Title: Fifty Shades of Grey
Author: E.L. James
Summary: Originally written as fan fiction based on Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Series, this book introduces the readers to the dominant/submissive, extremely explicit relationship between an aspiring book editor and a very wealthy businessman with a dark past.
Review: For the kinky-dom/sub-bondage-erotica enthusiast, this book is okay. For anyone looking for developed characters, plot, and a writing style greater than a fifth-grade reading level, I would steer away from this book. I hate giving books 1 star, but I just couldn’t NOT do it. The plot is severely lacking, and for the most part only exists to get the characters from point A (where they have sex) to point B (where they can have sex again).
This book annoyed me for oh-so many reasons. There was very little character development, and I lost count of how many times I was told that Christian was a beautiful man with a tragic childhood and depraved soul. Actions speak louder than words. E.L. James ‘s vocabulary throughout the book is very limited, constantly reusing the same adjectives and phrases (except for the big words she throws in to make Christian sound intelligent).
Both characters have such negative images of themselves; their never-ending attempts to convince each other of their love gets a tad old when every other scene includes one asking the other what they can do to prove their love. Every once in a while, the characters show an endearing quality, but then they’re immediately drawn back to their repetitive self-deprecation.
One thing that irked me was Ana’s constant reference to Christian as ‘Fifty Shades’ and ‘my Fifty.’ I don’t know why, but every time she refers to him by those names, I cringe. I think I’m developing a permanent twitch in my left eye because of it. In my mind, it’s just weird. But hey, that’s me.
One thing that I found interesting is that Ana often considers Christian to have multiple personalities due to his constant mood swings, but between her own dull thoughts and references to her “inner goddess” and “subconscious,” she’s the one who should be seeing a shrink. I don’t know how she has room for her own thoughts in her head without one of the other two interrupting.
This book is clearly fan fiction, and while I have read some fan fictions written by 16-year-olds that could possibly give the original authors a run for their money, this fan fiction falls way short of the mark, which, in my opinion, wasn’t even set that high by Stephanie Meyer.
Despite all of this, I have begun a series, and my OCD requires me to finish it. And I must admit, I am a bit curious to see just where James takes her story.