Lillian Robles (15)
Byronic Bad Boys: A Critique
Lord Byron: that Romantic poet famous for his writing, of course, the seeming ease with which he ignited public scandal, and the intensity of feeling found in everything that passed through his mind. Born in 1778 as George Gordon Byron, he would go on to write a number of celebrated works, most notably his lengthy narrative poems. Relevant here is the one that ushered him into literary fame: “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,” the first parts of which were published in 1812. The poem, clocking in at 555 pages, follows a melancholic young man as he travels the world, disillusioned with what he sees around him. Importantly, it is loosely autobiographical (Britannica). Not only are Harold’s travels similar to those undertaken by Byron himself, but the sentiments behind the piece were incredibly personal to Byron. As a matter of fact, Byron was concerned about revealing too much of himself (MacCarthy). The world-weariness and malaise in this young man, his brooding nature, and his borderline-paradoxical combination of likability and integrity opposed to his dramatic mood swings would characterize the piece and the work of Byron (“Byronic Hero”).
Childe Harold (who we will, for these purposes, call a version of Byron himself) thus became the first Byronic hero.
The Byronic hero is a specific niche with a surprisingly large presence in storytelling. Today, he can be readily spotted in works of fiction of any genre. The main mark of a Byronic hero is the dark cloud of melancholia and angst that follows him everywhere he goes, for he is a tortured soul. He likely also characterizes himself with his attractiveness and hostility toward conventional society. Perhaps less integral but found in most prominent Byronic heroes is their societal standing. Typically, it’s high. They are rich and powerful recluses with dark secrets and inner turmoil. They are irresistibly attractive. I’m sure you can think of one or two already in classic literature, a YA novel, or most television shows. Maybe you’re even lucky enough to know one in real life.
Here are some examples of Byronic heroes: The Phantom of Phantom of the Opera, Batman, Severus Snape of Harry Potter, Jace of The Mortal Instruments series, Rafael of Jane the Virgin, Edward Cullen of Twilight, and, possibly most famously, Mr. Rochester of Jane Eyre. I’m closing in on my point now. Most of these characters are, interestingly, not the protagonists. In fact, with the exceptions of Batman and Snape, they are all love interests in works of fiction that are actually about women. They’re not the heroes. They’re tall, dark, and handsome.
So while Byronic heroes often taken the role of the romantic lead (and become rather famous, beloved, and even infamous ones at that), they are not very good romantic leads. They’re not just mysterious but manipulative. They’re not just angsty but treating those around them horribly. They don’t just have a disdain for societal convention but for the people in society. They don’t just have high social standing but a lot of objective power over the heroine and love interest. To state my point briefly: you don’t want to be the female lead in a Byronic romance.
A couple of disclaimers: objectively, the Byronic hero is often a successful function of storytelling. Who doesn’t enjoy a romance? And what story doesn’t need tension? Nobody and none. A romance in which the story centers around a handsome man who is a mystery to be solved, who loves the lead passionately, and who can sweep her away into a sudden life of luxury has everything you need for a romance. And of course that’s attractive. It’s also easy to entice a sizable portion of the general reading population with the story of a handsome, brooding man who hates everybody but the heroine (who is very relatable and could be you!).
Further, I’m not sure as to the status of the Byronic heroine. As you’ll see later on, the position is one that is far easier for a male character to pull off than a female. Practically, for most of history and today, men are more likely to be in a position of power like the Byronic hero is in. While you could of course write these traits for a female character, she would probably not have the same appeal. Men are expected to be and portrayed as strong and emotionless, making the Byronic hero probably more interesting for readers as he is pulled strongly by his emotions. Women have the opposite problem. Finally, and this is mostly my own opinion, I just don’t think people would accept as much plainly bad and often cruel behavior from a female character while still loving her. However, this is a different issue altogether.
