Twilight Sucks

An Impassioned Plea for Better Fantasy Fiction and the Souls of Teenage Girls

Literature can provide a map to the human condition. This is especially important to teens who are trying to learn the complex rules for personal relationships. You cannot protect every impressionable mind from bad literature; censorship of one thing makes everything more vulnerable to censorship. Awareness of what makes a story good or bad can encourage young readers to have higher expectations for the books they read. Poorly written stories will be written, published, sold and read for as long as the market place will have them. The “Twilight” series by Stephanie Meyers is an example. “Twilight” fails its readers in three important ways: it fails as a fantastic story, in Edward it idolizes a sociopathic controlling personality and excuses his manipulative approach to relationships as romantic, and finally in Twilight’s protagonist Bella, Meyer irresponsibly creates a role model who, if she is not an example of a submissive powerless woman, she is a ritual sacrifice on the altar of teen sexual conquest and competition.

            Is the way “Twilight” is written merely a reflection of the fantasy genre style? Do Fantasy writers privilege trope over substance so faithfully that this is what we should expect from fantasy fiction? Although J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series has its problems, it provides believable human interactions. The characters may live in a supernatural world, but the problems they confront are normal human problems, and their reactions are real human reactions. Meyer’s “Twilight”, however, uses its supernatural world like spray paint over rust. On reading “Twilight” I discovered that the world Meyer created is a thin veneer, under that veneer is a stiff, poorly written romance novel complete with every horrific trope of the romance novel genre.  Meyer waters down or completely does away with every balancing negative aspect of vampire lore. As a result, there are no vampires in “Twilight”. The “Twilight” books are not vampire stories; they are simply romance novels. Conversely, Rowling’s “Harry Potter” books are fully invested in the fantasy genre while providing believable characters struggling with problems that teenagers can identify with.

If you remove the vampire identities from “Twilight” the events that describe Bella and Edward’s relationship read like a corny teenage fantasy. From the first moment Bella and Edward see each other they are in love. The only thing that briefly keeps them apart is Edward as he battles with his desire to drink Bella’s blood. This hardship is soon conquered diminishing the meaning and power behind this corner stone of vampire lore. Bella and Edward have their lovers’ quarrels, but it is always just a big misunderstanding. The solution to each misunderstanding is that Edward loves Bella, or that’s how it might seem at first glance. On deeper examination this surface reading falls apart.

In writing teen romance it is not only the author’s responsibility to provide a realistic heroine that teens can identify with, but also to provide examples of empowering life choices. In Bella, Meyer fails to achieve any of these things. There is nothing valuable to be learned from Bella’s journey. Bella and Edward do not confront any realistic problems in the development of their relationship. Edward’s behavior ranges from unrealistic levels of attention and affection to classic controlling behavior. In the real world it would never be acceptable for someone to climb into a potential lover’s bedroom and without their knowledge, watch them sleep.  In the “Harry Potter’ series Ron and Hermione’s relationship starts as a normal preadolescent friendship, confronts the challenges of jealousy and misunderstandings, and finally develops into a mature relationship. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger’s relationship as it occurs in the Harry Potter series is in stark contrast with Edward Cullen and Isabella Swan’s relationship as it is described in “Twilight”. I believe J.K. Rowling created in Ron and Hermione a realistic teen love affair where both people are believable and, fully developed human beings with as much respect for themselves as they have for each other. Bella and Edward’s relationship is not only hollow and stiff, but in the end is depicted as a relationship that no one would willingly submit to.  Edward reads as a narcissistic sociopath, and Bella is at best a meat puppet and at worst an object of scorn and derision to her readers.

On examination, Edward’s relationship with Bella develops into a nightmare of controlling behavior. The only thing that keeps us from reading Edward as a psycho/sexual predator is that Bella welcomes his controlling behavior. Edward spies on Bella by reading her friend’s thoughts. Although Edward can’t for some reason read Bella’s thoughts he can read everyone else’s. He listens to Bella’s friend’s conversations to hear what Bella is saying about him. He watches her sleep. He is aware of everything she does and everywhere she goes by this eves dropping and surveillance. To complete the scary controlling boyfriend milieu Edward is a reckless driver.

“If you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away.”

