Fifty Shades of Nothing

Where's a real bondage queen when you need one?

Besides the silliness of the plot and the shocking writing, this bestselling book is doing a great disservice to authentic BDSM communities, to bona fide Christians who would hate to meet someone like Ana, and to writers who can actually write erotica without resorting to cliche.

Why even bother? But yes I have to admit that before I slag it off, I have yet to read the most discarded book on earth. I will go to a hotel room to find a copy this week.

My daughter's child care worker has the full Anastasia meets Christian - (and-bites-her-lip-and-crosses-her-legs- and-wonders-if-her-hymen-may-tear-from-too-much-masturbation) set in her front room bookshelf and declared it the best thing she ever read. I think it may be the only thing she's ever read but that's not very nice of me to say.

Until I borrow it from her, the loveliest lady from a small village in Croatia, I am happy to make do with the slather of hilarious reviews on the book from amazon ("Did a teenager write this? 16,691 of 17,270 people found this helful"!! ha ha), and my favourite part of The Guardian, their digested read section. It really does save a lot of time and I do honestly doubt, from what I can surmise thus far, that I will be capable of reading more than a few pages before I toss the offensive item to the dust.

But who knows? Judgement shall be reserved as I do have a chequered literary past including, truth be told, trysts with Virginia Andrews, Marianna Keyes, The Sweet Valley High and Babysitters Club and other light chick lit. I may yet fall for some steamy clit lit, who knows? I'll keep you posted.

And the Zoe Williams of the Guardian, thank you:

That's what the pornographic slavering was about – not sex, but diamond bracelets, jet skis, hosiery, purest silks, smart day-to-night dresses, Power Macs and 19-bedroomed houses with glass walls. In the orgy of self-adornment that was meant to characterise her sexual discovery, along with the torrent of outlandish gift-giving that supposedly betokened the adoration in which she was held, Steele fixated on the stuff. Her only moral quandary was whether or not it made her a whore, or a "kept-woman", to accept an expensive gift. What a tangential, trivial consideration, set against the travesty of letting your sex drive be all but erased by your consumer impulses.

ps: Couldn't resist tearing a chuck off amazon for your amusement if you don't go to the link:

The main male character is a billionaire (not a millionaire but a billionaire) who speaks fluent French, is basically a concert level pianist, is a fully trained pilot, is athletic, drop dead gorgeous, tall, built perfectly with an enormous penis, and the best lover on the planet. In addition, he's not only self made but is using his money to combat world hunger. Oh yeah, and all of this at the ripe old age of 26! And on top of that, he's never working. Every second is spent having sex or texting and emailing the female character. His billions seem to have just come about by magic. It seriously feels like 2 teenage girls got together and decided to create their "dream man" and came up with Christian Grey.

Then come the sex scenes. The first one is tolerable but as she goes on, they become so unbelievable that it becomes more laughable than erotic. She orgasms at the drop of a hat. He says her name and she orgasms. He simply touches her and she orgasms. It seems that she's climaxing on every page.

Then there's the writing.

characters roll their eyes 41 times, Ana bites her lip 35 times, Christian's lips "quirk up" 16 times, Christian "cocks his head to one side" 17 times, characters "purse" their lips 15 times, and characters raise their eyebrows a whopping 50 times. Add to that 80 references to Ana's anthropomorphic "subconscious" (which also rolls its eyes and purses its lips, by the way), 58 references to Ana's "inner goddess," and 92 repetitions of Ana saying some form of "oh crap" 

the entire first-person narrative is filled with Britishisms. How many American college students do you know who talk about "prams," "ringing" someone on the phone, or choosing a "smart rucksack" to take "on holiday"? And the author's geography sounds like she put together a jigsaw puzzle of the Pacific Northwest while drunk and ended up with several pieces in the wrong place.

an awful lot of frowning for a woman who experiences "intense," "body-shattering," "delicious," "violent," "all-consuming," "turbulent," "agonizing" and "exhausting" orgasms on just about every page.

I am no literature snob. However, this book feels like it us on a 5th grade level made to seem better with a thesaurus. It's repetitive and just plain bad.

Next, the non-existent plot. Seriously, nothing happens. They meet, they have sex, they email each other, the have more sex, the bite lips, they have more sex, the end. Just plain boring.

Last, bad sex. "Down There?" are you kidding me? It's called a vagina. Grow up. This book most likely intrigues bored housewives and hormonal teenagers. If the author was aiming to give that demographic the tingles she most likely succeeded. However, a book that it 70% sex should at least be good sex.