Yesterday, I had a little look at my blog stats, and saw that one of the Google searches that had led a reader to my blog was “does pain is good”.
Well. Okaaaay, then.
As it happened, I hadn’t intended to write a post on the E.L. James trilogy, but with a lead in like that, how could I not? Actually, I’ll hold my hands up and admit, I’ve only read the first book. After that, no matter how many Facebook and Twitter references I read regarding the apparent delectability of Christian Grey, nothing could have made me waste another minute of my life on such a pile of steaming horse manure.
Coincidentally, I’ve just watched Entertainment Tonight, which repeated some of that Barack and Michelle Obama interview from last month, and I’m quite gobsmacked. After a discussion surrounding the qualities of their marriage after 20 years, I could hardly believe my ears when Nancy O’Dell recommended that the President and First Lady of the United States of America should read 50 Shades of Grey. When they shifted in their seats, looked uncomfortable and stammered that they barely have time to read anything these days, that total dumbass (sorry, but…seriously!) kept banging on “But do you know the book? You know what it’s about, right?”. Dear God – I can’t quite believe you just told the most powerful couple in America, if not the entire developed world, to go home and read up on their (truly awful) soft porn. Forget health care reforms, education and all the stress of the current election campaign, what you really need, Mr President, is a bit of S&M to add some spice to your life!
Clearly a couple in need of some “spice” in their marriage.
Really, Nancy? Really? Do you know the book?
I personally wouldn’t be recommending it to my worst enemy. Maybe Barack Obama might want to order a few copies for the military to use as an instrument of torture, but I honestly can’t think of any other reason why one human being would want to inflict such drivel onto another, let alone the leader of the free world.
Even the book titles make absolutely no sense!
I realize I’m coming in late to this party, and plenty has already been said on the subject, but I guess my rage resurfaced when I saw that search reference. Rage? Okay, that’s maybe a tad strong, but this bloody book definitely made me mad. And what made me maddest was that I am the idiot that doggedly kept reading until the very last page, so sure was I that it simply had to get better, otherwise why would everyone still be talking about it? WHY!? I must be missing something. Surely.
I don’t know, I just don’t get it. Christian Grey is the most irritatingly obnoxious character I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across. He’s not only arrogant and rude, but he’s as boring as batshit! He has red hair on his head, black hair on his chest, and he signs his emails “Laters, baby”. Well, now I’m turned on!
Just excuse me while I quickly go and vomit in my white room of porcelain.
I really wanted to like these books. They’re set in Seattle (local is always good – it’s fun to spot references to places you’re familiar with), they were touted as “risqué and raunchy”, and everybody is talking about them. What’s not to love?
After all, everyone harped on about Harry Potter, and I’m not ashamed to say I really enjoyed those – at least until the 5th book, when I guess I started to outgrow Hogwarts. Same goes for the Flowers in the Attic books, way back when (Virginia Andrews, young grasshoppers – look it up!). They were considered extremely risqué (incest and teen pregnancy, I suppose there’s no arguing with that), and whilst definitely not Shakespeare, they were a riveting good read.
But Fifty? Oh my word.
I am so utterly perplexed by the popularity of Christian Grey and his “Red room of pain”. The man who sulks, stalks, broods and bitches, and very occasionally pulls out a whip or a pair of handcuffs to keep the bored housewives happy. I am piqued at the interest in Anastasia, a woman who refers to her vagina as “my sex”, to her Macbook as “the mean machine” (it’s a fucking laptop, darling, get over it!) and repeatedly has bizarre, self-deprecating conversations with her “inner Goddess”. They really are the most unlikeable characters, I simply couldn’t give two shits about what happens to them. Christian could come over all Dexter on Anna, and it still couldn’t rescue this book for me.
How on earth did this appalling excuse for a novel become the best-selling book of all time?
I just wish that the book that’s breaking all these records, and has the whole country (or the whole world?) talking about it, could have been written by someone with even the teeniest bit of talent. Or, at least, a basic understanding of grammar (and access to a decent thesaurus).
The latest chat on t’internet is about the movie version of the book (nooooo, please don’t make this woman any richer than she already, unfathomably, is!), with various names being touted as Christian and Anastasia. I nearly choked on my latte when I saw Angelina Jolie and Scarlett Johansson being reported as “interested”. Ha ha ha ha. Dream on, you’ll be lucky to get Emma Watson!