“Probably,” He sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty. (Meyer p.182)

Edward is undead; he can’t die. Edward only endangers Bella with his reckless driving. This is narcissistic behavior. Edward only sees to his own needs, and at that moment he needs to drive fast. After he has slowed his car, he is still going way too fast. This scenario is typical of an abusive relationship. The abuser has his victim trapped in a car going fast enough so opening the door and jumping would be suicide. The abuser in in complete control, not necessarily of the car, but of his victim’s emotional response: fear. She will be afraid for as long as he wants her to be and if she finds any comfort from her fear it will be because he allowed it.

            Edward is not subtle about his desire to control Bella. He constantly assures her of her inability to keep herself safe. This infantilizes Bella and creates a controlling role for Edward that he can argue is for Bella’s own good. She is incapable of keeping herself away from harm, Edward must step in, but this is not the only evidence of Edward’s controlling. Edward’s motivation is made clear in this example of “controlling boyfriend double speak”:

                                    “Bring on the shackles—I’m your prisoner” But his long hands formed manacles around my wrists as he spoke. He laughed his quiet musical laugh.” (Meyer 302)

Without the previous pages of controlling behavior this brief passage might not carry so much weight, but after 300 pages this is startling. Sadly, at this point in the story, Bella has long ago relinquished her autonomy and any shred of personality Meyer allowed her is caught in some weeds on the shoulder of a highway somewhere.

Early in the story we hear about school, Bella’s only source of identity or personality.  This only depiction of Bella’s personal development is shallow and thinly conceived. Here Bella is given the syllabus for her English class, “I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I’d already read everything. That was comforting… and boring.” (Meyer, 15) All we can learn from this brief passage is that Bella somehow has the ability to read sophisticated literature, and yet is bored by it. Meyer gives her character intelligence and scorn for it. She has read some of the world’s greatest literature and she is bored of it. It is interesting that Meyer even brings up these authors, much less dismiss them in such an offhand way, each of them is a far better reflection of the humanity than the story Meyer is trying to tell. By referring to them she invites an unfortunate comparison. But this is endemic of Bella’s personality in general. She meets everything in her life with the same ambivalent submission possibly because Meyer is writing her in short hand until she could get to the part with the vampire lover. Finally, when Edward is introduced, Bella’s reflections on her school work stop entirely. Now Bella’s personality consists of being in love with Edward and being clumsy.

            Hermione from the Harry Potter series has one thing in common with Bella: she is an excellent student; there the similarity ends. Hermione acts like an eager intelligent student. She likes to read, she talks about books, her contributions to problems that the trio (Harry, Ron, and Hermione) must solve constantly call on things she has read and learned. It could be due to the fact that Hermione’s character was developed over the course of seven books from the age of eleven, but we know Hermione.

            Readers who look to Hermione as a role model will be encouraged to read and study. Readers who look to Bella will not receive any such encouragement. Bella was not written with young adult developmental emulation in mind. She tells us she has read “Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner” but she doesn’t act like someone who has read those books. She fails to convince us that there is anything worthwhile in learning. There is nothing in Bella’s character worth emulating, but there is more than that. The words that Meyer uses to describe Bella are regularly negative. Perhaps something more sinister is going on.

I believe the way Bella was written encourages readers to write Bella out of the story in their imagination. Readers are encouraged to dislike Bella and imagine themselves with Edward. Edward is regularly described as angelic, perfect. He is inextricably drawn to Bella, despite her abundant faults, for reasons that are never explained. It is hard to understand what Edward sees in Bella, after all Bella does not even like Bella.

The language that Meyer uses to talk about Bella is negative. Even when she is describing physical characteristics that might in another context be considered positive, they are cast in a negative light. Here Bella reflects on her physical appearance, “Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow obviously not an athlete.” (Meyer 10) Just like her completed reading list, Bella’s physical attributes are assets that she takes for granted. Instead of empathizing with Bella, readers see a girl who has everything and complains about it. Within the first ten pages of the book Meyer is already fostering reader animosity toward Bella.

As Meyer describes Bella, she is a clumsy whiney child. Meyer relies on Bella’s clumsiness so strongly that it becomes a plot point. By half way through the book Bella would be dead twice if it weren’t for Edward. It makes you wonder how she lived up to the point where the story begins without Edward to save her. Bella’s helpless idiocy and the way she takes her advantages for granted makes her a distinctly unlikable character. This functions as a way for readers to imagine inserting themselves into the story. Who would want to imagine stealing the boyfriend of someone they liked? This method of engaging readers in the story has frightening drawbacks for teen readers.

