What comes after the first book? The next one! But only if the first book says it can . . . terrible, terrible, I know.
After embarking on my quest to get through the newest, most salacious book on the market right now, 50 Shades of Grey, by E L James (I tried desperately not to pee my pants laughing) I have trudged onwards to book two, 50 Shades Darker.
Again: Spoiler alerts are everywhere in this. So don’t read on good reader if you want to be spoiled (Wait, what? What the crap? That is not what I meant. But, yes, Spoiler Alert.)
So what do Cuisinart Standmixer’s (that’s for you Rachel), paperback books and Christian Grey all have in common?
Well Anastasia (not a Romanov, don’t care), they won’t love you back. Ish. My paperbacks and I have a very solid relationship, thank you.
For those of you who haven’t paid attention to the trashy book wires, the 50 Shades series is a Twilight fan fiction based erotic novel series where the unwitting Anastasia Steele literally fumbles her way into a control freak, tortured past, god-like (ew) handsome, private helicopter piloting, stalker billionaire’s sex life.
And . . . GASP . . . . into his freaky little hyperbole using heart.
They do lots of freaky-deaky in a sex room.
Book one ends with her realizing she doesn’t like a belt across her butt super hard, and that after less than three weeks of sex for every day, she can’t change him and she breaks it off with him.
On a side note: They always use protection. Every time. Good job, writer!
Enter Book Two: Oh myyyyyy.
Scene: Little Boy Flashback to a pimp beating his mother. Reader, I was totally not ready for that.
It has been three, count it, THREE days since SHE dumped HIM and she’s freaking out.
Three days, folks. Not, you know, a reasonable amount of time, maybe a month in between or something. It has been less than half a week. They broke up Friday night, it is now Monday morning.
She is a sad little rain cloud of “WHY DOESN’T HE LOVE ME BACK?”
And he is . . . still rich. And apparently still looks like, you guessed it, a God of some sort.
Someone decides to email someone else and voila! They are going to her creepy friend’s photo gallery opening. Said friend tried kiss Anastasia when she was drunk in book one and she said no and he was all, “Oh Ana, I’ve felt like this for so . . . I just want to stick my tongue in your mouth.” Yawn.
So far, the first three chapters are just tons of lame dialogue. “Oh, my Fifty Shades . . . he’s so tortured”-esque and Ana making dead-fish attempts at what I assume are come on lines? “Yeah, you know what else we could be doing . . .”
I don’t know Ana, what else could we be doing? I know, do some yoga. It’s the thing these days.
Don’t forget the, “Oh Ana, you are so be-witching, be-guiling, be- “oh good lord, get new words.
I swear, if bottles and cans were recycled the way this book recycles phrasing, the earth would have been a better place years ago.
Back to crappy, over thought drama.
Art Show: dumb friend has a collection of candid photos of Ana. Creeeeepy. Grey buys all of them because he doesn’t want any creeper other than him seeing her. And Stuff.
Man-emotions: Out of nowhere, the enigmatic Grey spills more beans than ever about his horrifying childhood. And it really does nothing for what is now a storyline driven novel.
Weird Woman: Obviously effed up woman stops Ana in the street, while she is on her way to hang with the co-workers. Rather than tell anyone, even her omipresent-can find anything, anyone, anywhere boyfriend [oh yeah they're back on] she just keeps mum. Does this girl not have Facebook? Or Twitter?
I can see it now:
#AnaSteeleSub: OMG!! Wht w/ cray cray lady in street talkin to me like we know each other?
She apparently has plenty of email though. And rather than texting, she just emails sexbillionaire waaaay too much.
No joke, pages of this are in email format. Subject line and all.
Oh Ana, coy emails do not suit you. And besides, it’s all monitored at work! OOPS!
Did I mention that? Yup.
Oh yeah. They finally got to having the sex again. Afterwards, she thanked him explicitly for the very nice iPad he gave her.
Hawk-ward pillow talk.
More to follow.
Oh, until then, Oh, here’s dis: