The first Twilight was released in 2005, when I was 15 years old. And I admit that I was seduced by the desire fulfillment that Stephenie Meyer's book offered. I also wanted a boyfriend (or two) who would be into me and make me the sole focus of his life. (But just peel back the skin and you'll see the sanctified, gender essentialist, purity culture fanfiction that lurks just beneath that all-consuming popular love story. As a teenager, I could forgive the poorly drawn characters, the delightfully goofy concept of glistening vampire skin, and the lack of plot beyond repeated declarations of devotion. It was a romanticized depiction of the importance of gender roles and every romantic red herring you can think of. Which begs the question: who wanted a new book in the "Twilight" series?

Earlier this month, Meyer announced (open in new tab) that she would release "Midnight Sun," the fifth in her hugely successful franchise, told from Edward's perspective. Let's put aside for a moment that the real Twi-Hard would have already read this book, which was accidentally leaked a few years ago; there's absolutely no need to revisit the story now in 2020.

Meyer is often credited with bringing young adult fiction into the mainstream with Twilight. However, none of this is realistically applicable in today's cultural climate. Just as we now know that plucking too many eyebrows was a mistake, we also know that plots about dominant men are not "romantic" plots. We now have a pervasive language for identifying and describing emotional abuse. There has been so much published on the media's romantic portrayal of abusive relationships that it is hard to believe that we still have to write about this ten years after Team Edward vs. Team Jacob first appeared in the pop-culture lexicon. It is now clear that it is irresponsible to assume that suicide is a sign of true love and a (at best) shallow reflection of mental health and depression. And the culture has already acknowledged that gender essentialism is not representative of the world and is toxically exclusive. We have moved past this.

The series has benefited a bit too much from its onscreen setting, in which Kristen Stewart plays Bella Swan, a teenage girl who moves to a small town in Washington State, where she meets and falls in love with her tamed vampire and dominant boyfriend, Edward Cullen. Perhaps too much was made of it. Stewart has a natural edge that makes one forget that there is anything appealing about the character of Bella. Her most distinguishing quality is that she is clumsy. She is there to be adored and saved.

Feminist critics were quick to assume that the central conceit of the first book - that Edward protects Bella from her own horniness - is a metaphor for asceticism. This ascetic element was culturally consistent with the mid-1950s, when vampirism was a code of desire, acceptable only if properly married to the opposite sex. It was also during this decade that the "purity ring," worn proudly by celebrities like the Jonas Brothers and Selena Gomez, became widespread. But a decade and a half later, the Jonas Brothers openly ridiculed the ring, mandating that conversations about sex and abstinence include consent, and describing the notion of "girls being hurt by sex" as dehumanizing is no longer a fringe position.

The authoritarian dynamics of Edward breaking things in a fit of rage and making unilateral decisions to protect Bella (such as a security force with tactics like sneaking into Bella's room to watch her sleeping face and using mind control to track her movements) are characteristic of psychological abuse and outdated gender role divisions as the epitome of true love, not to mention the high regard in which they are held.

The series also dips its toe into teen suicidal ideation as shorthand for "passionate romantic longing." In New Moon, when Edward decides to leave Bella without a word (again, to protect her), she is distraught and throws herself off a cliff, hallucinating him telling her what to do. In the final book of the series, Bella is horrified when the couple gets married and Edward tells her it's okay to have sex. Bella wakes up bruised and bruised (obviously different from "Fifty Shades of Grey," in that the sex is safe and consensual). Soon pregnant with a killer baby, crushing her rib cage and robbing her of life force, she flashes the pro-life picket sign and decides to just die instead of ending the pregnancy. And the Cullens are all siblings, and they are all married. ...... The entire series takes care to establish that partnering family life is a sign of personal fulfillment.

Critics, scholars, feminists, and advocates have had much success in moving the cultural needle in a more inclusive direction. In today's YA fiction, an unstable, authoritarian male love interest like Edward would likely be taken as a guide to identifying red flags in a relationship. The idea of retelling an already problematic story from the perspective of a potentially abusive and certainly dominant male feels like an attempt to excuse his problems at the very time #MeToo is struggling to hold men finally and fully accountable.

Generation Z is overwhelmingly more liberal than the generations before it. It is hard to imagine that the same teenagers who make socially conscious TikToks would embrace the repressive characters and romanticized expressions that were popular in the original films. And the millennials who first encountered "Twilight" in the 1980s have hopefully evolved with the times into adults. One could revisit the story for nostalgia's sake, but nostalgia implies a desire to return.

So who is "Midnight Sun" for? The cultural moment that made "Twilight" such a huge success has long since passed, along with vampires, purity rings, and unbridled male domination. Perhaps we have only failed this work.

For more celebrity news, beauty and fashion advice, savvy political commentary, fascinating features, and more like this, sign up for the Marie Claire newsletter.

Click here to register (opens in new tab)