For my purposes, I’ll be looking at two rather famous literary examples of the Byronic hero: Mr. Rochester of Jane Eyre and Edward Cullen of Twilight. Firstly, both of these characters are the male leads in romances that sent the readers of their respective eras into rapturous obsessions. They have a lot in common with one another, probably because Jane Eyre has been retold over and over again and Twilight author Stephenie Meyer actually named Edward Cullen after Edward Rochester (Meyer). Both novels follow a young woman, described as plain, coming from a broken family and moving to a new place where she meets a handsome man above her social standing. Jane Eyre becomes a governess in a secluded castle for the even more secluded Mr. Rochester. Bella Swan moves to the town of Forks, Washington, where she meets Edward Cullen, a fellow high school student from a wealthy and mysterious family, who turns out to be a vampire. Both Edwards, Rochester and Cullen, treat Jane and Bella respectively with their characteristic spite and rudeness until secretly falling in love with them. Throughout the narratives, both Edwards decide to keep their romantic counterpart in the dark by, say, stalking her and watching her in her sleep until she admits her reciprocated feelings unknowingly (Twilight) or pretending to be engaged to another woman until hearing a similar confession (Jane Eyre). Both Edwards feel the need to protect their love interests from a somewhat supernatural threat. Rochester’s threat is his own ex-wife who has gone insane, attacked people, and been locked in the attic by her husband. Cullen’s threat is his own thirst for Bella’s blood, then other rival vampires’ thirst for her blood. If you notice a strange similarity between these threats, it’s that the Byronic heroes who see themselves as the saviors of their love interests are also the reasons their love interests are in danger in the first place. Both novels end with the couples happily together after both women give up their entire lives to their male counterparts. After Rochester goes blind, Jane devotes her life to taking care of him without hesitation. Bella, meanwhile, becomes a vampire herself to stay with Edward Cullen forever.
Say what you will regarding differences in literary merit, but these novels are striking in their similarities. It is no secret that Twilight is (or is almost) a retelling of Jane Eyre. The problem is that the ideal relationship as portrayed in 1847 was portrayed as equally desirable in 2005 and remains beloved. The Byronic hero, as exemplified by Mr. Rochester of Jane Eyre and Edward Cullen of Twilight, acts adversely in the life of the female counterpart with whom he is romantically involved due to having an inordinate amount of power over her, being both threat and savior to her, and hindering her selfhood.
I will start with the power imbalance characteristic of Byronic heroes and their epic romances. It exists most obviously economically. Mr. Rochester is Jane’s employer. She is his ward’s governess. Were Jane to do something to upset Mr. Rochester, either professionally or personally, she would be fired and not just her relationship but her world and stability would spin off its axis. In the reverse, Jane could do very little because she needs Mr. Rochester’s protection. While the metaphorical prince sweeping you off your feet is a fun idea, it quickly becomes concerning for Jane’s wellbeing. This sense of patronage does not exist in Jane Eyre strictly economically, and the imbalance of power stretches further in both novels, as there is a palpable social difference. When Rochester wishes for Jane to join him at a dinner with wealthy friends, he says that “if she resists… I shall come and fetch her in case of contumacy” (Bronte 153). When Cullen, whose vampire family is in an upper and untouchable social group of their own at the high school, invites Bella to sit with them, Bella thinks that “walking with Edward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared” (Meyer 206). Both of these acts make Bella and Jane the subject of ridicule. When Jane goes to dinner with Rochester’s rich friends, they talk about her in front of her, one even saying that “I am a judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her class” (Bronte 153). Edward’s notably beautiful family, specifically adoptive sister Rosalie, harshly judges Bella (Meyer 326). Both encounters hurt the self-esteem of the women (or, rather, girls). Lifting the female characters into higher standing becomes something like charity, like a public act rather than a private one, about the men not the women, for it serves primarily to be uncomfortable and embarrassing.
Further, both relationships have large age differences. Cullen was, at the time of the novel, 104 years old, while Bella was 17 (Meyer 287). Meanwhile, Jane was a young girl, a teenager, and Mr. Rochester was twenty years her senior (Bronte 396). Immediately, this places both relationships at an imbalance of power, which is followed by the men taking the position of protector. Rochester tells Jane, “You can’t do anything without me, that is evident” (Bronte 249). Cullen, even when Bella believes he is also seventeen, makes it his responsibility to keep her safe. He tells her that “keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation” (Meyer 211). This is even when there is no evident harm and Bella has shown no sign that she wants this. There is no reason for this, save to make the female subservient.