Aggressive competitive behavior among teen girls gets a good deal of attention in the media currently in the form of bullying. Competitive sexual attitudes are natural to young girls exploring their newly felt urges to couple and procreate. At this age teens (both boys and girls) see potential sexual partners as objects, and objects can be stolen. It can be inferred that the older avid fans of “Twilight” most likely have an arrested socio/psychological development that has in the past frustrated their attempts at satisfying relationships. Arguably, Meyer’s depiction of Bella encourages a competitive attitude among young women. This may contribute to aggressive bullying that is already prevalent in adolescent girls.  Meyer’s includes such sentiments as: “She had a beautiful figure, the kind that made every girl in the room take a hit to her self-esteem just by being in the same room.” (Meyer 18) If “every girl’s” self-esteem is really that fragile it is no wonder they are so violently aggressive toward each other. Bella’s negative portrayal is like the bleating of an injured deer to a pack of hungry wolves.

Readers are drawn to stories about the supernatural especially if they feel lost. Within the escapism that these stories provide, the reader may also be looking for an answer to the challenges social interaction presents. In order to avoid the evils of censorship we must admit that the author has no responsibility to provide their reader with any particular standard of quality. This makes awareness of the difference all the more important. Raising the expectations for YA fantasy fiction with young readers not only provides young people with the tools to live emotionally healthy lives, but strengthens the YA fantasy genre as a whole.

13 Doctors

Didn’t you always want someone to believe in you? Didn’t you always want someone to see in you what you couldn’t see in yourself, and point it out to you?

“You’re Brilliant.”

Isn’t it a fantastically seductive idea, to be chosen?

Allons-y … here we go!

The science Fiction TV show “Doctor Who” has been on TV since sometime in the mid-1950s. I don’t remember the exact date; I wasn’t even born yet.  When my sisters and I discovered “Doctor Who” the show was already on its 2^nd or third “Doctor”, but I remember, that first Doctor very well. He travelled with a girl and a boy about 5 years old each. It was not the time machine: officially called the T.A.R.D.I.S (time and relative dimensions in space), bigger on the inside than it was on the outside; it was not the charm of the white, frizzy haired old man who played that first Doctor (it couldn’t be, after all, whenever an actor left the Doctor would regenerate and look completely different); it was something about the children or more accurately the companions.

My sisters and I were companions of “The Doctor” from a very young age. Our father used to read to us all manner of science fiction and fantasy. He read us “The Hobbit” by J.R.R. Tolkien, many stories by Edgar Allen Poe, Jules Verne’s “2000 leagues under the Sea” and gave us our first exposure to the delights of Dungeons and Dragons (that was when we learned that petting the puppy often made skeletons attack you for not paying attention). In light of all that it should be no surprise that when Emily and Chris and I found a show about a Time Lord from Galifrey who asked ordinary kids (or later adults (somehow the shows companions seemed to age along with us)) to travel with him through time and space, we were instantly hooked.

Through our lives we have all had our different interests. Chris, inexplicably, used to love to embroider “Holly Hobby” onto things. She had a French Provincial Bedroom set (white with gold trim in case you don’t know). I never understood her obsession with pink frilly feminine things, but I understood that she would be right beside me to watch “The Doctor” when he came on. Emily, being the youngest, could not find an interest that someone else had not already claimed, or I didn’t know her well enough to understand her obsession. In adult life I was shocked to find out that she is a dyed in the wool atheist. How did that happen? She is also a vegetarian and has been since she ran over an opossum. She has not eaten meat since that day. I don’t have to understand; I love her, she is my sister. I do understand that as soon as “Doctor Who” came on she would be there. We always watched “The Doctor” together.

I have in the past mused over why “Doctor Who” is such a long lived love. We all still watch the show, and now my sister’s children watch it with the same regularity that we did. I think it has to do, not so much with the Doctor, but with his relationships with his companions. He believes in them. He often saves the planet, or the universe, or time and reality, but he never does it without help from his companions. His companions are people just like us.  He sees in his companions abilities that might go overlooked or undervalued. He sees thinks like: hope, compassion, intelligence, curiosity. He sees the value in non-violent solutions to difficult problems, and sees the world as a beautiful place to spite all the danger. We three girls, we loved him, and we still do. I like to life, like his blue police box: bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.

