I've just had an epiphany about this book and that it is nothing short of brilliant . I kid you not. It came to me in a dream last night. I kid you not (sorry I couldn't help that. If it worked for EL James it might work for me). Surely no-one can actually write that badly. And surely no editor would allow such such an epidemic of bad habits to be published. Therefore the logical conclusion is that we have been massively duped.
Think about it. If you are an adequate but not brilliant writer how can you expect to get your work on the best sellers list. By writing something that beyond bad, thats how.
Saturday, 1 September 2012
Wednesday, 29 August 2012
50 Shades of Torture
Well, I got through it! And I'm afraid to say it was all pain and no pleasure. But then I expect that will hardly come as a surprise to you. Quite how this became the fastest selling book of all time is completely beyond me. I really wanted to like it and give myself over to the romance and eroticism but the overwhelmingly awful writing was a constant distraction.
Ms ELJames, author of the Fifty Shades trilogy, has so many appalling habits that I doubt this would pass a GSCE exam let alone get the examiner hot under the collar. Should I begin with the coy over usage of pseudo erotic phrases such as "he cocked his head to one side"? (I counted six in the first fifty pages). He sounds more like a dog than a super sexy Adonis. Or perhaps the anatomically unlikely "I looked up at him from beneath my eyelashes". (I tried and it's impossible). Then there is the oh so descriptive phrases such as "it was all purples and golds" - ah I can picture the scene exactly. Don't even get me started on the astonishing co-incidence that Christian Grey has a grey tie, grey eyes and a smart, grey suit!
OK, so she's no literary great I hear you say but what about the sex? To be frank if it simply read like a cheap porn movie with improbable preambles to hot sex then it could possibly be forgiven but I can't help thinking that it would have been rejected by the editor of a top shelf magazine. Now don't get me wrong here, my experience of this genre is limited. It just seems sadly lacking and whilst I'm all for a bit of fantasy play in the bedroom to spice things up this book was more a turn off than a turn on. The endless dilemma that Anastasia Steele finds herself in i.e. I cannot resist him but he is totally f**ked up (fifty shades to be precise) is tiresome and the fact that she cannot resist his erotic charm no matter what he proposes presents some uncomfortable questions on the subject of rape.
I can accept that many women fantasise about things in bedroom that would be completely unacceptable to them in real life but I don't accept that this book does that. And I take issue with the clumsy parallels the author makes, through the voice of her protagonist, with Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Anastasia compares her own situation with that of Tess when as a fourteen year old girl she is tricked and raped by a rich aristocrat which begins the downward spiral into a tragic life and untimely death. For me this is without a doubt the most annoyingly offensive aspect of the book and contrary to the author's clear opinion of herself that she is erudite and well read.
The attempted psychology of the book is another bug-bear. The two themes of female submission and child abuse are dealt with in such a two-dimensional, trite and tidy manner that I would have preferred them to not be dealt with at all. To those that say it is just an easy read I disagree wholeheartedly. This was one of the most difficult books to get through. It was like walking through treacle and I struggled to get through almost every page.
But the fact that it emerged through the media of ereader suggests there is a huge demand from women for the genre of female erotica. I suspect that as a consequence of its awfulness, its one redeeming quality (and I say that grudgingly) will be that it has probably paved the way for better writers to come out of the shadows knowing there is a ready market of readers - proof positive that every cloud does indeed have a silver lining.
Ms ELJames, author of the Fifty Shades trilogy, has so many appalling habits that I doubt this would pass a GSCE exam let alone get the examiner hot under the collar. Should I begin with the coy over usage of pseudo erotic phrases such as "he cocked his head to one side"? (I counted six in the first fifty pages). He sounds more like a dog than a super sexy Adonis. Or perhaps the anatomically unlikely "I looked up at him from beneath my eyelashes". (I tried and it's impossible). Then there is the oh so descriptive phrases such as "it was all purples and golds" - ah I can picture the scene exactly. Don't even get me started on the astonishing co-incidence that Christian Grey has a grey tie, grey eyes and a smart, grey suit!
OK, so she's no literary great I hear you say but what about the sex? To be frank if it simply read like a cheap porn movie with improbable preambles to hot sex then it could possibly be forgiven but I can't help thinking that it would have been rejected by the editor of a top shelf magazine. Now don't get me wrong here, my experience of this genre is limited. It just seems sadly lacking and whilst I'm all for a bit of fantasy play in the bedroom to spice things up this book was more a turn off than a turn on. The endless dilemma that Anastasia Steele finds herself in i.e. I cannot resist him but he is totally f**ked up (fifty shades to be precise) is tiresome and the fact that she cannot resist his erotic charm no matter what he proposes presents some uncomfortable questions on the subject of rape.
