It is with trepidation I face you once more, Fifty Shades of Grey. But this day, I have done something Ana cannot; I brushed my hair and put it in a ponytail without drama or effort.
It is good to be a capable woman who owns a brush.
I'm starting this play by play review a lot later in the evening than I like. Reason One: This might be the last thing I do before bed. That's traumatizing. I might have to make some time to do something else just so I don't go to sleep with those yicky mental images and scary words rattling about in my brain space.
I guess it is too much to ask for this chapter to be a distinct improvement over the rest of the book, isn't it? I should have known. I've been warned–repeatedly–that all that will come from my reading this novel is pain and suffering.
And hideous uncontrollable laughter. Because we can't write a review of this book without at least some of that, right?
I'm doing this cold turkey. No tea, no sugar, no cookies, no salad, no food. It's me and me and me. And my army of six abyssal plushies.
These abyssal plushies.
Evelyn is the fox, since I couldn't find a red wolf abyssal plushie. She's hanging out with Richard, my two unicorns, and my two newly acquired zebras.
Together, we will brave the dark terrors that is Fifty Shades of Grey.
The plushies will see you now.
There are triggers here, and I mean serious ones. Approach at your own risk, as always.
Sometimes I begin reading something that is so absurd that I'm immediately sucked in wondering how such a thing is even possible. That is my introductory experience to Christian Grey introducing Ana to his mother… and Mr. Grey is exceptionally eager to have this meeting.
What the actual fuck?
“Perhaps I should stay here.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Christian threatens. “You can wear something of mine.” He’s slipped on a white t-shirt and runs his hand through his just-fucked hair. In spite of my anxiety, I lose my train of thought. Will I ever get used to looking at this beautiful man? His beauty is derailing.
You're lack of intelligence is derailing. Do you want to know what you derailed, Ana? My self respect and dignity.
Yes, Leah, apparently I am a masochist. Does this count as a mental illness or an endearing quirk?
The only thing I want to derail here is you, Ana, right off a cliff.
Mr. Grey, are you maybe running to your mother to have her… save you? Right? It's to rescue you, right? You kind of might need rescued at this point. Stupidity is contagious.
So, they have a perfectly cordial meeting with Mom.
Scum Sucker calls. Christian is pissed… understandably. Jose tries to apologize. Scum Sucker should go get taken into an alley and beaten. Apologizing isn't nearly enough for you, Scum Sucking asshole. I hate you.
And Ana, I hate you for not having caller ID/using it. You know you can dismiss calls, right? Oh, wait, nevermind.
You don't have a computer and don't know how to use the internet despite being in modern times.
What the actual fuck?
Internet! I don’t have access to a computer, only Kate’s laptop, and I couldn’t use Clayton’s, not for this sort of ‘research’ surely?
I'm being serious, by the way. Completely serious. What the actual fuck?
Colleges and universities, to my knowledge, kind of entirely function around the existence of email. How did you graduate? How did you manage to survive? Do you… I…
Can you please just die sometime during this chapter, Ana, right along with your Inner Goddess? Did you grow up Amish and somehow hide this fact from us the entire novel?
I would like to note that about half a minute after I started reading Fifty Shades tonight, my husband's cat climbed onto the printer and started howling. Now she is lying across my dominant arm, purring merrily, trying to convince me that I should pet her instead of torture myself with this bullshit chapter.
That's right, this chapter is made of bullshit served on a silver platter–probably pure silver, because Christian Grey has more money than he has sense.
I would like to point out that instead of flying her back to Portland, he's driving her. Because that's efficient.
And apparently, because Christian Grey must seem to have a job, there's an interlude about random work shit thrown randomly into the story.
Can someone hand me one of Christian's ties? I'm pretty sure you can use these things as a murder weapon.
He drives her back to Portland in one of his fancy sport cars. I hate you all. Just give me the car and walk away, and I'll allow you to live, fictional characters.
On the way back, Ana wants more sex, of course. So she doesn't want to eat. Again. Because you know, she can't seem to want real food instead of eating Christian. Because for a hand holding virgin, she's already a sex addict.
No wonder Christian is so damned protective and possessive. He knows if he isn't, she'll sleep with anything that moves and happens to be male, now that she's been properly awoken as an abyssal demoness who can't walk a straight line and would likely fall out of the helicopter if she hadn't been tied to the seat.
Hello my cute little abyssal plushie army. Murder her. Murder her dead! And make sure the Inner Goddess dies screaming. Get recordings.