I will never forgive the pigs for selling Boxer to the knackers.

When we, (my sisters and I) were young both our parents read to us. Dad read us Tolkien and Poe; Mom read us (among other things) Animal Farm. This is where my love of Literature began.
When ever Mom would read to Emily Chris and I  she would have some sort of art supplies out for us to create with as we listened to the story. Ironically (for it's lack of creative input) we were working on paint-by-numbers while she read us Animal Farm. I remember the glass and chrome dinning room table, right by the window that looked out onto Salmon Creek (pronounced Crik of course). The paint pots were oils and the smell of turpentine filled the room.

i don't remember if I understood the story as a critique of communism at that time, but what I did know was that Boxer was not just a horse that gave everything he had and got hurt and was killed. Boxer was not even every horse whose life ended at the knackers yard. Boxer was everyone who tired and tired and gave everything they had and was caste aside when there was nothing left to give.
To this day I remember my disbelief as Orwell described the departing Knackers van with Boxer, loyal worker for greater causes calling to his friends. This was the beginning of something big in me. I believe I understood the world a little better. I did not enjoy what I learned about the world that day, but I did feel a little better prepared.

The Thanksgiving Blog... or how to make today seem funny instead of alienating and sad.

To be completely accurate I woke up this morning at 1:30. I went back to bed at 3:30, but since I (when left to my own devices take many small nap instead of sleeping 8 hrs.) I count !:30 as the beginning of my day. Well, I had a research proposal that was over due I had to write anyway, and I had slept all day Wednesday, so it all seemed logical at the time.
No firewood in the house meant I had to go into the woods and pull down more trees and drag them up to the house. I feel fortunate to have the woods behind my house that I do. I feel like pulling down the dead trees and burning them in my fire place has a double benefit: not only do I get heating fuel, but I clean the woods up a bit at the same time.
unfortunately I lost track of time.
I emerged from the woods at 1:00 (and I needed to be at Arrowhead Golf Course at 2:00) Still I somehow could not make myself rush. Passive aggressive behavior has been a specialty all my life.
I don't know when I got to the golf course, but no one mentioned I was late. I wandered around the parking lot until someone called me into the proshop. This is where my Step-mother's family where having their Thanksgiving.
My step-mother's family are all nice friendly people, but my dad was so quiet. It was a battle to get him to say even a word.  The quiet grim Finn. He just carries his burdenwithout letting anyone know how to help him. I suppose if he is anything like me, he has no faith anyone would. He thinks it's better to not ask for any help, than to ask and not receive any.
My step-mother has a lump in her breast. There has been blood on her bed sheets. This makes me wish I had been more generous about Ed when Mom passed. If I had maybe Dad would know how I want to be there for him if the same thing happens now.

Book Review: "I'm Down" by Mishna Wolff

“I’m Down” is a memoir by Mishna Wolff. Her story is about growing up in a poor neighborhood with a father who identified himself as black. On the whole it was an entertaining read, but I saw some problems with her narrative.

The writing style contained a balanced proportion of description and dialog. The story moved along without any jarring distractions. If you paid close attention you could see seams where Wolff made decisions about what was important to leave in and what should be left out. We hear that she has gone to France, but there was never any mention of it until it was spoken of in the past tense. This does not mar the story. I would assume that the most interesting aspect of Mishna’s trip to France was her step-mother’s reaction to it. It is interesting to notice this story tailoring by the author.

Wolff creates a black persona for herself that I only really broke from if I happened to glance at the author photo at the back of the book. Certainly, as I was reading, I pictured her as black, but the things that made her black in the authorial eye were not things exclusive to a black experience. Her poverty was the main tool she used to identify herself as black to the reader. An aggressive demeanor also played a role in her description as herself as black. These at least were the things that set her aside from the white peers in her stories. I was left wondering how much weight these things carry in the African American national community. Certainly poverty and violence are problems in that community, but is it how these would define themselves?

