Decisions, Decisions: Bella, Katniss, and Elena Choose Their Men (and you can, too!)
Three of the most successful science fiction and fantasy franchises of the last decade (The Hunger Games, The Vampire Diaries, and Twilight) have featured female protagonists engaged in complicated love triangles that directly affect the outcome of the series as a whole. Due to the rapidly changing cultural norms of the last century, young Americans are turning neither to their parents nor to their elders for life advice, but rather to the media and to literature, which have often served as babysitter, entertainer, and educator. Successful franchises such as The Vampire Diaries, The Hunger Games, and the Twilight saga (both in their novel and film or television forms) have provided this generation with sympathetic heroines who face moral, sexual, and professional dilemmas in a fantasy world that mirrors reality without the inconvenience of being bound to it. This paper argues that these three franchises are successful in part because the dilemma of the love triangle parallels and informs the choice between the safety of a traditional life (characterized by marriage and motherhood) and the unknowns of a life lived primarily outside of domestic responsibilities (characterized by career and adventure) that this generation of young women—like no generation before it—now faces.
Much of this paper is predicated on the idea that each of these franchises consists of three main characters: the heroine, the Knight in Shining Armor, and the Bad Boy. For the purposes of this paper, the Knight in Shining Armor will be defined as the male character whom the reader / audience expects the heroine to end up with in the end (for Twilight, Edward; for Hunger Games, Peeta; for Vampire Diaries, Stefan). The Knight represents a more traditional lifestyle: he is safe, protective, reserved, and choosing him is equivalent to choosing marriage and children. The Bad Boy will be defined as the male character who the heroine is attracted to, but wary of. He represents a more modern, non-traditional lifestyle: he is dangerous, unpredictable, sexual, and mysterious. Choosing him is equivalent to choosing a career (or an adventure) over a domestic setting.
In myth, literature, and media, there is a historical precedent for love triangles that instruct not only characters, but also readers (or audience members) in how they should fit in with, and make life decisions within, their society. In Arthur, Pride & Prejudice, and Casablanca, the reader / audience learns valuable information about the role and responsibility of an individual in a larger culture by observing how the consequences of the love triangle affects the hero or heroine. Guinevere (and Arthur and Lancelot) destroy an entire kingdom through selfish desire; Elizabeth finds a way to be an independent woman in a misogynist world; Rick regains his sense of purpose and selflessness. Without going through the experience of a love triangle, none of these characters would have found their true place in the world.
But the guidance that an audience can pull from the concept of the love triangle has never come to such a head as it has in the Twilight, Hunger Games, and Vampire Diaries franchises. These stories would not have been written had America not gone through a radical change over the past century and developed the modern “young adult” genre—an age group that, a hundred years ago, did not exist. In Generation Multiplex, Timothy Shary recounts how, in the early 1900s, there was a much smaller time period between childhood and adulthood, with only 6.4% of Americans completing high school. Many left their homes at the age of fourteen to work, and often were married with kids by age eighteen. There was very little time between being a child and having a child. With post-World War II prosperity, more children stayed in school and eventually went to college, postponing marriage and careers until their 20s. The new, widespread use of the automobile also afforded this new “teenager” social strata a way to get away from their parents and guardians and dip their toes into the world of adult pleasures and dangers. With the radio, rock and roll, and many eighteen-year-old males being drafted into the Vietnam War, the teen / young adult population rallied into an identifiable group.
Now, with options opening up more and more for both genders, young adults are taking longer and longer to decide what they want to do with their lives. An article titled “Is Your College Graduate Moving Back Home?” states that the current generation of college students is being referred to as the “boomerang generation” for moving away for a short time and then returning home. “According to a survey conducted by the consulting firm Twentysomething, Inc., 85% of 2011 college graduates moved back home, at least for a while.” The article says most people blame the economy and the fiercely competitive job market. Having a college degree once meant having a job waiting in the wings—or at least the promise of one. Now, it often translates to unemployment and massive debt. A Huffington Post article stated that 2011 college graduates averaged $27,000 in student loan and credit card debt. Even more alarming, “debt at graduation is outpacing starting salaries.” While many college grads may want to strike out on their own, they are finding it financially impossible to survive; and while they may feel mature after four years in an institution of higher learning, returning to one’s childhood home can create a stigma of perpetuated adolescence.
