Yep, I read those books.
All three of them. They are “mommy porn” by the definition of the word as it’s used today in—ahem—literary circles. As I recall, the writer held back some of the cruder language, which gentles it back from flat-out pornography, a genre off of which I happen to make a few dollars on the side. (Editing! Not Writing!) And they are all—the 50 and the trash I edit—extremely poorly written because “that’s what sells” today in the—another ahem–marketplace.
Why did I read Them? For the same reason I read one other racy novel as well as a passel of “erotic” [read: smuttier than sh*t] short stories: Research. Seriously!
First, I needed an “edge” to my own otherwise sickeningly sappy romances, in which there is/was adultery, but also is/was a moral lesson and a strong one. The best writers learn by reading, and I’ve read plenty of so-called Inspirational Romances and they are crap. A friend loaned me a piece of Dee Henderson slop wherein the female protagonist won’t kiss her date(s) goodnight, but packs a gun when she goes to church.
Gimme a break.
Whether I’ll finish those particular endeavors—my own borderline porn—is yet to be seen. But if I do, I will use the analogy that the psychoanalytical relationship is nothing less than a Dominant/Submissive bondage contract:
She lies there in the dark [masked], on the couch [bed], unmoving [tied down with scarves/chains/leather thongs], while he punishes her with words in the form of questions that, at first, do indeed hurt like hell but do indeed, “open her up to a whole new world.”
Except this is a world of healing and, same as I said about traditional analysis seeing homosexuality as deviant (and curable), so, too, the drive behind sado-masochistic sex is viewed in psychoanalysis as deviant…and equally curable, if not maybe a bit more so because at least it’s (usually) heterosexual.
Second, I needed to know if I’m “a good” writer compared to other self-published authors (I’ll do). Since winning that cute little acrylic literary award, I’ve read some current Stephen King and Michael Crichton—Crichton being the best medical writer I know, with Robin Cook running a close second. I might be semi-decent in comparison to those guys once I figure out how to hold a story line past 5,000 words, though I may not make any real money either.
In any case…
After reading the first 50 Shades book, I read the second—and then the third—because it was a psychological train wreck, and I needed to find out if/how the author managed to resolve his myriad issues.
She failed. Miserably.
She never offered the psychology behind his illness—and sado-masochistic bondage sex to that degree is an illness—and I don’t know how the movie ends, but if they compress it to the grossly maudlin happy ending in the written trilogy…
Spoiler Alert:
This sick, twisted man is “saved by the love of” this girl (who is not, in fact, only nineteen in the books—she’s either graduated, or close to graduating, college, unless I’m an idiot and completely misread everything). At least, that what happens at the end of Book Three which is ludicrous on so many levels. Happy Ever After and they’re married and she’s pregnant and he still whips her, only less harshly across her pregnant-with-child-#2 (or was it #3?) belly.
But I was also hoping to find a clue to the psychology behind pain = pleasure and dominance = love. I ended up reading a far more explicit short story far that is far better written from a psychological perspective than 50 Shades. Unfortunately, for the same reason that it’s more accurate, “it’ll never sell” which is a shame, but at least I got a partial answer that I haven’t worked through with my analyst. He won’t “answer” certain questions unless they relate to my “feelings.” Eventually, I suppose I’ll puzzle through all of that on my own.
When I saw the trailers, I was appalled. He is far too young, and she is frighteningly impotently mousy. That’s not how the characters were written. The actor doesn’t look more than twenty five, maybe thirty if you push it. The actress is sickeningly naïve with no edge whatsoever. And that stringy hair?
I’ll repeat: Gimme a break.
In summation, is the bottom line determination by the outraged Judeo-Christian factor and all the likes thereof accurate? Yes. To quote them, it’s “50 Shades of Crap.”
Two-fold crap:
First, it fosters deviant fornication, which I actually do see as a little less of an abomination than adultery. At least they aren’t married to other people. My opinion may not be Biblically accurate, but then again, it’s only my opinion and even a rabbi I know said yesterday to “question” and not just swallow whole, no matter where it comes from.
Second, it propagates the Beauty & the Beast romantic myth that people refuse to relinquish.
For all I know, someone will come up with a “review” that it “presents the happy ending that is so often missing from today’s film entertainment.”
It’s still 50 Shades of Chazerei (and since I bought a subscription to Grammarly, I no longer have to read the smut I edit).
However, along the way I did learn something exceedingly interesting: The concept of a “switch.” A switch is usually a woman, one who can be equally happy and/or effective (whatever that means) as a dominant or a submissive. And if there exist switches in sex…hmmm.
What skeletons might we find in the kinky closets of Klein and Mahler, not to mention dearest darling Anna Freud?
It’s driving me batty to not get my little snipes in correctly, because I know for sure I read somewhere that Sigmund said he considered an man’s analysis a success if he could earn a living and get married, but I’ll have to let this one go imperfect:
“If that was your goal, O ye great Father of the Field, you kind of missed it halfway with your girl, didn’t ya?”
