We meet again, Fifty Shades of Grey. Yesterday, you won, forcing me into consuming enough ice cream to kill a horse. I'm determined to make it through without a single bite of sweet, frozen goodness. I have a bowl of soup instead, serving as both my lunch and comfort food.
Last night, I decided to descend into the dark depths of the movie trailer for the book. It was a compilation of all of the various trailers.
I have nothing against the actor playing Christian Grey, but I do not find him at all attractive. I wanted to reach through my monitor and rip his hair out. I hate his hair. I hate his hair.
The lady who plays Ana is really pretty, though–and she seems really nice from the few interviews I've watched of her. Also, she has gorgeous, sultry voice. Ten out of ten for her casting. That said, I won't see the film. Christian Grey is supposed to be smoking hot, and I just didn't view him as smoking hot.
He just doesn't wear a suit as well as other men… and I love men in suits.
When I last left off, Christian Grey was rather annoyed that Ana was a virgin, slipping rather dramatically out of character. I mean, really? Really? It's like all of the characters in this book are incapable of using their heads, ever.
I have lost all hope.
I'm rather sad, right now, that I do not have any Triple Chocolate Drama left. I have a feeling that I might need something a little stronger to get me through this.
As usual, there is discussion of trigger subjects in this review.
Ah, Christian Grey. You're something, aren't you? And Ana… we aren't on speaking terms right now. Go away. I'm still mad you haven't died in the hardware store. I'm also wishing the bicyclist had squished you.
“May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?”
“Of course I have.” I try my best to look affronted. Okay… maybe twice.
“And a nice young man hasn’t swept you off your feet? I just don’t understand. You’re twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You’re beautiful.”
Stop lying, Ana. You haven't been kissed in your life, except when you avoided being raped thanks to Christian Grey. You hadn't even held hands. Lying, unreliable, poopy-headed narrator.
Maybe twice? By who? Your mother?
Your mother doesn't count, sweetheart.
Christian Grey has a habit of running his hands through his hair. I'm running my hands through my hair. Do you want to know why? So I can grab a big handful of it and start yanking. Who needs hair anyway?
So, at this point, Christian Grey offers to take Ana's virginity. He's asking her very up front to let him make love to her. Ana states she thought he didn't do ‘making love.' He's, apparently, making an exception.
At this point, he's said he doesn't want to enter a contract without her having at least some idea what sex is about.
My brain hurts.
Oh, hey, there's sex in this chapter. What do you know?! At this point, Ana has made it pretty clear that she came with Christian with the purpose of getting into his pants one way or another. Damn, she's treating him like he's some piece of meat. I guess it's a good thing that he wants her as bad as she wants him.
This is so much a fantasy. Please don't take this seriously in the real world. They're different, you know?
(And yes, I'm fully aware of how sensitive those who have been abused will be to this entire sequence. Once again, I'm going to be very direct: This book wasn't written for you. It was written for those who fantasize about things like this.)
Oh, well, it seems like the entire chapter, save for the first page or so, is dedicated to Christian taking Ana's virginity. I'm… just going to say this much:
This is erotica on training wheels, driven by a drunk three year old on a sugar high. It's… I… this…
I'm not seeing the abuse in this story. I'm seeing a stupid young woman who has absolutely no realism to her whatsoever and a male who is used to getting what he wants. It's perfect fantasy material–since there's a lot of girls who would love to be taken to bed by a… gifted… man. Let's face it, I know a lot of ladies who didn't enjoy themselves once during their first time, let alone Ana's three times. (Or more? I stopped counting because the writing was so beneath my normal quality standards that I was barely able to get through it.)
In the real life, well… I wouldn't much care for this, personally. But this isn't the real life. It's a freakin' erotica novel. These sort of fantasies are totally allowed.
I really don't think most women are like Ana Steele in terms of how easy it is for her to enjoy herself. Yet another fantasy–and that's fine.
You might be wondering why I didn't showcase any of the writing from the erotic bits?
Let me tell you why: Drunk three year old riding a bike with training wheels.
It's probably kinky as hell for those who haven't read good erotica before. I'm almost tempted to link to a compilation of truly good erotica so there can be some points of comparison. Some of the stuff out there is just amazing.
And the type of thing you might want to print out, take to your bedroom, and whisper sexily in your partner's ear.
The truly sad part of all of this is the fact that I am only a third or so through the book.
I will promise you this: If I ever get around to writing a book that includes an actual romance arc, it'll be better than this. It may not include sex (I don't write it) but it'll have an actual romance arc.
I don't even try at romance typically. Blood Diamond has some, though–and I'm determined that it will be far, far better than this.
I will earn my ‘Still a better Love Story than Fifty Shades/Twilight' badge, okay?
If you like this sort of thing, carry on, carry on. The only thing I can say is that I have read worse, which honestly disturbs me on many different levels.