Fifty Shades of Not Porn

I finished the damned thing.

Well, “Part One,” at least.

I don’t know if I can make it through three of these.

I’ve heard rumors that it gets worse.

Later plot lines are reportedly about crazy submissive exes (of course,) and Anastasia curing Master Domlypants of his Domly Ways via the power of innocent and pure mucus membranes. And love.

True love.

So.

Since writing the first piece, I’ve run across at least two dozen other blog posts about these books.

Some are critical. Some gush. My favorite is the version that asks:

Oh, dear reader, who would you cast as the dashing and oh-so-domly Christian Gray in the upcoming film adaptation?

Ryan Gosling tends to be the top answer.

I say, no. Christian Gray is a baby-faced redhead, and Gosling would look goofy as hell with red hair.

Some of my suggestions:

That kid that played Weasley. Surely, he is out of work. Or… on Doctor Who? Maybe?

 

 

Kenneth from 30 Rock:

 

Or, Jesse Tyler Ferguson

 

The obvious choice is Robert Pattinson. Truth in art and whatnot. I’d like to think he’d commit honorable hari kari before he’d do it.

Anyway.

The second half of Fifty Shades.

One of the big deals in romance writing is that the stories have a plot. Plot makes them “Not Porn!!!111!” for most readers.

The plot is generally:

They meet.

They spark.

They cannot be together because: she is betrothed to the Evil Count, he has Daddy Issues, she is a Career Lady whut cannot be distracted, he is a Vampire, there is a killer on the loose, they already divorced once, he’s an arrogant prick, she’s a vapid little girl,  etc. Decent books in the genre have genuine ”conflicts.” One of the biggest cliches in romance is the plot that can be resolved with a simple conversation.

They continue to spark. They try to deny their spark. They have pensive moments contemplating the unrequitable spark.

It’s usually at this contemplative point that they touch each other, but don’t have sex. Now they’re really screwed, because they’re totally gonna do the deed, and we all totally know it. (“Not Porn!!!111!”)

Our hero and heroine then spend the middle of good romances doing two things: being ever more convinced that the big obstacle is insurmountable and growing, and having the sexual tension ratchet up repeatedly. Harlequins, in particular, tend to put the first sex scene right in the middle where the book club mailer is, so that women flipping through at the store can easily get right to the good part. (“Not Porn!!!111!”) Other imprints tend to stick to that formula, unless it’s Christian or Amish romance. (Beverly Lewis hit the jackpot; plus, she’s, like, the nicest lady on the internet.)

Now, Fifty Shades sort of mucks this up. It’s fan fic, and it shows. There’s no sexual tension–Bella and Edward get down to business right off the bat. This is fan service. I wouldn’t expect anything less.

So, having thrown the sexual tension bit (and really, it’s the best bit) out the window, James tries to build tension with a will he/won’t he about vanilla sex with Christian, and a will she/won’t she for Anastasia concerning BDSM.

While they’re angsty, Christian acts like exactly the sort of psychotic stalker you’d expect to see from someone that genuinely enjoyed the idea of boning Edward Cullen.

Basically, where other romances would have some action and adventure, or some zany madcaps, or some weepy hospital stays, Fifty Shades of Grey fills that time with the hero getting pissed off about everything the heroine does.

All of it.

I can’t count the number of times where he frozed and iced and glared and scowled and generally made a testy nuisance of himself.

You know. ‘Cause he’s a Dominant with a capital D.

So, Christian is being a controlling dick, but it’s sexy or something, because the author is totally turned on.  And, Anastasia is being a waffling wish washer that weally wants to wub him. They fuck a lot.

Many times. (“Not Porn!!!111!”)

And in the end, Anastasia’s curiosity gets the better of her. She asks for the ultimate punishment. She wants to know how bad it’s going to get. She frames BDSM in a way that makes it sound like domestic violence throughout the book, and this last scene is really where that becomes a point of discomfort. She doesn’t want Christian to hit her. Not spank. Not sexy punish. Not scene. Hit. She doesn’t want him to hit her. For the heroine, her boyfriend wants to control her, keep her from her friends, and hit her to keep her in line.

And, Lord Thunderfart, er, Christian, who is a Twue Dominate in the Old Style, with many years under his belt, who only ever dates in the scene, and is meticulous in all things? That guy? Who can meld with her mind and knows her better than she knows herself? Who is a genius billionaire that reads people easily?

Him?

He fucking does it.

Seriously. He wallops the shit out of her with a belt. She freaks out. She leaves. Fin.

I’ve spoilered the book for you, but I’m sure you don’t care.

I am going to tell you something: I like spankings. I’ve been spanked, and flogged, and cropped, and caned, because I have no actual angst about it. I enjoy it. I like the marks. I even like the crying part.

And, I would never ask for the full-on, hit me as hard as you can routine.

He’s bigger than I am. Considerably.

Something would end up broken. Possibly emergency room broken.

And, if I lost my mind and did ask for such a thing? He’d say no. Because he is not a psychotic, abusive, nutso douchebag.

So, I’ve got two possible take-aways in this scenario. Either Christian is a wimpy dude (perhaps his God-like body is the result of saline implants.  She’s not allowed to touch him.  It would explain a lot, actually.) or Christian is a shitty, abusive, horrible Dom.

I know, I know.

It’s fantasy.

That’s the excuse, right?

I guess, now, I am supposed to want to scuttle out and acquire Part Two, to see if Anastasia and Edward, er, Lord Thun–fuck–Christian stay together. And, they must stay together, for this is “romance” (“Not Porn!!!111!”) and that’s the pay off.

But I think I like the ending I got.

Run Anastasia, run. Run as far as you can.

And don’t ever return.