Both Edwards, Rochester and Cullen, manipulate their female love interests early in the relationship. Firstly, both men begin by acting unnecessarily coldly. Jane recounts her early days working for Rochester like this: “...he would sometimes pass me haughtily and coldly,” and Bella recounts this: “He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face—it was hostile, furious” (Bronte 249; Meyer 23). After this random coldness, in both relationships, the friendship is formed, and the men manipulate the women. Rochester does so by pretending to court a woman named Miss Ingram, and confesses to it once he and Jane are betrothed: “I feigned courtship of Miss Ingram, because I wished to render you as madly in love with me as I was with you; and I knew jealousy would be the best ally I could call in for the furtherance of that end” (Bronte 235-6). Meanwhile, Cullen listens to Bella talk in her sleep without her knowledge: “‘You’re interesting when you sleep.’ He spoke matter-of-factly. ‘You talk’” (Meyer 293). In both circumstances the Byronic heroes choose that, rather than let a relationship grow naturally, they must have some sort of upper hand. Rochester manipulates Jane’s emotions to achieve the desired effect without betraying his own feelings, and Cullen finds out that Bella loves him before he says anything of the sort. These each make it so that the female is at complete mercy of the Byronic hero, so he knows all and she knows nothing.
Finally, the female character devotes her life entirely to the male Byronic hero, shedding her selfhood to be with him. This phenomenon begins with the Byronic hero regaining his existence thanks to her. Toward the end of Jane Eyre, when the pair is reunited after Rochester becomes incapable of taking care of himself, he tells Jane, “Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I have dragged on for months past? Doing nothing, expecting nothing; merging night in day; feeling but the sensation of cold when I let the fire go out, of hunger when I forgot to eat…[I had] a delirium of desire to behold my Jane again. Yes: for her restoration I longed?” (Bronte 389). Edward lived a similar existence before meeting Bella, as explained by his sister Alice: “It’s been almost a century that Edward’s been alone. How he’s found you. You can’t see the changes that we see, we who have been with him for so long. Do you think any of us want to look into his eyes for the next hundred years if he loses you?” (Meyer 411). Both men are incapable of joy or of doing without their female counterparts, hence both female counterparts devote their lives to their Byronic men. Jane seeks Mr. Rochester out, commits to taking care of him for the rest of her life, and tells him that she is “to be privileged to put my arms round what I value—to press my lips to what I love—to repose on what I trust” (Bronte 396). The pair are reclusive together, and Jane’s life is made up of entirely Mr. Rochester. Bella, meanwhile, wants to die and be reborn as an immortal vampire so that she can stay with Cullen forever: “You are my life. You’re the only thing it would hurt to lose” (Meyer 474). When the Byronic hero is rendered useless, his wife or girlfriend devotes her life to him entirely.
Since the 1800s, the Byronic hero has had a comfortable position on a pedestal as the epitome of romance. In fact, an actual 2009 poll voted Mr. Rochester the most romantic character in literature (Jordan). I don’t think he should be allowed to continue on so easily. The problem is not the existence of Byronic heroes, either. There is no literary obligation for characters to be likable, nor for me personally to agree with the romantic decisions of leading ladies. There always can and will be disastrously unlikable and, further, poorly-written characters. I don’t care. I do care that Byronic heroes aren’t one-offs and aren’t up for critique in the works they exist in. And I certainly care about the masses of young women and girls every year who inhale Cullen, and Rochester, and their gaggle of friends who get to treat women poorly, under only rose-colored inspection. Storytelling matters, and it has the power to influence and to shape lives. It’s not the heirs to Lord Byron’s legacy who should be doing that. The Byronic hero cannot be produced anymore as a model man: he is dangerous.
Works Cited
Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. “Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 11 Nov.
2013, www.britannica.com/topic/Childe-Harolds-Pilgrimage.
Brontë Charlotte, and Deborah Lutz. Jane Eyre: an Authoritative Text, Contexts, Criticism. Vol. 4, W. W. Norton & Company, 2016.
“Byronic Hero.” Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms, 4th ed. Oxford University Press, 2015, p. 47.
Jordan, Tina. “Who's the Most Romantic Character in Literature?” EW.com, EW.com, 9 Oct. 2009, ew.com/article/2009/10/19/whos-
the-most-romantic-character-in-literature/.
MacCarthy, Fiona. Byron: Life and Legend. Farrar, Straus and Giroux , 2002.
Meyer, Stephenie. Twilight #1: Twilight. Little, Brown and Co., 2005.
Meyer, Stephenie. “The Story of Twilight & Getting Published.” Stephenie Meyer, stepheniemeyer.com/the-story-of-twilight-getting-
published/.
