While my sister and I were at the 2012 Book Expo America in NYC, she jokingly suggested we read this book aloud to each other in the hotel room at night. Unfortunately, every night when we dragged ourselves back to our hotel in Chinatown, we fell asleep almost immediately. Thankfully, we had a three-hour car trip back to Baltimore, and decided to start then. We alternated chapters--conveniently, each one ended right before a rest stop or some other exit, and we made it to chapter 8 before reaching my sister’s house. Much fun was had; we were giggling and groaning at the terrible writing and screaming “foreshadowing!” at every bad, unintentional double entendre. I read chapter 8 to her in Baltimore (in the presence of her husband--awkward!), then it was off to the airport and home. After a few days at home, I called my sister: “I kinda want to know what happens,” I said. So we decided to carry on, and we’ve spent the last few weeks reading to one another, a chapter a night. I was going to write a cutesy review, sort of “The Fifty Things That Are Wrong With Fifty Shades of Grey,” but I don’t want to be hamstrung by the concept. Therefore, I will focus on the two main things that are wrong: the writing and the plot. If you have been wanting to know what all the fuss is about, we have read it for you so you don’t have to. Herewith, my review:

The Writing:

I will first start by saying that this is the worst book I have ever read. It has surpassed the previous record holder of many years, The Bridges of Madison County, which, while corny and full of laughable prose, can stand beside romance classics such as Magnificent Obsession and Gone With the Wind in comparison to FSOG. E.L. James modifies every verb with an adverb. It’s never just “says” or “whispers,” it’s “says softly” or “whispers appreciatively.” And oy vey, the repetition! You could devise a drinking game around the number of times the phrases “he stares at her intently” or “his mouth presses into a hard line.” (Actually, thanks to the power of the e-reader, I can tell you: there are 25 watching/staring intentlys, 14 mouths pressing into a hard line.) The number of times someone “murmurs” finally reached such a large amount that my sister and I made a point of saying the word in a loud, flat voice every time--MURMURS! There is also a recurring use of “quirks”--he quirks up an eyebrow, or his mouth quirks up into a smile. I understand what it’s supposed to mean, but I can’t say that I’ve seen it before, let alone used again and again. At some point, Christian begins calling Ana “baby,” which my sister and I were compelled to read in the voice of Mike Judge’s Butthead. More laughter ensued.
Anastasia Steele is the worst name for a heroine ever, so fake; I was constantly reminded of Anastasia Beaverhausen, the alias employed by Karen on “Will and Grace.” Ana, as she is called by everyone except Christian, who has the annoying habit of calling her “Miss Steele” when it isn’t “baby,”is a literature major who repeatedly references Thomas Hardy’s 1891 classic, Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I almost couldn’t hear what my sister and I were reading over the sound of Hardy spinning in his grave.

Then there is this, which may be the unsexiest line in all of literature: “He removes my shoes and socks efficiently and slowly peels off my sweatpants.”
But the worst offense has to be the two, dueling inner voices in Ana’s head: her subconscious and her “inner goddess.” Ana’s subconscious is not her subconscious at all; it is more accurately her voice of reason. A subconscious is by its very nature SUB your CONSCIOUSNESS, and you therefore wouldn’t be able to hear it CONSCIOUSLY. The inner goddess is the voice that wants to do all the “naughty” things Christian Grey is suggesting. E.L. James might as well have Ana with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, this device is so creaky and poorly executed.