I can accept that many women fantasise about things in bedroom that would be completely unacceptable to them in real life but I don't accept that this book does that. And I take issue with the clumsy parallels the author makes, through the voice of her protagonist, with Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Anastasia compares her own situation with that of Tess when as a fourteen year old girl she is tricked and raped by a rich aristocrat which begins the downward spiral into a tragic life and untimely death. For me this is without a doubt the most annoyingly offensive aspect of the book and contrary to the author's clear opinion of herself that she is erudite and well read.
The attempted psychology of the book is another bug-bear. The two themes of female submission and child abuse are dealt with in such a two-dimensional, trite and tidy manner that I would have preferred them to not be dealt with at all. To those that say it is just an easy read I disagree wholeheartedly. This was one of the most difficult books to get through. It was like walking through treacle and I struggled to get through almost every page.
But the fact that it emerged through the media of ereader suggests there is a huge demand from women for the genre of female erotica. I suspect that as a consequence of its awfulness, its one redeeming quality (and I say that grudgingly) will be that it has probably paved the way for better writers to come out of the shadows knowing there is a ready market of readers - proof positive that every cloud does indeed have a silver lining.
Friday, 17 August 2012
Fifty Shades of Mediocre
Welcome to my first posting to this blog which was inspired by the infamous book Fifty Shades of Grey. Hopefully it grabbed your attention and will grab the attention of others. I'm not really sure which direction this blog will take other than my rection to books that I read. Anyway I'll leave it to you to decide what my opinion of this book is. Enjoy!
I am reading Fifty Shades of Grey (as you know) and I feel compelled to share with you a strange and beguiling thing that is happening to me.
I am stepping out of my sleek, white bath when the doorbell rings. I throw on my only fluffy, blue towel and run down my creaky, carpeted stairs to answer it. As I approach my big, rectangular doors I lick my lips unconsciously and notice for the first time how phallic the letterbox looks. I take a deep breath and open the door with my 'just washed hair'. There standing in front of me is the most drop dead gorgeous man I have ever seen. He is standing in overalls that seem to hang in just the right way, and with his head cocked to one side he says to me, "you called a plumber?". I look up at him from beneath my lashes. I can't beleive this is happening to me. For some inexplicable reason I feel like Penelope being re-united with Odysseus after 10 years. He wakes me from my stupor and whispers gravelly, "Are you going to let me in then?". I take a deep breath and say "oh yes of course". I lick my lips unconsciously and he says, "you'll get chapped lips if you do that". I open the door for him and spread it wide open to allow him in. As he walks past me he gently brushes my sleeve with his sleeve and it sends a current pulsing though me. Oh my. I want this man but how can I be sure he wants me in the same way. I am vincere cum desiderium.
I decide this must all be in my head and I lead him to the bathroom conscious of my 'just washed hair look'. "What seems to be the problem?" he whispers huskily. "You have that 'just washed hair' look so clearly you have water Miss McDonell. You're not planning on wasting my time are you?". I look up at him through my lashes feeling quite taken aback at his brashness, "Oh no," I stumble I can't beleive this man can make me feel this way! "Its a leaky washer". I feel his breath rising. I notice instantly that I am all wet and realise I forgot to put a towel on my hair and and water is running down my back. He takes out his enormous tool which he waves at me and says in a severe tone which has me scared and exited all at the same time "Well, show me where the problem is." Oh my, How can I tell him that the problem is... there?
He looks at my dripping tap, cocks his head to one side, and for the first time I see a glimmer of a smile. "I thought I might have to take the whole thing apart but I can see you're in shock so i'll just start by taking the tap off and see if that fixes things". He looks down at the tool in his hand and laughs secretly to himself. I wonder what his secret is. My inner goddes plans to find out. I glance up through my eylashes at the way his overalls hang in just the right way. He open up his tool box and I notice with shock what an array of hardware he carries around with him. I wonder what they are for? What do you think they're for? shouts my inner goddess. I gasp audibly and he looks over. That look again. I unconsciously lick my lips and he puts his hand in the pocket of the overalls which he wears for keeping his clothes clean. He digs deep, expertly and pulls out a small tin of vaseline. "Here, use this" he says, "you're driving me mad." Oh my.
I dip my finger into the vaseline. I can't beleive I am touching the same vaseline as he has been touching. As I press my slippery finger accross my lips I feel a tingle of electricity run through me and imagine my fingers are his lips.
Do you think I should write a trilogy about my experiences?
Alahree
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