A little over a week ago I teased you with this…in all fairness I was teasing myself as well, what with buying a new book in the middle of finals week and all.
So nearly the second I was free from studying’s deathly grip I hopped under the covers, flicked on my reading light and began.
The back cover describes it as, “Erotic, amusing, and deeply moving, the Fifty Shades Trilogy is a tale that will obsess you, possess you, and stay with you forever.”
Seeing as how the next time I looked up 135 pages had flown by…the advertisers aren’t far off. Gripping is perhaps an understatement. In the same way that the two characters, Christian and Ana, are drawn to each other, your eyes are glued to the page.
It’s partly out of shock, because the other bit…you know, the one about it being erotic, is a ridiculously dramatic understatement. If that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, turn and quite literally run from the table at Barnes & Nobles piled high with the series. This book is not the book for you (not really mine either).
I’d be lying if I said the idea of someone reading over my shoulder didn’t make me nervous because it did. It’s incredibly explicit, but as the story deepens, the nature of their physical relationship becomes so obviously integral to understanding the complexity (another understatement) of their emotional one. It becomes more about the politics of sex rather than sheer carnality.
Note: that does not mean I liked this book.
Christian Grey fascinated me. I’m notorious for brain-picking and he would usually be a perfect enigma to draw me in (if the writing was good…but…it isn’t). He’s irrationally complex. He’s intelligent, controlling, beautifully damaged, intimidating, and largely incomprehensible. Side bonus…he’s incredibly good-looking (don’t pretend like this doesn’t matter). His ornate complexity somehow manifests into very singular erotic tastes, figuring out why and how becomes an honest mission of Ana and the reader.
I really don’t want to give too much away, given how popular the book is I have to assume other people have/are/plan to read it.
In some ways you really have to pick your poison…if you admit you like it people scream, you don’t know good writing! But claim you hate it and suddenly you’re an elitist snob. Fact is, both are kind of true. It’s not “good” writing and I want to rip the thesaurus out of E L Jame’s hands. But its intense, entertaining?, and a decent way to pass time if you’ve got it.
Any other readers? What do you think? Worth reading the next two?
