Now I am not a prude. Neither do I find issue with romantic eroticism in books. So, stop right there if you think that I'll have anything to do with a stay-away-from-this-unChristian-like-mess-of-smut soapbox. I get that this kind of. . .literary device. . .is one that many people quite enjoy.
I remember the literacy class I took with Claire Davis at LC many years ago. What I learned in 4 months is that life boils down to sex and poop. Eloquent, I know, and it's something that has been reiterated to me each and every time I watch the Scrubs musical episode. Everything truly does come down to poo.
So, okay. . .lonely housewives and curious teenagers aside. . .what does a book like Fifty Shades have to offer the rest of us? An intriguing plot? A bevy of characters whom you learn to care for and long to be among? People you love? People you love to hate? People you hate to love? Interesting wordplay? Riveting dialogue?
After having read a few samples of James' no-pictures-porn, the answer, I am afraid, is nay.
When the book first began blowing up and I couldn't even go to Costco without seeing a huge beckoning pile, my interest was piqued if only because it sounded like some sort of awesome 1920's affair that Baz Luhrmann would direct if given the chance.
Then I began to get snippets of what it was really about and, as it's just not my kind of material, I dismissed it. Not a bad thing. Just. . .no, not for me.
But now it has become hugely successful.
And I.
Don't.
Get it.
What is so marvelously ridiculous about it is not that people love it but that people will defend it as something that is more than just a sexually charged read-it-alone fest. I don't buy, for a second, that the majority of readers are interested in the "emotional relationship" over 500 pages of freaky freak. And I mean. . .FREAKY freak. This may rival Palahniuk.
When I found out the novel was spawned from a Twilight fan fiction, I nearly choked on my own gag. I realize that the first thing people like to do when they really love and admire something or someone is write a super raunchy fan fiction involving two unlikely-to-be-in-love characters or photoshop them kissing. I mean, really. . .that seems about right. Good way to show favor.
Look, I love Twilight. It's a fun read. I think Meyer touches upon some really interesting topics, themes and mores. She's managed to build up some fascinating characters. She just somehow missed that mark with her two main personas. If James' favorite author (or even one of them) is Meyer, then we should have known what was coming.
Prose. Believable dialogue. Are these that unattainable? Is it so much to ask for? I'm having a very difficult time with understanding how James was on Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential People in the World. IN THE WORLD. Only 100 to choose and the author of a sexually disturbing romance novel makes the cut? Am I missing something? Does this story of painful adult life choices due to child abuse have some kind of happy and remarkably life-altering ending? Or did it just help spice up some boring people's lives? I'm at a complete loss.
I've heard that a few libraries in Florida have taken the book off their shelves and refuse to stock it. I would hope so. This is not the kind of book I want to borrow. Someone else had it? No thanks. For some inexplicable reason, I find myself wondering if I'd feel dirty reading it after someone else. If I do, is it like I've been with every other book they've read?
If you like this book, that's just fine. But like it for the right reasons. Do not sing its praises. Because it is not praiseworthy. It is mind-numbingly awful if but a guilty pleasure in every sense of the phrase. And if I have to hear about another first person narrative about a girl faintingly sighing the perfect praises of a broken man, I will have no choice but to. . .not read that book.
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