Alright, it's once again been another year since I've angrily tapped something into this little box. It's not my fault, I genuinely forget about this thing. But I promise I will try my best to keep it up this time.
"WHAT'S ANNOYING YOU TODAY?" I hear you shriek. First of all, calm down before you squeal yourself into an early grave. Now that you're nicely silent, gather 'round, and let me tell you the story about the worst story ever written - Fifty Shades of Grey.
Let me just put a quick disclaimer in here first - I know a few of my friends have read/are reading the book, and are enjoying it. These friends are also on Facebook, where I will be sharing this blog. This is not a personal attack on you. Rest assured I like you all very much, and I'm not knocking your tastes.
But you're fucking morons.
Curiosity finally got the better of me on Sunday, and I bought the book. I had been intrigued by it for a few days. Why was this particular trilogy of erotica causing such a storm? There are many, many books out there in the same vein, what makes this one so different? Perhaps it's beautifully written, with memorable, lovable characters that worm their way into your heart and stay there. Perhaps it's a book that will change your life.
It ain't.
Lets start with our little leading lady - Anastasia Steele. The moment I saw her full name I groaned. The early signs were not good, and I hoped that something in this character would make me see past this horrendous and cliched name, something to actually make me care about what happens to her. No such luck. "Ana" is bland, dim, and terrifically annoying. There is absolutely nothing to this character, nothing witty, nothing insightful, nothing exciting. All she does is blush and talk about how lovely and grey Christian Grey's eyes are (yeah, it actually goes there). Her subconscious and "inner goddess" are referred to as second and third characters on such a regular basis that I began to suspect that even the author was bored of Ana too.
Ah yes, the author. Lets get one thing perfectly clear, and this is not up for debate. This woman, EL James, cannot write. This is not an opinion, not something that I'm willing to cheerfully discuss over a pint with the possibility that I will emerge with a different opinion on the matter. It is a fact. Her writing style is so simplistic, so lacking in any edge whatsoever that it leads me to believe that the people who read this rubbish have never previously read a book in their life. I have never, ever come across an author with such a clearly limited vocabulary. For example, as I was reading (with a look of horror permanently etched onto my face by now), I noticed that Ana was saying the word "holy" a bit more than was acceptable. It was everywhere. Holy crap! Holy shit! Holy fuck! Holy Moses! It almost seemed like the author was trolling the reader, seeing how many times she could fit her clearly-favourite word into this book without anyone noticing. Well, Mrs James, I did notice, and it got to me so much that I found myself emitting a small roar of frustration every time this bastard popped up. It is written, without exaggeration, at least once every other page. Sometimes twice on one page. You cannot argue that this is good writing, that this author deserves any of these millions coming her way. It is literary laziness. What is also clear is that this woman, perhaps aware that her readers might notice she has simply been repeating the same words over and over, has on occasion Googled a word that she intends to use, plucked a synonym of that word out of a list, and plonked it into a setence. The word does not quite fit, and is a desparate attempt to appear like she has a more varied vocabularly than she actually does. Oh, and she's also fond of the word "equilibrium", throwing it in wherever she can and no doubt beaming with pride that she knew a word that contained more than three syllables.
One thing I will say is that the author knows what what the average woman wants to hear. The sex scenes were ok: dominant, muscular guy who likes tying women up. That's fine with me, bra. But the point is they're nothing special, and certainly not deserving the mountains of praise being heaped upon them. For one thing, the author refers to the characters genitalia as "sex", or occasionally, with the author's cheeks flushing furiuously, referred to as "down there". Oh please. The whole thing has an air of a giggling school girl, and it is unbelievably grating. And the bits in between these little meetings are so tediously boring that in the end I simply skimmed over them, my zipping eyes leaving a long trail of "he's so freaking hot", "holy shit!" and "equilibriums" in their wake.
It is trash. Complete and utter trash, and I am puzzled to why this has become such a phenomenon. Even the middle aged housewives who usually indulge in Mills and Boon would surely notice that they appear to be reading something that has the same four or five pages copied and pasted over and over again.
I'm disappointed. It would have been nice if it was a fantastic, well written read that I could discuss with other people. And to these other people, I beg you -
DO NOT BUY THIS FUCKING BOOK.
And to those who are currently reading it, please, have a good, long look at what you're taking in. Notice the paragraphs a 12-year-old could have knocked up while sitting in front of the TV, notice the bland, underdeveloped characters and the general tone of stupidity. Put the thing down and stop pouring money into the pockets of a talentless idiot.
The offending book is currently face-down behind me on the bed. I have yet to finish it. I'm about three quarters of the way through, and struggling. I don't like not finishing books, and I am determined to do it seeing as I've paid for it (£7.99. £7.99!).
You may think I shouldn't really give my opinion on it seeing as I haven't completed it yet. But trust me when I say this - it isn't going to get any better, and fuck me, this little rant needed to get out before I burned the book in the playground of a local school.
Laughing. Laughing maniacally.
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