Lillian Robles is a college student from California. She has been published in Issue Six of Body Without Organs and in Canvas Literary Journal, and recently was a winner of the Bennington Young Writers Awards. She is also an editor for Polyphony Lit and an intern at Writopia Lab's young writers' workshops. She loves character exploration, the beauty and power of prose, and the semicolon. She has a personal vendetta against Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Byronic Bad Boys: A Critique
Lord Byron: that Romantic poet famous for his writing, of course, the seeming ease with which he ignited public scandal, and the intensity of feeling found in everything that passed through his mind. Born in 1778 as George Gordon Byron, he would go on to write a number of celebrated works, most notably his lengthy narrative poems. Relevant here is the one that ushered him into literary fame: “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,” the first parts of which were published in 1812. The poem, clocking in at 555 pages, follows a melancholic young man as he travels the world, disillusioned with what he sees around him. Importantly, it is loosely autobiographical (Britannica). Not only are Harold’s travels similar to those undertaken by Byron himself, but the sentiments behind the piece were incredibly personal to Byron. As a matter of fact, Byron was concerned about revealing too much of himself (MacCarthy). The world-weariness and malaise in this young man, his brooding nature, and his borderline-paradoxical combination of likability and integrity opposed to his dramatic mood swings would characterize the piece and the work of Byron (“Byronic Hero”).
Childe Harold (who we will, for these purposes, call a version of Byron himself) thus became the first Byronic hero.
The Byronic hero is a specific niche with a surprisingly large presence in storytelling. Today, he can be readily spotted in works of fiction of any genre. The main mark of a Byronic hero is the dark cloud of melancholia and angst that follows him everywhere he goes, for he is a tortured soul. He likely also characterizes himself with his attractiveness and hostility toward conventional society. Perhaps less integral but found in most prominent Byronic heroes is their societal standing. Typically, it’s high. They are rich and powerful recluses with dark secrets and inner turmoil. They are irresistibly attractive. I’m sure you can think of one or two already in classic literature, a YA novel, or most television shows. Maybe you’re even lucky enough to know one in real life.
Here are some examples of Byronic heroes: The Phantom of Phantom of the Opera, Batman, Severus Snape of Harry Potter, Jace of The Mortal Instruments series, Rafael of Jane the Virgin, Edward Cullen of Twilight, and, possibly most famously, Mr. Rochester of Jane Eyre. I’m closing in on my point now. Most of these characters are, interestingly, not the protagonists. In fact, with the exceptions of Batman and Snape, they are all love interests in works of fiction that are actually about women. They’re not the heroes. They’re tall, dark, and handsome.
So while Byronic heroes often taken the role of the romantic lead (and become rather famous, beloved, and even infamous ones at that), they are not very good romantic leads. They’re not just mysterious but manipulative. They’re not just angsty but treating those around them horribly. They don’t just have a disdain for societal convention but for the people in society. They don’t just have high social standing but a lot of objective power over the heroine and love interest. To state my point briefly: you don’t want to be the female lead in a Byronic romance.
A couple of disclaimers: objectively, the Byronic hero is often a successful function of storytelling. Who doesn’t enjoy a romance? And what story doesn’t need tension? Nobody and none. A romance in which the story centers around a handsome man who is a mystery to be solved, who loves the lead passionately, and who can sweep her away into a sudden life of luxury has everything you need for a romance. And of course that’s attractive. It’s also easy to entice a sizable portion of the general reading population with the story of a handsome, brooding man who hates everybody but the heroine (who is very relatable and could be you!).
Further, I’m not sure as to the status of the Byronic heroine. As you’ll see later on, the position is one that is far easier for a male character to pull off than a female. Practically, for most of history and today, men are more likely to be in a position of power like the Byronic hero is in. While you could of course write these traits for a female character, she would probably not have the same appeal. Men are expected to be and portrayed as strong and emotionless, making the Byronic hero probably more interesting for readers as he is pulled strongly by his emotions. Women have the opposite problem. Finally, and this is mostly my own opinion, I just don’t think people would accept as much plainly bad and often cruel behavior from a female character while still loving her. However, this is a different issue altogether.
