50 SHADES OF GREY – WHEN PAIN IS NOT PLEASURE.
(orig. posted on SEPTEMBER 25, 2013)

You know how when you enter a port-a-potty and part of you tries not to look in the hole but another part of you does it anyway? That’s what reading Fifty Shades of Grey was like for me.

The fact that this book is a shining example of horrible writing is, I’m quite sure, hardly news to you. Everyone and their mother has commented on how poorly it’s written. But I had to jump on the reviewing bandwagon, even this late in the game because, well, this book is so unapologetically awful that it’s shamelessly begging to be skewered. And I couldn’t resist the fun.

The fact that this book ranked #1 on the New York Times Bestseller list – let alone that it was published in the first place – is absolutely astounding. I “gasped in surprise” when I learned that the writer was also a professional editor. WTF? Which leads me to another burning question: was there even an editor for this book at all?

For starters, someone should’ve told the author that using the same words and descriptions over and over again is not only unimaginative and a boring read, but it’s incredibly irritating. Painful even. Chinese water torture comes to mind. Here’s a (partial and sparing) list of the words and phrases I now hope to never read or hear again in any language as long as I live:

Mouth forming into a hard line
He looked at me impassively
Gasping (usually used inappropriately)
Hooded eyes
Frowning/frowned
Jeez
Oh, my!
Holy crap/hell/Moses! (You fill in the blank.)
His/her mouth “popped open.” (I mean, really, are the characters Muppets?)

The above list nearly covers the extent of the author’s ability to describe her characters’ reactions and interactions. My guess is she was afraid to use – or is simply not familiar with – any descriptive words beyond those found in the books at your local elementary school. You know those hand drawn Feelings Face Charts given to small children to help them understand facial expressions? I think when the author wrote this book she had one of those taped to her computer screen as her sole source of inspiration.

Not only was the limited vocabulary and repetition unbearable, but how she visualized her characters’ movements and expressions was completely over the top and nothing like what happens in real life. The exaggerated mannerisms made them come off as if they were either a) in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, b) one of the Three Stooges (usually Curly), or c) doing clown impressions for a hearing impaired audience. At one point one of the characters actually “hugs the hair brush” to express a feeling (I presume a girly emotion?) Not only is that action physically impossible for even a small toddler to accomplish, but why would anyone ever do that even if they actually could? Unless her characters are off their anti-psychotic meds or on acid, which she doesn’t mention anywhere in the book, it’s baffling.

It’s almost impossible to believe the book was written by a woman who, as it says in the inside cover, wanted to write but “put those dreams on hold to focus on her family and her career.” The book felt like it was written by a 7^th grader, not someone who put off writing and gained life experience first. For example, at one point Anastatia, the college-aged protagonist, “gasps in surprise” when Christian “swats her behind” in a room with only one other person there who can’t see it happening. That might possibly catch a teenager slightly off kilter (which, by the way, I don’t even believe), but honey, you allowed a man to whip you with a riding crop during intercourse and you were so shocked by his hand touching your ass after sex that it made you gasp for like the 3,741^st time in the book?

And then there was the frowning, dear Lord, the frowning. Someone frowned every page or two (at least). For two lustful souls who’ve found their ideal sexual match in this whole wide universe, why are they frowning all the time?

I won’t even go into detail about the endless “inner goddess” and “subconscious” references which were, to my best estimation, roughly equivalent to the classic angel and devil on your shoulders. (Incidentally, it took me at least half way through the book to work that one out and I’m still not even sure I’m right). Let’s simply say that this “technique” only succeeded in causing the reader extreme annoyance while preventing the main character from revealing insight about herself in any manner of depth whatsoever.

Regarding the sex scenes – if you can get past all the Oh, my!’s and the Holy crap!’s , the author does have some descriptive virtues. But the heinous prose has a way of numbing the erotic element. For example: Christian suddenly shifts to being the dominant during sex while Anastatia had been so enjoying that role herself. During this heated juncture the author inserts, “My inner goddess looked like someone snatched her ice cream.” Need I say more?

The only reason I can figure as to why the book is such a success is that the juvenile writing anesthetized the portrayal of the BDSM subculture, making it more palatable to a mainstream audience who is intrigued by its taboo elements. And that audience must not read enough novels (or newspapers, magazines, flyers, street signs, etc.) to realize how deplorably written this book is. On one hand it hurts to read it (pun intended), on the other, the unapologetic and utter “badness” of it is laugh out loud entertainment. And, sadly, a must-read for anyone who thinks you actually need talent – or even skill – to make it big in your chosen field.