This... I Can't Even.

I love my books.  I LOVE THEM.  When I was packing to move to DC for graduate school, my mom wanted me to leave my boxes of books at home, but my dad convinced her that I needed them.  They were a kind of security blanket to me - as strange as that sounds - and having them with me in a new place, truly alone for the first time in my life, gave me a feeling of comfort.

I treat all books - not just my own - very kindly.  In fact, if you looked at the majority of my books, you would think that they hadn't been read.  But they have - some of them multiple times.  I've never cracked a book open and smoothed it down flat, and I've never, ever flipped the cover of a paperback behind the book.  THAT WOULD BE PAINFUL TO THE BOOK.

So what I'm trying to get across is that I treat my books with respect, and I couldn't even imagine harming them.

Until tonight, that is.  I wanted to throw this book across the room, set it on fire, and pee on its ashes.  And then throw the urine-soaked ashes into the FIERY PITS OF HELL.

So, thank you so much, Fifty Shades of Grey.  You can go fuck yourself.  It is literally the worst book I have ever read, for so many reasons, and I've read the Twilight books.  (Which is apt, considering that these asinine Shades books started as internet fan fiction of Twilight. Because apparently, we as a nation cannot get stupider.)

I don't know where to begin.  I hadn't read this trilogy when it was first published - in fact, I avoided it like the plague (although, did one actually avoid the plague? Discuss).  I had heard that it was crap, that it was poorly written, and that the subject matter was SO SHOCKING OMG.

And then I came upon this blog, where the author so expertly and hilariously recapped the book chapter by chapter.  I was angry reading those recaps, and I started to write this here blog post, but I realized that my post would carry more weight if I actually read the books. So I borrowed the first one, because this sham of an author was NOT getting my money.

And then I read it. WHICH WAS A HUGE WASTE OF TIME, in case you're wondering.  Here we go:

Sexual fucktard, Ana Steele, is on her way to Seattle to interview a business mogul for her college newspaper because her roommate (who she constantly bitches about, by the way, because apparently when Kate worries about Ana, it's annoying) is too sick to do the interview herself.

Ana bitches about every woman she encounters, literally falls into the mogul's office, and proceeds to ask scripted questions that she didn't bother to review.  She embarrasses herself, as well as the reader, but somehow charms this enigmatic man.  This... Christian Grey.  

Anyway, she soon discovers that he's into BDSM, about which she is all, "Whatevs!"  So even though she knows exactly nothing about what he's into, she's all eager to get started because this Christian Grey is just so attractive and mesmerizing. But then he gets mad at her because she didn't reveal her sexual status to him immediately upon meeting him. (Which, SPOILER ALERT - she has never seen a penis.)

He tracks her cell phone, shows up at her part-time job, buys her a laptop and a Blackberry so that he can reach her at any time, and basically kidnaps her.

Oh.  And then there's the contract.

I won't tell you about it because it's TOO AWESOME.

I don't know how much of this "novel" is true to life - I don't know much about this lifestyle except from what I read in the last half hour.  I don't know if contracts are something that people sign, and I certainly don't know if people build rooms in their homes specifically for these activities.  But.

One of the things that truly bothers me about this "novel" is that the author paints all sexual fetishes as wrong - that if you are a damaged person if you have predilections of any nature that is not vanilla, married-person sex.  BUT IT GETS BETTER YOU GUYS.

The reason that Christian is into BDSM is because he was a fucked up child and then a really fucked up teenager, and then OBVIOUSLY it's because his parents' older female friend introduced him to the ways.

Ana nicknames her "Mrs. Robinson," even though there is no fucking way she has even SEEN The Graduate, so go die in a fire, Ana.

So.  This is the only way he knows how to have sex.  The only way he wants. And now that Ana's had the sex with him, it's the only way SHE knows.

It's so disturbing.

You know what?  Nevermind. I don't even want to do a fucking book review.  It's crap and I don't think that you should read it.  Unless you love reading about emotional abuse!  Yay!

I'll leave you with this awesome picture I found on the internets:

(Photo Credit: Asad Qayyum)