Books: Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Free
Author: E.L. James
Published: 2011 (Vintage--although there's a Fifty Shades Ltd. trademark on here too, which I think got it first)
Guys, I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I tried. It’s not you; it’s the twits in these books that broke my will to find out what happened to them.
I didn’t care in the first place, based on the first book, but somehow they made me care EVEN LESS by arguing pointlessly, repetitiously, saying THE EXACT SAME THING over and over and over through like the 600 pages I managed. And when I say the exact same thing, I mean they were saying words that agreed with each other but somehow they were massive fights about demons from What’s His Fucking Shade’s past that STOP BEING SO FUCKING SHOCKED HE’S TOLD YOU ABOUT THIS SHIT FIFTY SHADES OF A BILLION TIMES ALREADY JESUS CHRIST.
They’re in love, which, okay, whatever, but you know what she says about it when he proposes? “We don’t know each other but there will be plenty of time for that after we’re married.” WHAT. She says this after freaking out about every other little thing he ever tells her.
She calls him Fifty. SHE CALLS HIM FIFTY, IN HER HEAD, WHICH WE HAVE TO LISTEN TO. That’s between them protesting how awesomely gorgeously perfect the other one is.
And then the older lady mentor who taught Morning Mist about BDSM—she’s still his friend, and, yeah, weird kind of icky start to that relationship, but it’s all good now, and she seems nice and guiding and mentor-ish in a totally non-jealous way right up until their engagement announcement when suddenly she turns evil long enough for Totally Not Bella Swan to toss a drink in her face and justify TNBS’s own totally-unjustified-until-now jealous accusations of pedophilia.
None of the drama had any motive. Shit just happened because oh yeah, shit has to happen.
I hate these books so very, very much. I hung in as long as I could to get exact material for why I hate them (this blog is nothing if not a Learning Process, people), but… holy fuck. Life’s too short and depressing to waste on a bad book, much less a sex trilogy that prompts me to send this exact, real life text message:
OH MY GOD YOU TWO JUST FUCK ALREADY. (My thought process while reading Fifty Shades Darker. Even when they are in the middle of having sex. This is not good.)
I don't want reality. That is not why I nor anyone else picks up these books. But PLEASE BEFORE I TAKE THE TYPEWRITER RIBBON TO MY OWN THROAT BECAUSE THESE ARE PUBLISHED AND MAKING FIFTY SHADES OF A BILLION DOLLARS CAN WE HAVE SOME BELIEVABILITY?
...No. No we cannot. Argh.