.27

3. Edward’s Crimes28

As I alluded to, most or all of the men on-campus (except me) seemed to be oblivious to this travesty happening all around them. When they find out, I’m sure they will be outraged. But perhaps some of us may be asking, Is Edward really so bad? What’s wrong with having a fictional character to be in love with? Below, I have helpfully listed Edward’s crimes.29

1. He’s perfect. Edward can literally do nothing wrong. The worst crime, the most prosecutable offense, he gets away with because he’s dreamy and has sparkly granite skin. Stalking? Kidnapping? Imprisonment? All sexy, when he does them.30

2. Stalking. I’ve said it, and it’s been said many times elsewhere, but it cannot be overemphasized. If we engaged in that kind of behavior… well, I have the transcript of my own personal courtroom experience to show what would happen.31

3. He’s the creation of a woman. This is important. His creator, author Stephanie Meyer, is a woman. She knows exactly what women want, in a way that no man ever can, and she can therefore create the perfect man for her female readers. This gives Edward an advantage that is completely unfair, and one which we cannot hope to match. This alone, I think, is a legitimate reason for his demise.32

4. He’s immortal. Yes, this is a reason he must die. He’s already had, I think, close to a century to do things like learn to talk well and play the piano, and pick up other skills he can use to pick up women. 33

I could name a thousand more reasons he has to die, but if you can’t see it already, you never will.34

4. We Kill Edward35

I address all men now: Let us go out and rid ourselves of this infestation, this plague on the minds of our women! Edward has won their hearts, all of them. He is ruthless; he has no morals, no compunction. One fictional woman is not enough for him; he will not rest until he has all our women, both fictional and real!36

Think about this for a moment: imagine opening Pride and Prejudice to discover that Elizabeth, rather than having married Mr. Darcy as she is supposed to, has run off with a sparkling immortal interloper! Imagine that Romeo kills himself not because his love is dead, but because she has eloped with a different angsty teenager—one who has granite abs!37

…Okay, so very few of you care about these things, men. But imagine—not just your girlfriends, your wives, but also your mothers and your grandmothers, your kindly spinster aunts—all of them in the arms of a smoldering granite punk, frozen in time at the height of his angstiest years! It boggles the mind.38

No, we must rid ourselves of this menace, once and for all. Certainly, Edward is immortal. There are ways of dealing with that. The Volturi can do it, apparently, and so can the werewolves, and if those Italian punks and hairy beastmen can figure it out, so can we! There are ancient methods—stakes at the crossroads at midnight, or something. I’m not actually that up on my vampire lore.39

But we will figure it out, and we will strike! Let us rid ourselves of this undead angsty smoldering teenage menace, and take back our women!