“I’ve never slept with anyone, never had sex in my bed, never flown a girl in Charlie Tango, never introduced a woman to my mother. What are you doing to me?” His eyes burn, their intensity takes my breath away.
Stupidity is contagious and Ana is the index case. You're not going to die from the zombie apocalypse. You're going to, one at a time, lose all of your brain cells, until you're a match for Ana, barely capable to rub two together while the third weeps in a corner and wants sex all of the time because there's just no hope for the future.
Then she'll eat you for your remaining brain cells.
Run away while you can, Christian Grey! Bring your nice cars and your antique books to me. We're nice up here in Canada.
I guess it's time to deal with serious conversation time. It is revealed that Christian was seduced, and in Ana's opinion, sexually abused at age fifteen. This went on for six years.
Now Christian is the dominant.
This is pretty much a case study in abuse. But, first of all, let me make a point:
This is a fantasy. This is a fantasy where the once submissive becomes a strong, dominant man who tries to be better than his past–and who knows? He might have been entirely a willing participant. Fifteen years old doesn't mean incapable of making decisions about sex.
I know girls who were having sex at age twelve. It's a part of life. It wasn't that long ago that women and men were marrying at age fourteen. You can still get married at fourteen with parental permission.
Now, granted, the woman was older, and I'm not cool with that. But whatever, this is just an erotic book. I think it's in poor taste, but it is what it is. It isn't meant to be a guide to life. It's better written as a guide about what not to do in life.
I am making funny noises in real life. Imagine a dying crow cawing at the injustice of it all. You'll probably be close to what is coming out of my throat. My husband just shot me a dirty look–and not the good kind of dirty.
And of course, because Ana is about as consistent as half cooked porridge complete with lumps, she boldly informs Christian she is wearing his boxes as she's getting out of his car. This woman, I mean really, you're supposedly oh-so-…. oh never mind.
If you hear ‘brains' coming from north of the border, just run. I am coming for some undamaged brain cells. Mine seem to have short circuited.
Ana, you're a terrible submissive. Christian shouldn't even want you, you don't respect any of the boundaries, which is your role in the relationship. Go away. You can't even handle eating food because of you can't think about sex and eat at the same time.
You're going to die of starvation at this rate, you know.
Oh god the Inner Goddess has showed up like three times in this chapter. BURN BURN BURN DIE DIE DIE.
The following copy paste is pretty much a pretty good explanation of everything wrong with this book.
“Can I see you? I’m sorry about Friday night. I was drunk… and you… well. Ana – please forgive me.”
“Of course, I forgive you José. Just don’t do it again. You know I don’t feel like that about you.”
He sighs heavily, sadly.
What the actual fuck? Are you serious? You're just like, oh, okay, you tried to rape me, but I'll totally forgive you because I have been calling you every hour on the hour in the creepiest creepfest creeperville thing ever. I hate you and everything you represent, Scum Sucker, and as for you Ana, I'd hold hope that Christian can screw some sense into you, but that's not going to happen.
That would mean that this book would go uphill, but all I can see in front of me is the Abyss, except there isn't going to be a really cool extended director's cut which makes the movie just that much more awesome. There's just a giant freezing trench of death and doom.
To make matters worse, because Ana must have exhausted her two last functional brain cells trying to figure out how sex works while the third was having a smoke, she decides to meet Scum Sucker for coffee.
This is the exact thing you do not do with a would-have-been rapist. Just don't. Seriously. Don't.
This is not Fifty Shades of Grey. This is “Everything You Should Not Do in Your Life in Fantasy Format.”
Fantasize about all of this stuff all you want, ladies and gentlemen–but this stuff is not pleasure in the real world. It's terror–it's terror that's likely hit a lot of raped men and women hard in the gut.
But as I've said before, it's totally okay to fantasize about this sort of thing–just don't make it a reality. Consent is the rule, consent is always the rule, and no does typically mean no, unless you're in a consenting bondage scenario where you're roleplaying this sort of thing. There's rules for that, yo–rules and safewords.
And depending on if you're going to a professional dungeon, security guards to observe and help a submissive if things go too far.
Christian has it exactly right: research this stuff, yo. The internet has loads of resources–and ways to contact real doms and subs.
They're typically super friendly people. Why?
Because a dom/sub relationship is founded on trust.
I'm going to go yank out all of my hair now. I wanted a trim anyway. It'll grow back.