For my purposes, I’ll be looking at two rather famous literary examples of the Byronic hero: Mr. Rochester of Jane Eyre and Edward Cullen of Twilight. Firstly, both of these characters are the male leads in romances that sent the readers of their respective eras into rapturous obsessions. They have a lot in common with one another, probably because Jane Eyre has been retold over and over again and Twilight author Stephenie Meyer actually named Edward Cullen after Edward Rochester (Meyer). Both novels follow a young woman, described as plain, coming from a broken family and moving to a new place where she meets a handsome man above her social standing. Jane Eyre becomes a governess in a secluded castle for the even more secluded Mr. Rochester. Bella Swan moves to the town of Forks, Washington, where she meets Edward Cullen, a fellow high school student from a wealthy and mysterious family, who turns out to be a vampire. Both Edwards, Rochester and Cullen, treat Jane and Bella respectively with their characteristic spite and rudeness until secretly falling in love with them. Throughout the narratives, both Edwards decide to keep their romantic counterpart in the dark by, say, stalking her and watching her in her sleep until she admits her reciprocated feelings unknowingly (Twilight) or pretending to be engaged to another woman until hearing a similar confession (Jane Eyre). Both Edwards feel the need to protect their love interests from a somewhat supernatural threat. Rochester’s threat is his own ex-wife who has gone insane, attacked people, and been locked in the attic by her husband. Cullen’s threat is his own thirst for Bella’s blood, then other rival vampires’ thirst for her blood. If you notice a strange similarity between these threats, it’s that the Byronic heroes who see themselves as the saviors of their love interests are also the reasons their love interests are in danger in the first place. Both novels end with the couples happily together after both women give up their entire lives to their male counterparts. After Rochester goes blind, Jane devotes her life to taking care of him without hesitation. Bella, meanwhile, becomes a vampire herself to stay with Edward Cullen forever.
Say what you will regarding differences in literary merit, but these novels are striking in their similarities. It is no secret that Twilight is (or is almost) a retelling of Jane Eyre. The problem is that the ideal relationship as portrayed in 1847 was portrayed as equally desirable in 2005 and remains beloved. The Byronic hero, as exemplified by Mr. Rochester of Jane Eyre and Edward Cullen of Twilight, acts adversely in the life of the female counterpart with whom he is romantically involved due to having an inordinate amount of power over her, being both threat and savior to her, and hindering her selfhood.
I will start with the power imbalance characteristic of Byronic heroes and their epic romances. It exists most obviously economically. Mr. Rochester is Jane’s employer. She is his ward’s governess. Were Jane to do something to upset Mr. Rochester, either professionally or personally, she would be fired and not just her relationship but her world and stability would spin off its axis. In the reverse, Jane could do very little because she needs Mr. Rochester’s protection. While the metaphorical prince sweeping you off your feet is a fun idea, it quickly becomes concerning for Jane’s wellbeing. This sense of patronage does not exist in Jane Eyre strictly economically, and the imbalance of power stretches further in both novels, as there is a palpable social difference. When Rochester wishes for Jane to join him at a dinner with wealthy friends, he says that “if she resists… I shall come and fetch her in case of contumacy” (Bronte 153). When Cullen, whose vampire family is in an upper and untouchable social group of their own at the high school, invites Bella to sit with them, Bella thinks that “walking with Edward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared” (Meyer 206). Both of these acts make Bella and Jane the subject of ridicule. When Jane goes to dinner with Rochester’s rich friends, they talk about her in front of her, one even saying that “I am a judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her class” (Bronte 153). Edward’s notably beautiful family, specifically adoptive sister Rosalie, harshly judges Bella (Meyer 326). Both encounters hurt the self-esteem of the women (or, rather, girls). Lifting the female characters into higher standing becomes something like charity, like a public act rather than a private one, about the men not the women, for it serves primarily to be uncomfortable and embarrassing.
Further, both relationships have large age differences. Cullen was, at the time of the novel, 104 years old, while Bella was 17 (Meyer 287). Meanwhile, Jane was a young girl, a teenager, and Mr. Rochester was twenty years her senior (Bronte 396). Immediately, this places both relationships at an imbalance of power, which is followed by the men taking the position of protector. Rochester tells Jane, “You can’t do anything without me, that is evident” (Bronte 249). Cullen, even when Bella believes he is also seventeen, makes it his responsibility to keep her safe. He tells her that “keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation” (Meyer 211). This is even when there is no evident harm and Bella has shown no sign that she wants this. There is no reason for this, save to make the female subservient.
