So, after the last blog I got a lot of kudos, from people I know and some I don’t. And that was wonderful, and touching, and great for the ego. But now I am going to blow it.
Fifty Shades is kind of addictive.
Okay, it is poorly written and kind of wrong and takes women’s liberation back about 100 years…. but still I found myself wanting to come home, curl up and read it.
Because, awfully, you (or at least I – I won’t tar you with my brush) kind of want their crazy relationship to work. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to be friends with the female protagonist if I met her in real life. She is all talk and no trousers – mouthy where it doesn’t count and insipid (or worse) when it does. And he is pretty one-dimensional: a human being made out of kinky sexual proclivities and some underlying damage. But I am a romantic. And every woman I know has, at some point, fallen for the bad guy and desperately – against all the evidence – hoped that they can be the one to change them. And let me tell you, a few of them have….
This novel is also strangely addictive because, what nobody tells you, is that it gives you a whole new language for ‘in’ jokes. If you mention vanilla, or grey ties and someone sniggers, they have read it. Riding crops too, though I find they come up less frequently in my conversations.
Now I am in a quandary No, not an intellectual one. Well, maybe a philosophical one. Because I kind of want to read the others. But luckily for you, dear reader, I am sticking with the rules. Nobody has suggested the others (in fact, quite the opposite), so time to move on, to something more intellectually stimulating.