By Jas Faulkner
For a long time, popular wisdom dictated that genre fiction for girls consisted of dainty prose about the vagaries of friendships and horses that no one else could tame. There were exceptions: the intrepid sleuths and a few other heroes who occasionally saw print. There were even a few girls in R. L. Stine’s Goosebumps series who didn’t mind taking on whatever was growling at the foot of the basement stairs or becoming monsters themselves. Love it or hate it, this would change in 2005 when the first of a series of novels by Stephanie Meyer dominated nearly every sales indicator. In spite of tepid to unabashedly negative critical response, in 2005, seventeen million people, mostly mothers and daughters, bought copies of Twilight.