First, my new alliance with the werewolves is not code for a conversion to Team Jacob — though it is a byproduct. This is not about how “New Moon” made me fall in love with a topless pseudo-Native-American — also an inevitable byproduct. This is about growing up. Werewolves are just more bad-ass than vampires and it’s time I embrace it.
Admittedly, I’ve had a curious, slightly ridiculous infatuation with vampires since I watched “Interview with a Vampire” as a young, bizarre child. There was some mysterious allure about a cursed life that captivated me. Never mind that vampires are wretched blood-sucking monsters; I thought living forever was cool and I didn’t care what anyone said.
Hollywood feebly attempts to subject me to the idea that immortality is wrong, unnatural, laborious and lonely, which is laughably false. Sure, it may be awful at times. Yes, as a vampire I would probably be ousted and rejected and a menace to society. But I will always choose immortality over a normal life. I want unfathomable power, a constant, simple diet, teeth that can ravage a bear and skin, which is incognito next to snow.
What could possibly be better than such a life? Being part-wolf (subtracting pale skin and adding lots of fur, of course). It took a lot of solitary reflection and comparative analysis to appreciate the differences between vampires and werewolves, but I realized I shouldn’t settle for vampires simply because they’re stronger — which is absolutely true. I don’t deny that most werewolves would probably fall at the hands of an able vampire, but it shouldn’t outweigh the numerous other advantages they have over the pale ones.
For one, the wolf curse is truly a curse. It is an involuntary, irrevocable change that happens once a month, causing raging blood baths and mindless frenzies. Poor Professor Lupin in “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Aszkaban” is a prime example of one who suffers tremendously because of the monthly transformation, who hates the curse, who hates himself. He’s one of my favorite characters in the series because, even as an monster powerless to his own bestial tendencies, he remains compassionate, intelligent, cautious and considerate. Plus the whole being a wizard-wolf thing is probably the most glorious combination of anthropomorphism and fantasy ever conceived. Werewolves aren’t necessarily haunted, feared creatures; there’s still room for pity and awe.
But vampires are always pants-soiling scary. Yes, they’re deceptively beautiful, cool-tempered and deadly, but I’d rather observe one from afar. They have excellent control, a skill necessary for luring victims, but trusting one is a rookie mistake. As long as you avoid werewolves at the full moon and when they’re angry, developing a relationship with one is absolutely possible and perfectly reasonable. Imagine having a werewolf for a best friend.
The most obvious advantage the wolves have over the bats is the ability to venture carelessly in the sunlight without being reduced to a worthless pile of ash. Certainly, nighttime is the best and most exciting time of day, but being limited to live life only during those few hours of darkness is unbelievably inconvenient. Excepting the special Twilight-brand of vampires, werewolves have more versatility. Indeed, a vampire looks like a high-maintenance sissy with their exhaustive list of weaknesses alongside a werewolf: sunlight, bodies of water, anything religious, holy or good, salt and garlic, to name a few, versus an allergy to silver and the full moon. And, of course, a vampire will die when their heart is penetrated by a long, pointy wooden stake. What is the real significance of a wooden stake anyway? Seems a little suggestive to me.
How easy would it really be to avoid all of these commonplace things and live an immortal life to its fullest extent? And why are the only things that are injurious or fatal to vampires completely non-dangerous? It’s nonsensical and a little disappointing. The life of a werewolf may be a little more reckless and unpredictable, but it would be significantly easier to exist normally — not that a normal life would always be desirous. I, for instance, decided after reading the “Twilight” series that if and when I were blessed with a half-wolf life, in the same nature as those in the books, I would indefinitely assume my wolf form, abandon the civilized world and roam about with no direction, plan or purpose, fully succumbing to my inner animal and only focusing on how to placate my insatiable hunger.
These “Twilight” werewolves are particularly bad-ass because while their initial transformation is automatic (though not caused by a bite or full moon), they learn to control their ability, adapting it to change at will. Similarly, the werewolves (or Lycans, rather) in “Underworld” can shift as easily as if it were a switch, though I’d prefer Twilight-wolf for no other reason than the Lycans are incredibly ugly.
Vampires don’t have alternate forms. They’re stuck with the terrifying, emo look for eternity. Furthermore, vampires are often associated with evil and gothic things and in general don’t have a reputation for being pleasant or personable, which makes sense considering their history and qualities. But the negative connotations and assumptions about them make it a little less fun. Wolves, on the other hand, are always awesome; just ask the kid with the three howling wolves shirt.
My preference of werewolves probably became concrete when I came across a reference to one in Roman mythology. The poet Ovid wrote in “Metamorphoses,” a story about a haughty, arrogant man called Lycaon who tried to dupe Jupiter (Zeus), failed, and was turned into a wolf by the bad-tempered and impulsive god. Out of my love for mythology, Jupiter and wolves, the position of my loyalties became very clear; it was a sign. I had to change.
Jacob is better for Bella anyway.