Litchick wrote this wonderful, eloquent review of FSOG that hit points that my own reviews didn’t. Apparently this book is the gift that keeps on giving (but really shouldn’t).
Found this in a review for The Dominant.
Nathaniel has a iron clad set of rules when it comes to sex and his sexual partners. He ends up breaking all of his rules for Abby. They end up developing feeling for each other. Something much stronger than the normal Dom/Sub relationship allows.
And that’s one of the worst thing about books of this type. Not that they’re so horribly written or have such unsexy sex scenes and terrible characters, but that people are actually believing that message.
This internet commenter makes some very interesting points. In my own review of the book, I and my readers both pointed out how juvenile and undeveloped Ana seemed to be, and these two women (who have a background to actually know) agree. I can’t quite agree that E.L. James wrote her book with *this* in mind, but the idea that the book is a ‘con’ and that Ana’s 21 years of age is a lie is certainly an interesting way to look at it. If one argues that the point of a book is to get an idea across to the readers, then certain things (like the age of the main character) can be considered nothing more than window dressing. We’re told that she’s 21, but we’re presented with the IDEA of a 12 or 13 year old girl. Therefore, the book gets across the IDEA of pedophilia, but while dressing it up in older clothing to make it more palatable.
Okay, I know I haven’t done 50 Shadesin a while, but… at the end of this Nostalgia Critic review, six men read one of the scenes while doing funny voices. It starts at about 19 minutes, and it’s pretty silly and hilarious.
Ladies and Gents (do we have any gents?) this is it. The final chapter.
Ana leaves Georgia, and Carla gives her the ‘follow your heart’ advice. Which, really, is pretty shitty advice. Follow my heart? Fuck no. My heart doesn’t know what’s best for me; it just knows what it wants in the moment and doesn’t give any regard to the future. My heart thinks that wandering drunk down Las Vegas Blvd, chasing the “guy with the shiny shirt” so I can steal it from him is a good idea. My heart thinks that quitting my dayjob to write full time would be a good idea, in spite of the fact that I don’t do well without the structured schedule that a job provides. My heart thinks eating an entire cake at once would be awesome.
Folks, we have just three chapters left. Baring any sort of catastrophe, I’ll be done by the weekend. Several people so far have asked if I’m going to be doing the other two books in the trilogy. No. Frankly, it’s a chore to get through these last two weeks. Bashing this book was fun at first, but now it’s just the same sucks, repeated over and over. It’s exhausting to get through, and I don’t want to touch any more of EL James’s writing.
However, the point of this tumblr is to make fun of bad books, and that won’t end at 50 Shades. I have a few terrible books on my nightstand that could be contenders, but if you guys have anything that you really want to see picked apart, mention it in the comments and I’ll add it to the running.
Hope you all had a good holiday weekend! Now, back to the suck.
Well, Ana’s mother finally gets a name: Carla Adams. About fucking time.
Ana opens up the chapter by pointing out that she’s drinking champagne. At this point in the book, ever mention of alcohol makes me side-eye pretty hard, if just because it’s so damn pervasive. She banters with Grey over email again, and calls him a stalker again, but once again no one seems to realize that stalking is a bad thing. And he never does explain how he figured out what flight she was on. Bribed the airline, maybe? They’re not supposed to hand out that information.
I have a lovely friend who travels all the time. He recently discovered my tea love, so when he was in London he bought some for me. I was all excited, because I love getting tea from all over the place. He pulled out the box, looking so proud of himself…and it was Twinning’s English Breakfast. Poor boy could not figure out why I was giggling like mad for the next hour.
On to less amusing matters.