And now, to the plot:
Anastasia Steele is a 21 year-old about to graduate from a state university (i.e., not a religious school or an all-girls school), and yet she is a virgin who has never drunk alcohol, nor does she own a computer. This story takes place in the present day, to clarify. Let’s go over that again: a 21 year-old, beautiful, teetotalling, child of divorced parents, non-computer owning virgin. At a state school. This is fiction, not Sci-Fi/Fantasy. To continue: When her journalism major roommate Kate (whom Ana annoyingly refers to by her full name in asides throughout the book) is ill, Ana volunteers to drive from Portland to Seattle to interview Christian Grey, the 27 year-old multimillionaire manufacturer industrialist and university benefactor. Here is the first problem: How unsexy is it to be seduced by a 27 year-old? When I reported this detail to several people who haven’t read the book, they, like me, were surprised that Christian Grey wasn’t an older, more sophisticated man. And he’s a ginger, to boot. Name three sexy ginger men. You can’t. So instead of a forty year-old, say, with salt and pepper hair and years of experience, we’re supposed to find this guy sexy. In my mind, I was picturing Kristen Stewart as Ana (this did start out as Twilight fan fic, after all) and Mark Zuckerberg as Christian. NOT HOT AT ALL.
Ana is one of those cliches: the unknowingly beautiful klutz with low self esteem. When she arrives at Christian’s office (which is described in excruciating detail; the type of wood for every wall and piece of furniture is called out by name), she enters and immediately trips and sprawls across the floor, a device so cobwebby that even “Laverne and Shirley” gave it up by 1977. The interview is awkward, mainly because Ana didn’t even bother to read Wikipedia, or do any other research before she read Kate’s prepared questions (I guess the no computer thing is to blame!). Ana has some other potential love interests/flirty friends, but they all but vanish by the middle of the book. One, Jose (clearly the Jacob character), makes the mistake of putting the moves on her on the very first night she goes drinking (more on that later), setting the scene for Christian to “rescue” her, and the romance to begin.
Unfortunately, Christian was an abused, neglected child who was himself rescued and adopted by a wealthy, loving family. His horrible toddlerhood, followed by a mysterious relationship with an older woman who’s into S&M, has led him to a series of sexual relationships characterized by Christian’s need to dominate the women involved. He reveals this to Ana, and there follows much discussion of contracts, hard limits, safe words, and the like. His contract stipulates his hiring a personal trainer for Ana (she’ll supposedly need it, for the workout Christian will be putting her through), choosing her clothing and hairstyle, and overseeing her other personal grooming and eating habits. Eventually, he insists on buying her a reliable car, a Blackberry, and a computer. Ana balks at this level of control (says my sister: “Christian needs to find himself a good stripper.”), but accepts the car, the phone, and computer (howlingly referred to as “the mean machine” through most of the rest of the book) and negotiates endlessly on the rest. He gently deflowers her, to pave the way for harder acts. They email constantly--God forbid they IM--and Ana makes sarcastic comments via those emails and then agonizes over whether she has made Christian mad. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat. All you have to do is change the type of sex. It never gets NC-17; there are a few BDSM scenes, but nothing worse than a riding crop. The worst, “dirtiest,” most offensive scene: (brace yourself) (no, really) Ana is on her period, and before Christian has sex with her in a hotel bathroom, HE PULLS OUT HER TAMPON. Let me say that again: HE PULLS OUT HER TAMPON. Are you turned on yet? I can’t imagine anything less erotic. In the next chapter, the most boring chapter ever, Christian refuses to let Ana shower first (and nothing feels yummier than not showering when you’re menstruating) before they go gliding. Later, Ana buys groceries with her mom. I’m on the edge of my seat.

Christian is unbelievable. In the 23 years since he was removed from his awful home, he has managed to become a billionaire CEO with charitable interests, a licensed pilot (both gliders and helicopters, for which I would assume one would need two different licenses, but I don’t give enough of a shit to research it), and an aficionado and master pianist of classical music. He is captivated and intrigued by Ana, but from what I can see, she’s a complete dumbass, not to mention an insecure, demanding drama queen. And let’s revisit the drinking. As I said, Ana has never touched a drop until the night she and two (or is it three? who cares?) of her friends drink 1) champagne, 2) a pitcher of margaritas, and 3) a pitcher of beer. She does puke all over the place, thus leading to her rescue by Christian, but after that, she drinks like a 44 year-old divorcee through the rest of the book. Wine with dinner at home, drinks at a bar with Christian, FOUR cosmos while she’s out with her mom (I’m a drinker, and that would put me on the floor, not to mention that drinking that much in the presence of your mom, especially when you’ve never drank before, ought to raise some serious red flags, but her mom says nothing.). Implausible.

So many magazine articles and blog posts have been written about the phenomenon that is FSOG, and I just. don’t. get. it. I would say it’s because I’m older, and my domination/submission fantasies (aside from the long-held desire to be Barbara Hershey to someone’s Max von Sydow, as in “Hannah and Her Sisters”) lean more towards MY being the dominant one (without the S&M, thank you), seducing and controlling the 27 year-old, but this has hit a nerve with women my age, hence the “mommy porn” label. Are we so desperate to cede control and give up our harpy ways that this young lout is attractive? He is someone who both controls us AND needs rescued, and that is what’s getting thousands of readers all hot and bothered? I am honestly depressed and a little offended that this is what turns on my demographic. I lost count of how many times the taller Christian “looks down” on Ana, or she looks up at him. There is a not-so-subtle message there that chafes. My pioneer sisters didn’t burn their bras in a trash barrel for this to be the best selling book of the 2000s.

I am not a romance reader, a Twilight reader, or an erotica reader, but I have to believe there are better things out there than this. Please, seek them out and leave this trash to lie unremembered in a remainder bin somewhere.