But being educated has only put more stress on the traditional role of women as wives, mothers, and domestic caretakers. A woman is equally likely to be criticized or shamed for being a “career bitch” as she is for being a soccer mom. There seems to be no answer at all to the question, “What does a modern American woman look like?” Those who try to do both—have a career and be a wife and mother—often find themselves failing at one or the other. Those who choose a career first and children second sometimes feel that too much time has gone by and they are too old to be mothers; conversely, those who have children first often find themselves passed by, their educations obsolete and their training archaic in a world where the amount of information is said to double every two years. It is fascinating to note that the authors of Twilight and Hunger Games (Stephenie Meyers and Suzanne Collins) are both wives and mothers who, after having children, wrote record-breaking hit book series that catapulted them to unprecedented financial and critical success. The heroines of both of those series choose the Knight in Shining Armor, and settle down with their husbands and children by the end of the last book. L.J. Smith, the author of The Vampire Diaries is not married, nor does she have children. Hers is the only heroine who actually, at one point, chooses the Bad Boy. She is also the only author to have been replaced by a ghostwriter after disputes with her publisher went sour on not one, but two book series, suggesting that, in real life, choosing the non-traditional route can have its own dangers. At least for the television series, Elena’s fate is still muddled and unclear—and so is L.J. Smith’s, with great confusion arising between her original story, the changes of the ghostwriter, and the adaptation the story took when it went to television. The actions of the heroines in the various franchises seems to reflect the life choices of their authors—and yet these authors are middle-aged women, born a generation (or two) before the audiences that consume their books. Thus when the “teenage” heroines Bella and Katniss end up in happily-wedded bliss, it rings false for many actual teenage readers, who have not grown up in an era where eighteen-year-olds desire marriage soon after high school, if they desire it at all.
What does ring true are the heroines’ isolation from traditional family structures. In Vampire Diaries, Hunger Games, and Twilight, one or both parents of the heroine are dead, absent, or dysfunctional. These girls are left without a proper mother-figure, and must rely on a variety of un-authoritative sources to help them navigate their romantic feelings. As they are coming into adulthood and preparing to embark on a life route that they will presumably stay on for the rest of their lives, the Knight in Shining Armor and the Bad Boy represent two different, equally-appealing paths: as mentioned before, the Knight leads to stability, romance, and family; the Bad Boy leads to adventure, sexual fulfillment, and independence. Choosing either one of these men will result in losing the other, and therefore the lifestyle that is associated with them. Not only does the heroine not have a parental figure, but the Knight (as opposed to the Bad Boy), in many respects, becomes both boyfriend and parent: protecting (physically, emotionally, or financially) and guiding. When she is faced with a dilemma, she may consult both men: the Knight will often give her sound moral advice (much like a parent would) and the Bad Boy may also give her advice, but it may not align with accepted moral codes, or, he may not give her advice at all, leaving the decision up to her, and enabling her, ironically, to behave more like an adult by making her own decision (this is especially true in the Damon-Stefan-Elena triangle of The Vampire Diaries). Both men desire to protect the heroine, but this tends to be limited to physical protection by the Bad Boy and physical, emotional, and mental protection by the Knight. Who the heroine chooses reveals how she wishes to be treated: as a child in need of protection, or as an adult with equal partnership. The Knight wants someone he can protect; the Bad Boy wants someone who can hold her own. The heroine has to decide not which boy she wants to pick, but which girl she wants to be.
This resonates with many female viewers, regardless of age, not because their mothers are dead or even absent, but because the past few decades have seen each successive generation of women living radically different lives than their mothers. There is no accepted norm anymore to conform to. It is no wonder that the category of “young adult” exists at all—when adolescents are told, “You can be anything you want to be,” and it is true, it takes a great deal of time (say, most of your 20s) to wade through the options and settle on something that should satisfy you for a lifetime. Even with parental guidance, the landscape for women today is so dramatically different than it was a generation before (and likewise, the same can be said for the previous generation looking back at their parents), that parental—especially maternal—advice may be misguided, outdated, naïve, or irrelevant. Thus even if the heroines of these stories had mothers to turn to for advice, they would still be forced by the current culture to confront the vast possibilities virtually on their own.
