The Courant published a very pithy, very witty, very en pointe piece yesterday on 50 Shades of Grey – the Movie. You can read it here if you’d like. It inspired me to dig up my own quasi-feminist rant on the same topic – well close – I actually wrote my piece on the book. Before we dive into my rantings, however, check out this upcoming show by my good friend Laree! Perfect for Valentines Day, amirite?
More info available here
So yes, back to my ramblings on 50 Shades:
Ok, ok, ok. So this is a New York Times bestseller. As a writer of sorts, I can appreciate that a whole truckload of people read, and most likely, did not think that Fifty Shades of Grey sucked in unintentional ways that had nothing to do with all the actual sucking going on, if you catch my oh-so-unsubtle drift. And as Oscar Wilde famously remarked: “insanity is a minority of one.” But as I muttered under my breath, to my dogs, about five minutes ago: “‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ is like ‘Twilight’ for soccer moms.”
I’m irritated by the near unanimous consensus that we are supposed to get all hot and bothered in our lady parts by the one-dimensional, cardboard, rich, troubled, genius: Mr. Grey. Sure, some women do like it. They like it a lot, apparently:
But it’s called ‘the feminine mystique’ for a reason people – we are turned on in mysterious and intricate ways. If there was a one step, proven way to get us gals going, the male half of our species would be as ecstatic as a college student with a brand new Audi (no wait, she hated the car….oh sorry, spoiler alert). Now, I’ve read – and appreciated – erotica before. Full disclosure. But reading this book was a path of self discovery of sorts for me, as I found out that my ultimate turnoff is bad writing. I’ve been more aroused reading the “news” section of Glenn Beck’s website. Ok – so perhaps that’s an ever so slight (read, massive) hyperbole. It’s impossible to be turned on when thinking of Glenn Beck. Science! But it’s also highly difficult for a little, literate geek like me to be seduced by lazy and trite character development, predictable plot full of chiseled chinned billionaires and swooning virgins, and – let’s face it – the safest S & M this side of the Mississippi. Or the other side of the river too- those west coasters can be pretty freaky I’m sure.
Look, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying this book, if you did. And there’s nothing wrong with fluffy reading. Steven King was correct when he said that some books should be read for the plot and the action, and others for the writing. Unfortunately, and I’m sure somewhat subjectively, for me, Fifty Shades of Grey was neither the former nor latter.