In a sense perhaps this book is a reflection of her father’s flawed perceptions about being black, perhaps that is what pricks me about this narrative. Wolff would not be the first author to trick their readers into identifying with the wrong character to make the point double deep when it is revealed. At no time was I tempted to side with Mishna’s father; I did, however, initially take his word on what it meant to be black.
It is ironic that Mishna's father only encourages her to pursue higher education when it is a form of reward in athletics. It is like Mishna's father gets all his ideas about being black from stereotypes. Even though sports is often seen as a way to escape the ghetto Mishna's father takes this to the extreme. He does not encourage Mishna in anything but what might gain him bragging rights in his neighborhood. "You don't know everything," Dad said. "You think you're all head, but you got my athleticism." (pg 179)

I think it is ironic that Wolff chose to end the story by painting all her white school friends with negative vignettes about their personal lives. I wonder why she did that. It makes me think it is a last ditch effort to convince her father that she is the girl he wanted her to be. Logically, if she had spent the whole book thinking her school friends where better than her or wishing she had their families then it would make sense to end this story like that, but from reading I didn’t get that she was dying to be one of them. Sure she wanted the nice things money could buy, but Mishna longing for a white upper middle class family was not depicted in this book. What was depicted in this book was Mishna wanting her father to love her, appreciate her and to be family. In a sense there is an answer to that wish in her realization that she could not live with her father, but this takes place too early in the story to be a conclusion.

I think what this story does best is to highlight the problems with constructing personal identity. We all have a consciousness about who we are. There are things we would like to see ourselves as, and things we think we know we are, and there are things we wish we weren’t. Deciding and striving to be something is dangerous, because understanding if you take on the benefits and problems of an identity that is not your own it is impossible to be sure you understand what you are getting into.

If “I’m Down” is not a perfect narrative, then it is at least a truthful journey into the mind of a girl trying to find her place in the world. In reading this story, I believe, a little truth about the human condition can be gleaned.

Getcher Torches Boys! (revision)

Fear. Will that be the motivating emotion in my life?

When I was young I treasured Aurora Monster models. I was also afraid of them. The versions I had were glow in the dark and I always felt there was something creepy about that glow-in-the-dark plastic. It was something about the combination of the smell, and the unnaturalness of a creature (even a monster) being glow-in-the-dark colored. In the early 70’s (when I had these models) the only color that glowed in the dark was a kind of sicky green. Imagine little hunchback glued onto a painted wall all sicky green. His cloths were sicky green; his hair was sicky green, his face, that same sicky green. It’s odd, but I feel like the color must have been somehow humiliating for them. I can’t explain why, but I pitied them and it disturbed me. I used to watch the fading glow of the monsters lined up on my bookcase: Frankenstein, Dracula, and the little Hunchback. I used to wonder what they did when the glow faded and I could no longer see them anymore.

I know I was afraid of them, but I don’t so clearly understand why I loved them. The day I made Mom move them into the living room was soaked with bittersweet ambivalence. I loved them, but I couldn’t sleep with them in the room.  They were little fears that could be conquered by moving them to the living room, how long has it been since my fears were that simple?

At that time I guess I had more complicated things to be afraid of. It was always scary when mom and dad fought. I would stand at their feet and stare up. Their faces disappear through perspective, lost in the clouds from my point of view.  They would holler. I would stand at their knees hugging one leg from each in my arms. I would say (doubtless) cute things and they would stop fighting. I thought I could solve all their problems. Their fighting was scary, but I had no idea what to really be afraid of.

Mary had a little lamb, little lamb little lamb

It followed her to school one day

Which was against the rules

He drove a white sedan (sort of boxy in style) and he leaned across the bench seat and pushed the passenger side door open.

“Get in, Libby,” he would say. “Your parents Don, and Ellen sent me to get you. It’s starting to rain and they don’t want you to get wet.”

Sometimes he had candy, and he offered it in an outstretched hand. Margaret took some. Margaret always led a charmed life.

It was the doughnut shop lady who told at the school, so that the police were waiting at home when I got there. I must have been picked up at school, but I don’t remember it. It only makes sense though: who would let a little girl walk home when a strange man was trying to get her to get into his car.

I don’t think fear is the right word to describe the emotion that that man evoked in me. He seemed like a big blank space. He existed in a void, or a vacuum where there was no possible way to interact with him. He was like that place on the map that said here there be dragons. I was never tempted to say even a single word to him. If he had wanted me, he needed to run me down, but he never got out of his car.