Both Edwards, Rochester and Cullen, manipulate their female love interests early in the relationship. Firstly, both men begin by acting unnecessarily coldly. Jane recounts her early days working for Rochester like this: “...he would sometimes pass me haughtily and coldly,” and Bella recounts this: “He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face—it was hostile, furious” (Bronte 249; Meyer 23). After this random coldness, in both relationships, the friendship is formed, and the men manipulate the women. Rochester does so by pretending to court a woman named Miss Ingram, and confesses to it once he and Jane are betrothed: “I feigned courtship of Miss Ingram, because I wished to render you as madly in love with me as I was with you; and I knew jealousy would be the best ally I could call in for the furtherance of that end” (Bronte 235-6). Meanwhile, Cullen listens to Bella talk in her sleep without her knowledge: “‘You’re interesting when you sleep.’ He spoke matter-of-factly. ‘You talk’” (Meyer 293). In both circumstances the Byronic heroes choose that, rather than let a relationship grow naturally, they must have some sort of upper hand. Rochester manipulates Jane’s emotions to achieve the desired effect without betraying his own feelings, and Cullen finds out that Bella loves him before he says anything of the sort. These each make it so that the female is at complete mercy of the Byronic hero, so he knows all and she knows nothing.
Finally, the female character devotes her life entirely to the male Byronic hero, shedding her selfhood to be with him. This phenomenon begins with the Byronic hero regaining his existence thanks to her. Toward the end of Jane Eyre, when the pair is reunited after Rochester becomes incapable of taking care of himself, he tells Jane, “Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I have dragged on for months past? Doing nothing, expecting nothing; merging night in day; feeling but the sensation of cold when I let the fire go out, of hunger when I forgot to eat…[I had] a delirium of desire to behold my Jane again. Yes: for her restoration I longed?” (Bronte 389). Edward lived a similar existence before meeting Bella, as explained by his sister Alice: “It’s been almost a century that Edward’s been alone. How he’s found you. You can’t see the changes that we see, we who have been with him for so long. Do you think any of us want to look into his eyes for the next hundred years if he loses you?” (Meyer 411). Both men are incapable of joy or of doing without their female counterparts, hence both female counterparts devote their lives to their Byronic men. Jane seeks Mr. Rochester out, commits to taking care of him for the rest of her life, and tells him that she is “to be privileged to put my arms round what I value—to press my lips to what I love—to repose on what I trust” (Bronte 396). The pair are reclusive together, and Jane’s life is made up of entirely Mr. Rochester. Bella, meanwhile, wants to die and be reborn as an immortal vampire so that she can stay with Cullen forever: “You are my life. You’re the only thing it would hurt to lose” (Meyer 474). When the Byronic hero is rendered useless, his wife or girlfriend devotes her life to him entirely.
Since the 1800s, the Byronic hero has had a comfortable position on a pedestal as the epitome of romance. In fact, an actual 2009 poll voted Mr. Rochester the most romantic character in literature (Jordan). I don’t think he should be allowed to continue on so easily. The problem is not the existence of Byronic heroes, either. There is no literary obligation for characters to be likable, nor for me personally to agree with the romantic decisions of leading ladies. There always can and will be disastrously unlikable and, further, poorly-written characters. I don’t care. I do care that Byronic heroes aren’t one-offs and aren’t up for critique in the works they exist in. And I certainly care about the masses of young women and girls every year who inhale Cullen, and Rochester, and their gaggle of friends who get to treat women poorly, under only rose-colored inspection. Storytelling matters, and it has the power to influence and to shape lives. It’s not the heirs to Lord Byron’s legacy who should be doing that. The Byronic hero cannot be produced anymore as a model man: he is dangerous.
Works Cited
Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. “Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 11 Nov.
2013, www.britannica.com/topic/Childe-Harolds-Pilgrimage.
Brontë Charlotte, and Deborah Lutz. Jane Eyre: an Authoritative Text, Contexts, Criticism. Vol. 4, W. W. Norton & Company, 2016.
“Byronic Hero.” Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms, 4th ed. Oxford University Press, 2015, p. 47.
Jordan, Tina. “Who's the Most Romantic Character in Literature?” EW.com, EW.com, 9 Oct. 2009, ew.com/article/2009/10/19/whos-
the-most-romantic-character-in-literature/.
MacCarthy, Fiona. Byron: Life and Legend. Farrar, Straus and Giroux , 2002.
Meyer, Stephenie. Twilight #1: Twilight. Little, Brown and Co., 2005.
Meyer, Stephenie. “The Story of Twilight & Getting Published.” Stephenie Meyer, stepheniemeyer.com/the-story-of-twilight-getting-
published/.
Lillian Robles is a college student from California. She has been published in Issue Six of Body Without Organs and in Canvas Literary Journal, and recently was a winner of the Bennington Young Writers Awards. She is also an editor for Polyphony Lit and an intern at Writopia Lab's young writers' workshops. She loves character exploration, the beauty and power of prose, and the semicolon. She has a personal vendetta against Percy Bysshe Shelley.