50 Shades Of Despair

So it's been a couple of weeks since I wrote my post about 50 Shades of Grey.
Back then, I was innocent.
Back then I was pure.
Stop laughing.
Okay, back then I was at least ignorant of what a massive pile of inexplicable tripe this book is. Let me break it down for you. My friend Wetsoks, after reading that post, kindly and very nicely (read: she's a unforgivable dillhole) found me a pdf copy of 50 Shades. I sat down to read it one night, cup of tea in hand, mind crowbarred partially open, and felt ready to try not to make a snap judgement. 19 horrendous pages later, I quietly shut down my mac and went to lie face down on my carpet (which is my equivalent of the foetal position when experiencing trauma and/or a state of over-inebriation). I gave it a few days and tried not to think about how angry it made me, or how much I wanted to set my mac on fire. Then another friend  @Stavvers, of angry blog fame, sent me the original fanfiction pdf, complete with Twilight names. I sat down again, twitching slightly this time, and tried again.

I have always thought English to be a poor language. It can sometimes be very hard to convey exactly what one means using only English words, which is why I really enjoyed learning both French and Portuguese (and come to that, Greek and Latin). However, it might be for your benefits, readers, that I cannot quite express how much I despise this book. If you can imagine a giant spider astride a giant camel wearing Crocs, and yelling about how it just didn't understand Shakespeare and especially the DiCaprio version because he was cute but the words made no sense and how could you even tell what was happening and wouldn't you rather watch a Jersey Shore marathon while debating about how marriage should be between a man and a woman because that's how it's always been and nothing in history has ever changed or needed to change in the last 3000 years, well. That comes pretty close to combining ALL THE THINGS I HATE. Never mind my mac, I wanted to set everything on fire, including myself and my literary beliefs, which are clearly out of date in this modern world.

I haven't been able to continue reading it because I value what is left of my IQ, but this brave soul has - http://bizzybiz.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/50-heaves-of-puke.html  - so do check out her various ranty posts about it. Some of them are absolutely priceless, unlike the book itself, which is absolutely worthless. For everything else, there is Mastercard, or alternatively, stabbing yourself in the face.

One thing that I will point out from my trudge through those 19 or so pages, was that Christian Grey: Dreamboat Extraordinaire turns up at the hardware store where You/Ana/Bella works. I have a number of issues with this whole section. First, he's a billionaire. People build stuff for him. People run errands for him. He doesn't need to do anything for himself. He has MONEY. So when You/Ana/Bella starts to think "hey, maybe he came to see me... nah" - it makes me want to punch you. Then after leering at you openly, he reels off a list of items he requires for his "hiking" trip, such as rope, duct tape, and cable ties.
Cable ties, people.
CABLE TIES!
It's the murder bag post all over again. Sigh.
So instead of You/Ana/Bella swooning and gibbering like you're in heat at the sight of a nice jawline and pants that 'hang off his hips' (boy needs some braces, by the sounds of it), you should really be nodding, smiling politely, then sidling into the backroom and frantically calling the police. Because this guy is clearly going to leave your body in a woodland area.

If I can bring myself to slog through any more, I am sure that it will provide plenty of fodder for a further rant.