The police came, and I can guarantee I was more afraid of them. My mother asked me, “what kept you from getting into the car with him?” She obviously felt the breeze of a close call, and wanted to pass on the wisdom to my sisters. All I could tell her was, “You told me not to talk to strangers.” But that’s not why I didn’t get in the car. He was wrong. I can’t explain it better than that; I didn’t get in the car because the man was just wrong.

I only experienced “the fear” of that man in later years, when I thought about how close I had come to destruction.  I’ve experienced lots of fear since then.

Adult fears are boring and mundane and one thousand times more terrifying that any boogie man in the closet, or horror movie.

·         How will I pay for school?

·         Do I have cancer?

·         How will I pay my mortgage?

·         Is the gas off or is the water heater just broken.

·         Will the pipes freeze before I get the furnace fixed?

·         Will I ever get another chance?

·         Is he cheating on me?

·         Will I be alone forever?

I have to admit that going to see a scary movie is a clear escape from these more frightening thoughts. For however long the movie is I don’t worry about anything on the list above. I let myself go and submerge into the movie. The movie fear is engaging, and for 120 minutes I don’t think about it.

I think I’ve lived so much of my life dealing with fear, that after a while I just tried to appear more frightening than the monsters so they would leave me alone. In a sense I think the reason I loved those aurora monster model was that I identified with them in some way. For as alienated as a monster can feel, they are the monsters, and they do not fear. They are feared.

My life with Isi

This first installment of what I have to expect will be an unceasing source of amusement and complaint, will the called: "This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things".

I should probably begin at the beginning and tell you about Isi, or as I carefully and thoughtfully named her Isilien, or as I call her after having carefully thoughtfully named her, Isi. I have to admit to being completely shallow and irresponsible where it comes to how Isi came into my life. Todd (one of my closest, dearest, old schooliest friends) had a neighbor, who had a dog, and who also had medical issues. Todd's neighbor had purchase Isi (who was at that time known as Soix, but I had to change the name. I was ill prepared to deal with the kind of issues that came along with a "Dog named Soix") and could not take care of her. I really didn't need another dog, but she satisfies several irresistible requirements.

• She is (was gonna be) a big dog. After 15 years of cocker spaniels I want and deserve a dog sized dog, not that I don't love the little guys, but I love a big dog.
• She is (was) young. I don't mind taking someone else's dog, and I've adopted adult dogs before, but you are always taking on someone else's issues. When I bring up a dog they behave.
• She is a beauty. Ever since I was five years old I wanted a wolf for a friend (it is of course is wildly impractical to allow a five year old child to own a wolf, so I never got one), but by some roll of the genetic dice Isi looks like a wolf.

I didn't need another dog. I needed Isi, and now I pay the price.

As I said this installment is called This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, and now I will get to why. Isi is a puppy. 8 months old now. Puppies like any babies need to put everything in their mouths. Isi puts everything in her mouth. We have already gone the mundane rout of: Shoes, boots, brushes, all manner of fruits and vegetables, the other dogs, and rolls of paper towels. This last entry on this list is particularly interesting because it results in what I like to call "Puppy Confetti" (picture roll of paper towels ripped into dime to dollar bill sized shreds. At least it's absorbent.)

But, of course that is not enough for Isi. Isi also eats several things not on the regular diet of canine destruct-o-maniacs.
She ate my cell phone, which does not make for an excuse that anyone is inclined to believe when you want to explain that you never got their call... "my dog ate my phone." it sounds too much like a joke to be believable, yet, here we are.

Isi is also a bit of a goat. Not a real goat. I have never seen a real goat eat a tin can, but I have seen Isi completely enjoy a tin can stolen from the sink. When she is done with it it is a little wad of perforated steel (or tin or whatever they make cans out of)

But oh, where miss Isilien really shines is in the realm of home destruction. I have speculated, but I cannot say what it is that lead Isi to sneak into the basement. I can imagine that once down there many things sparked her over grown curiosity, and one of those things was the Phurrrrrrrrrrrrrr........ of the sump pump. I can only speculate because I was not there. I don't know what possessed her to pull on the pump until it was unplugged, but then not chew it into oblivion. I am grateful to whatever higher power or whims of chance allowed me to solve this problem by plugging the sump pump back into the electric outlet and watching the 8 inches of water in my basement slowly recede. It's Isi, that I know for sure, and if she does nothing else for me she at least will keep me awake.