50 shades of Grey, the worst thing to happen to literature.
My mum gave me her Kindle the other day. She doesn’t use it anymore considering she bought herself an iPad 3500, and you can simply buy a Kindle app on that.
The good thing about the Kindle is that you can share books with it. You can have someone else log into the Kindle using their details and select any book from their archive and download it to your device, for keepsie’s!
Scrolling through my mums archive I found One Day by David Nicholls, which I may actually read at some point, a bunch of Sally Morgan books on her life as a fraud Psychic, and the complete 50 Shades series by E. L. James…
I’ll admit I had a peek…
But honestly it wasn’t much more than that. I got about 20% through the book and fuck all had happened. It’s the biggest pile of drivel I have ever read, and I once took a stab at reading twilight.
O.K. I was being unfair, a few things happen.
A guy on a bike nearly knocked her over, Edward Cullen Christian Grey saves her and then proceeds to fuck with her mind a little.Her friend tries to rape her and she’s saved by Christian Grey who then proceeds to fuck with her mind a little.She passes out drunk and he takes her to a hotel, where she wakes up half naked and he proceeds to fuck with her mind a little.
Then they get in a helicopter for some reason and there’s a lot of talk about a contract. At this point I gave up.
I didn’t even make it to any of the sexXxy parts because, due to a little hearsay and judging by the writings of Stephanie Meyer E. L. James, I made an informed guess that, I really didn’t want to read this crap.
But I have this thing, call it a principle, that I can’t dismiss something unless I give it chance. So I gave it another chance… It didn’t get much better.
For one thing, Christian Grey never spoke to her. He murmured, muttered, whispered and even grumbled at her the entire time.
Christ, it must have been like being seduced by a pensioner!
I can just imagine listening in on her having a phone conversation with her mum.
“I met this really cute guy… Yeah, he’s also a billionaire and tells me what to do all the time… Mmmhmm… Yeah…. Yup… No not yet, but I think he wants to bite it… He said so… What was that you say?… Oh, he’s ninety… Ninety… Nine zero… Yeah.”
The protagonist, Anastasia Steele, is a complete and utter Mary Sue. A total proxy for E. L. James… This woman:￼
All so she can imagine herself being pursued and getting jack hammered by a modern Mr Darcy with a fetish.
If Anastasia Steele had any personality, she’d be a fucking mooch. That guy at the pub who’s always “hey can you get me a drink please buddy?” or “hey can I steal a cigarette please buddy?”
She’s living with her rich friend Kate for practically nothing, because Kate’s parents bought the apartment, who also lets her drive her overpriced sports car all the time.
Then Anastasia Steele falls for Christian Grey, the first man she’s ever found attractive in her life. It has totally nothing to do with the fact that he has more money than god… Nothing to do with it…
Ok, so he has a big knob. But really, if Ana was a virgin who had never even masturbated, how would she know what a big willy looked like. Dude could be tiny for all she knows.
But seriously, apart from the money I can’t see what else it could be. The guy’s a dick! He’s controlling, pretentious, abusive, he stalks her and, oh yeah, at one point, he pulls out her tampon and fucks her…
He straight up, grabs the string, pull’s it out, then go’s to town.
Christian Grey is a sick fuck, and I can say this freely because… Remember that principal I have?
… Yeah… It happened… Although for me, and I’m not too familiar with the physiology of this, but I think for her also, it was a surprise.
So once again, from someone who’s experienced that horrifying moment when they think they just murdered their partner with their penis, I can say this. Christian Grey is a sick fuck.
The worst part about it is that he tries to justify it by saying he hates using condoms. Again, I’m not overly familiar with menstruation, but I’m pretty sure you can still get knocked up when you’re raggin’.
Now, E. L. James may love the idea of being fucked on the blob.
She might rely on her partner to be told what to do, where to go, what to eat and how to dress. She may even enjoy getting slapped around and dominated.
However in the real world, when these things happen, it can destroy lives.
That’s the sinister side of this piece of trash. That women are going to think it’s O.K. if their abusive douchebag husbands treat them like shit, because “he probably has issues and stuff, I can save him!”
When women begin to idolize and swoon over pricks like that, it’s no wonder some get a hard time from assholes treating them like objects or not taking them seriously.
I genuinely believe that writers like Stephenie Meyer and E. L. James are a hindrance to feminism and equality.
I actually feel stupider for reading this bullshit.