So, I just got done reading amberance's most recent review of some chapters of 50 Shades Freed. I haven't even read that damn book in forever and the reminders of it continue to enrage and baffle me. This book was a bestseller. People love it. People have in-depth and heated conversations over who is going to play Stupid Fucking Ana and Emotionally Crippled Christian in the FUCKING MOVIE. Why? WHY? UGH, IT MAKES NO SENSE. OF ALL THE BOOKS THAT COULD BE MADE INTO MOVIES, OF ALL THE BOOKS TO MAKE BESTSELLER LISTS, WHY IN THE FUCKING COOTER FAIRIES MUST IT BE FIFTY SHADES OF SHIT?
The recap also made me remember the bemusement and anger I felt reading the first of that thrice-damned series of books. I'm pretty sure if you did a running tally of how many times a character 'gasps', then took a shot for each time you'd.. well, you'd be dead is what.
'He touches my hair and I gasp'.
No you don't, you daft whore. You inhale sharply, or you take a breath, MAYBE. IF YOU WERE RAISED IN A LOCKED BASEMENT BY WOMBATS AND BADGERS FOR THE FIRST EIGHTEEN YEARS OF YOUR LIFE AND THEREFORE ARE UNUSED TO HUMAN INTERACTION. You don't GASP. That is an audible noise of shock and drama. If anyone gasped as much as Ana and Christian do in these fucking books they would pass out. In fact, 50 Shades of Grey is basically this:
It's that, plus a load of lumbering, laborious, libido-slaughtering sex scenes. Although, I would watch the movie if they had Alison Brie on board and allowed her to make any and all changes to the script/plot/characters she wanted.
His pointer finger circled my puckered love cave. "Are you ready for this?" he mewled, smirking at me like a mother hamster about to eat her three-legged young.
So. Fucking. Sexy.
Excuse me, I have to go away and cry quietly to myself.