Shall I share a secret with you? I, the girl who has very few romantic inclinations and is far too practical for her own good, loves herself a cheesy romance novel.
I like to read. I read a variety of books because truth be told, I like to read mostly for entertainment and reading for entertainment provides you with a large diversity of choice. Biographies, murder mysteries, science fiction, horror, and yes, romance novels.
I love me a good bodice ripper with heaving bosoms and stirring loins. I love that all of the problems the couple face can be fixed and wrapped up with a neat little bow by the end of the book. I love that the men are always handsome and strong and manly but in touch with their feminine side. I love that the women are, for the most part, strong and independent but still believe in true love. I love that the sex is always (ALWAYS) good. There is no awkward fumbling, no weird body noises, no bad breath or ill-timed head butts (I can't be the only person who has leaned in to kiss their husband passionately and ended up giving him a bloody nose...can I?).
Over the course of my 37 years, I have read thousands of romance novels. I remember being teased about it as a teenager. I didn't care. For a fat, acne-covered, never-been-kissed teenage girl, romance novels provided the possibility of true love, the fantasty of a happily ever after, and, as an added bonus, a wealth of knowledge about what exactly was in a fella's trousers.
There is a danger, of course, in reading romance novels when you're a young, impressionable girl. It can easily give you a false impression of what a true relationship is like. Luckily I was as practical then as I am now and while it didn't stop me from reading them, I was aware of their inherent falseness and oversimplicity when it came to how relationships worked.
Still, there is something comforting in reading a novel where the hero never complains that he's out of clean underwear, where the heroine doesn't have to stop and pick dog hair out of her mouth while kissing her beloved, and where the lovestruck couple never falls into bed only to have their coitus interrupted by two cats fighting on the bed beside them.
The point I'm trying to make is that romance novels (even the trashy ones) can be fun and if you're one of those girls (or guys!) who love to secretly read them, let me gather you to my ample bosom. We are kindred spirits you and I.
So when all the hype started up about the new novel "Fifty Shades of Grey", you can bet I was intrigued and determined to read it. Quickly dubbed "mommy porn" by the media, it was touted as a brilliant, groundbreaking erotic novel for women. I read a few reviews that criticized it's clunky prose but hell, I had read Twilight. How bad could it be?
I'm here to tell you.... so bad. So very, very bad.
Should I give you a brief overview of the plot? (Be ye warned...spoilers ahead!)
Anastasia is a young, naive 21 year old who, after stepping in for her sick roommate, interviews a young billionaire named Christian. It's lust at first sight, as it often happens in romance novels, but "Ana" quickly discovers the dark side of Christian. Specifically, he's into domination and quickly draws up a contract where Ana will be his submissive. They spend most of the book discussing this contract and, after Christian deflowers Ana, having hot, wild, monkey sex with some bondage and spanking. Then Ana decides it's not for her and breaks up with him. And that's basically it. This book is 95% sex with a 5% attempt at character development. We find out that Ana loves her parents, loves her roommate Kate, loves her platonic photographer friend Jose and loves Christian. We discover that Christian is "Mrs. Robinson'd" by his mother's friend when he is a young man, that he doesn't like to be touched, and that he's a controlling bastard who confuses women doing everything he tells them to with loving them.
But let's forget about the RIDICULOUS plot for a moment shall we? Afterall, this is the girl who has read thousands of cheesy romance novels and, let's be honest, a lot of them have dumber plot lines than this one. The real issue for me is the absolutely atrocious writing.
It's as though a 16 year old decided to create the perfect man (Christian is tall, handsome, rich, bilingual, wants to singlehandedly end world hunger, and plays the piano like a pro) and then attempted to add a little kink by making him a control freak with an unhealthy addiction to sex. I imagine her each night after her parents went to bed, huddled under the covers with her notebook and flashlight writing sex scene after sex scene while giggling uncontrollably. Sadly, after a little googling, I discovered the author is not, in fact, a 16 year old girl.
Have I mentioned the repetition? Using my handy Kindle search function, I discovered that Ana bites her lip 35 times, there are 58 references to her "inner goddess", Christian "cocks his head to one side" 17 times and Ana says "jeez" an absolutely stunning 81 times. And that's only a FEW of the many repetitions in this book.
But I know what you dirty birds are really curious about. Those racy, disturbing, dirty sex scenes. Keep your pants on Martha. Between the monotonous repetition, the insulting implication that Christian can make Ana orgasm simply by touching her boobs, talking to her, or "cocking his head at her", and frankly, the decidedly tame "bondage and spanking" sex scenes, I could barely keep from nodding off. I've felt more excitement in my naughty bits from riding a roller coaster.
Also, did you know this is a trilogy? And is on the NY Times best seller list? Weep with me folks.
Listen, do yourself a favour and DON'T read the book. It's too late for me, I've read the first one and have been sucked into it's vortex of madness where I am compelled to finish reading the trilogy. Do not let my noble sacrifice be in vain.
