What is it with Fifty Shades of Grey? Has the world just suddenly become aware that sex can be written down on a piece of paper? I just don't get it.
Maybe I've just been affected by all the crap I've been watching on TV recently. I mean, there's probably only so much rape followed by death you can watch on Game of Thrones before you come totally blasé about boring, old consensual sex. Even Joan's rape on 'Mad Men' I was slightly bored by, "More death, please." thought I.
Anywho, enough of the twisted psychological effects of television on my idea of "normal" sex. There are plenty of other things that COMPLETELY PISS ME OFF ABOUT THIS DAMN BOOK... I've actually taken to folding down the pages where I find something ridiculous, but that's pretty much every page now so I'll just summarise:
1. Anastasia Steele.
I've never been more irritated by a character in a book more than Anastasia Steele. I have to question the mental stability of a university student who doesn't own a computer. GIRL YOU FO' REAL? In all seriousness, I got so fed up of her inner turmoil about whether or not she should have kinky sex with a stupidly good looking, nice and (most importantly) rich bloke when she'd already started having kinky sex with said bloke. YOU'VE ALREADY STARTED LOVE, JUST GET ON WITH IT.
I also can't stand her cringey "inner-goddess". Who has an inner goddess? I certainly don't. And definitely not one that "has her sequins on and is warming up to dance the rumba." What the hell? In fact, I find Ana's "inner goddess" more irritating than her.
2. A child could write with more flair than E.L. James
If I read the words "way down there" or any more crap about her clenching deep belly muscles one more time I'm going to clench my muscles and punch E.L. James way down there. The excessive italics are unnecessary, we get it: she's horny.
Quite frankly, all this skirting around the issue isn't needed when in the next sentence we have Christian Grey exclaiming "I just want to tie you up and fuck you senseless." (pg. 318) No beating around the bush from Christian Grey, eh? (Or plenty, depending on how you look at it. Ha.)
I'd rather have read about the loins of her being throbbing for Christian (that's quite good actually, maybe I should write porn) than this deep clenching belly muscle rubbish. I mean, belly. That's hardly the sexiest image, is it? This is what I think of when I hear the word 'belly':
3. The contracts and the emails.
If any part of this book was supposed to be sexy, it's completely quashed by the various chapters that contain emails, contracts and emails about contracts. I'm going to type out a passage from this contract to give any one who hasn't read the book an idea of how COMPLETELY MIND-NUMBINGLY DULL it is:
"5. Adherence to the above warranties, agreements, and undertakings (and any additional limits and safety procedures agreed under clause 3 above) are fundamental to this contract. Any breach shall render it void with immediate effect and each party agrees to be fully responsible to the other for the consequence of any breach." (pg. 166)
PHWOAR, didn't that just get you going? Don't lie. I know it did.
No really, I've read more exciting content on the back of a toilet door.
4. The complete absence of a plot
There are three freaking books in this series. Nothing happened in the first one apart from some sex followed by some soul-searching by Ana and too many contracts and negotiations. What the hell could possibly happen in the next two books? I'm half expecting the next book to be one massive contract. Not that I intend on buying it, so I won't be finding out any time soon.
You know, I think maybe I should get into writing porn. I've had a go at it at school. We had to write a fairy story in the style of Angela Carter for GCSE (Google 'the snow child') and my English teacher asked me what I meant by "thrusting his love's arm into her". Cue an extremely awkward silence. Clearly I'm a literary genius.
Career = sorted. My first book is going to be based on "The Hunger Games" and will be entitled "The Hung Games". It'll be about kids going into an arena where the soul purpose is to rape as many people as they can before killing them.
Hope your deep belly muscles aren't clenching too much at the thought.
UPDATE: This post was written before I found out two things:
1. E.L. James is English
2. She studied at the University of Kent AKA the same university that I am due to graduate from next week.
I don't know why but for some reason I automatically assumed that James would be an American. And I preferred the vision I had built up in my mind of her: an overweight, greasy, middle-aged woman, sitting in a darkened room on her ten-year-old desk top, eating cheeseburgers whilst shouting to her kids "Y'ALL GOWNA HAVE TO MAKE YERSELF SUM DINNER, MOMMA'S BUSY WRITIN' HER TWILIGHT STORY" (In my head she's from the deep south).
I'd also like to go back in time and choose a university that doesn't boast E.L. James, Author of Erotic Twilight Fanfiction as notable alumni. As much as I loved my Univeristy, this kills me a little inside.