Thus is the heroine presented with her options. Although traditionally the Knight has been the one the heroine goes home with at the end of the day while the Bad Boy is a rebellious fling, that mindset may be changing. In Hunger Games, Katniss goes on her dangerous adventures, chooses the Knight (Peeta), then settles down and has children with him (an ending that many say is incongruent with the character’s arc, or at the very least poorly explained). Not much is mentioned about Gale (the Bad Boy) or his final fate; once Katniss chooses Peeta, Gale receives a paltry footnote that is frustrating to readers and audiences alike, precisely because who Katniss chooses (and who she will one day become) is one of the central questions of the series. To have it wrapped up as an afterthought was dissatisfying because they could not follow Katniss’ decision-making process or perceive the reason for the choice she finally made, and thus could not emulate her story and choices in their own lives. In Twilight, Bella chooses the Knight (Edward) over the Bad Boy (Jacob)—she gets her family (a daughter) and a perfect ending, forever in love with her soulmate, but Jacob is not left out in the cold. He imprints on Bella’s daughter and waits excitedly for the seven years it will take her to reach adulthood where she will be able to reciprocate his romantic feelings for her (an ending, again, that leaves many feeling uncomfortable). In Vampire Diaries, although Elena has at almost every step along the way chosen the Knight (Stefan), here in season four (and here I refer to the show as opposed to the book), the Knight has proven himself to be inadequate—and it looks like she may well choose the Bad Boy. This shift is largely in response to the fact that Elena herself has changed—she is no longer a soft human, she is a violent vampire, and she needs a man that can appreciate this new side of her. The Knight cannot love her as a vampire; he can only love her as she was: human. The Bad Boy can love her either way. A possible cure to vampirism is being hinted at in the show, however, so if Elena returns to being human, her choice (and her lifestyle) may be complicated once again.
Regardless of who the heroine chooses (and the choice is always up to the heroine), the life she will lead—and the adult she will become—is directly tied to the man she chooses. No wonder it takes the heroine multiple books, movies, or episodes to decide who she wants: in reality, she is choosing who she will become. Whoever the heroine chooses resonates deeply with who the audience believes they should choose for themselves, and therefore what lifestyle it is appropriate to lead—and more, which lifestyle is more likely to be fulfilling and successful. It is telling that, in most cases, the heroine chooses the Knight. So far, the Vampire Diaries is the only one of the three major franchises that still has the possibility of the heroine choosing the Bad Boy. Since the series has not reached completion—and the television series has diverged significantly from the books—no concrete conclusions about Elena’s choice can be drawn at this time.
In all three franchises, however, the love triangle is the embodiment of young adulthood—by its nature, it postpones the heroine’s choice. Young adulthood is a state of suspended animation between childhood and adulthood whereby an individual steps back from a final choice and surveys the options, abstaining from true responsibility and true adulthood. Once the heroine chooses, the story is over: she is an adult, and while her life may not be over, it is set in place, unchanging, signifying the completion of the rite of passage and the end of youth. This is also perhaps why vampires are so popular—frozen in time as young adults, their adolescence is eternal; they are never forced to choose how they will spend their limited years since, as immortal beings, they can pick every single option and explore it infinitely. The vampire, therefore, is a natural extension of the selfish, wild, alluring figure of Peter Pan, living in a world of endless summer, endless adventure, endless violence, and endless camaraderie.
Although Peter Pan and vampires never change, the world has changed greatly in the past century. The “teenager” was born as an age-group, vilified and deified through film and television. The sexual revolution allowed for sexual acts to be depicted more graphically in media, creating a culture of sexual and emotional fantasy. Although women won civil rights and suffrage and became more and more educated, this merely shifted the divide between the sexes rather than repairing it, confusing gender roles and allowing for men to become commodified alongside women. With the economy preventing young adults from surviving without the financial help of their parents, many twenty-somethings are at a loss to figure out how to move forward, what they should do with their lives, and even which terms to define themselves by, or what those terms mean in a modern world no longer bound by traditional rules and roles. Amidst this confusion, the love triangle serves as a parallel to real life, informing young women—consciously or unconsciously—about their choice between the traditional and the non-traditional. The question, then, is not “Are these franchises good literature / media, or are they promoting the right message?” The question is, “Who is listening to what these heroines are saying, and how will they act on that information?” Will America see a resurgence of traditional values (marriage, children, domestic roles) for women? Will it see them abandoning even further traditional gender roles in favor of careers or other aspirations? Or, receiving conflicting messages from the heroines of separate franchises that use the same formula (the love triangle), will young women simply be more confused than they were before?
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