50 Shades of Grey is the latest publishing phenomenon that I can't wait to be rid of, for a number of reasons.
My initial disgust when I read it was rooted in the evolution I experienced, going quickly from rabid fan to hater of the Twilight series. I now recognize the Stephenie Meyer books to be fetishization of the submissive, empty-headed woman-rich and powerful male ideal romance. When I read 50 Shades, there were far too many parallels -- even the setting is the same, set in the drizzly Northwest Pacific. Dangerous man, enthralled virgin. The paranormal had been replaced with pornographic, but when a friend saw me reading the book and recognized the title from all the media buzz it's been getting, I pre-emptively told him, "It's an X-rated Twilight."
Imagine my (not-)surprise when I did some googling and found much of the controversy surrounding the book centers on its alleged origins as Twilight fanfic (here, here, and here). So basically, when you buy a copy of 50 Shades of Grey, you're supporting the idea that somebody can rip off a book -- beat for beat -- that made millions, throw in a few heaving bosoms and turgid penises, and turn around and sign your own seven-figure publishing deal.
However, please note: that publishing envy and outrage came after I'd finished the first book in the trilogy (and the last I'll read, kthxbai) and after I continued to see it in the hands of commuters on the metro in the mornings who read it in public with no sign of embarassment. What lingers, then, is my continued puzzlement at its popularity.
The book, for those of you dear elves who've been hiding under your tree, is quite deceptively described on the back as the story of a literature student who meets a young entrepreneur and attraction ensues. He's got a secret: he's a dom in the BDSM scene, and he wants her to be his sub.
Yawn, guys.
Sorry, but you're reading the blog of someone who regularly reads titles like the Marquis de Sade's Justine and Reage's Story of O, both for leisure and academic study. And having thrown those titles at you, let me say this: erotica is a high-art act of sensual focus on an experience. Pornography is explicit instant gratification.
The next person who tells me 50 Shades is erotica is going to get the lovely gift of my pen up their ass.
In comparison to said titles, 50 Shades of Grey is neither impressively written, nor does it toe any previously unexplored boundaries. And don't let the entrepreneur/lit student tags delude you -- there's barely any character development, no thematic development (beyond the obvious expansions of certain organs), no substance. What details there are about money or literature are a distant second to the moon-eyed titillation on the page.
Which brings me back to my puzzlement: if 50 Shades isn't well-written or original, why are so many people recommending it to each other? And I will forever be a little verklempt at the way the copy I read found me: a man lent it to me after another man enthusiastically recommended it to him. Not to gender-type, but from what I read online, it's generally being called "mommy porn" and is eventually going to end up in the chick lit dustbin. But my copy came from two men. What the...?
I honestly don't understand why the controversy isn't centered around its enigmatic appeal to its apparently rabid fans, rather than its fanfic origins. Occam's Razor points me back at the success of the Twilight series and its companions on the grocery store bookshelves:
People buying books today actually like high-suspense, stereotypical taboo-fantasy drivel.
Well, fine. Everybody needs their escapist vices. I do too, certainly. And EL James, the author of 50 Shades, has tapped into a fetish that has long held our intrigue: dom-sub relationships are about expressions of power, which is virtually the same thing sex is about. Perfect for gasping and giggling about with your girlfriends, if your girlfriends are similarly inclined to be as flighty-headed as you.
In trying to understand this book's appeal, I've come up with pithy explanations for this mommy porn -- like moms are stereotypically haggled women who have to manage unbelievable logistical knots without pay or much credit beyond the lip service Ann Romney gets. As for the men, there is a certain appeal to so easily assuming control, I guess (help?).
I just wish the escapist drivel that was getting everyone excited didn't feature moronic axioms like: "as the submissive, you're actually the one with all the power in this relationship."
Or feature women apparently unable to resist men who tell them: "don't think." (And then proceed to make said women moan as they fuck the living daylights out of them.)
If that sort of thing is what we, as a society, are getting excited about, heaven help us when a really intriguing idea makes its way into our books.
