Tags
50 Shades of Grey, @TheosTrek, Dave Barry, pop culture, rant, Time, Writing
Dave Barry is probably the world’s funniest man in his particular writing genre. The article, from Time, printed below, is part of his newest book, coming out in March, and confirms all of my suspicions about the best-seller, 50 Shades of Grey. You were right Mr. Barnum! But owing to the number of copies of this dreck that sold, I have a feeling more than one sucker is born every minute. Thank you, Mr. Barry, for reading this one for me.
It sort of makes me sick to think that authors like Faulkner, Alcott, Dr. Seuss, and Golding (among many) were rejected dozens of times, or had to self publish (long before the present day ease of such a thing). One of the great gaffes made by publishers was the rejection letter sent to Rudyard Kipling, in which he was told he didn’t know how to use the English language. In such things we who perhaps have a file filled with such “encouraging ” things, can find some solace. We probably will never be equal to the timeless literary quality of such distinguished men and women of letters, but I doubt seriously if any of the writers that I follow in the blogosphere have been, or ever will be, guilty of perpetrating such Grey slime upon the public. However, it seems like the folks who laid out money for this “double crap,” bear a large part of the responsibility for the “dumbing down” of the reading and book-buying world. The article below shared, from Time, is long, but hysterical, and helped assuage my despair until I realized that in the end the publishers win. . .money to be made aplenty with absolutely no editing needed, and no expensive educated editor’s salaries to be paid. Do I sound bitter? Oh well. Enjoy the article, or buy the book – or all three parts ( it’s a trilogy!), and give E. L. James some more giggles on her frequent trips to the bank.
Enjoy: from time.com
Dave Barry Learns Everything You Need to Know About Being a Husband From Reading 50 Shades of Grey
So I read Fifty Shades of Grey. This is the book written by female British author “E. L. James” that became a huge bestseller, devoured by pretty much every woman on Earth except my wife (or so she claims).
I think I might be the only man who read this book. I did it sneakily, hiding the cover, especially when I was on an airplane, which actually is a good place to read this book because you have access to a barf bag. I say this because of the writing style, which is . . . OK, here’s one tiny sample of the writing style:
“Did you give him our address?”
“No, but stalking is one of his specialties,” I muse matter-of-factly.
Kate’s brow knits further.
That’s right: This is the kind of a book where, instead of saying things, characters muse them, and they are somehow able to muse them matter-of-factly. And these matter-of-fact musings cause other characters’ brows—which of course were already knitted—to knit still further. The book is over five hundred pages long and the whole thing is written like that. If Jane Austen (another bestselling female British author) came back to life and read this book, she would kill herself.
So why did I read it? I read it because, as a man with decades of experience in the field of not knowing what the hell women are thinking, I was hoping this book would give me some answers. Because a lot of women LOVED this book. And they didn’t just read it; they responded to it by developing erotic feelings—feelings so powerful that in some cases they wanted to have sex with their own husbands.
I know that sounds like crazy talk, but I have firsthand confirmation of this phenomenon from my friend Ron, who is married to my wife’s cousin Sonia, a woman. Ron states: “While Sonia was reading the book, I was getting more action than Wilt Chamberlain.”
Another friend of mine whose name I will keep confidential out of respect for his privacy told me, “I’d be lying on the bed watching SportsCenter, and she’d be reading that book and suddenly, WHOA.”
So what kind of book is Fifty Shades of Grey? I would describe it, literary genre–wise, as “a porno book.” But it’s not the kind of porno men are accustomed to. When a man reads porno, he does not want to get bogged down in a bunch of unimportant details about the characters, such as who they are or what they think. A man wants to get right to the porno:
Chapter One
Bart Pronghammer walked into the hotel room and knitted his brow at the sight of a naked woman with breasts like regulation volleyballs.
“Let’s have sex,” she mused matter-of-factly.
A few paragraphs later they’re all done, and the male reader, having invested maybe ninety seconds of his time, can put the book down and go back to watching SportsCenter.
Apparently that is not what women want, porno-wise. What women want, to judge from Fifty Shades of Grey, is not just people doing It. Many pages go by in this book without any of It getting done, although there is a great deal of thinking and talking about It. The thoughts are provided by the narrator and main character, Anastasia Steele, who is a twenty-one-year-old American woman as well as such a clueless, self-absorbed ninny that you, the reader, find yourself wishing that you still smoked so you would have a cigarette lighter handy and thus could set fire to certain pages, especially the ones where Anastasia is telling you about her “inner goddess.” This is a hyperactive imaginary being—I keep picturing Tinker Bell—who reacts in a variety of ways to the many dramatic developments in Anastasia’s life, as we see in these actual quotes:
“My inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.”
“My very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba.”
“My inner goddess is doing the Dance of Seven Veils.”
“My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.”
“My inner goddess has stopped dancing and is staring, too, mouth open and drooling slightly.”
“My inner goddess jumps up and down, with cheerleading pom-poms, shouting ‘Yes’ at me.”
“My inner goddess is doing backflips in a routine worthy of a Russian Olympic gymnast.”
“My inner goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar.”
“My inner goddess fist-pumps the air above her chaise longue.”
That’s right: Her inner goddess, in addition to dancing, cheerleading, pole vaulting, etc., apparently keeps furniture inside Anastasia’s head. Unfortunately, this means there is little room left for Anastasia’s brain, which, to judge from her thought process, is about the size of a walnut. On the other hand, Anastasia is physically very attractive, although she never seems to figure this out despite the fact that all the other characters keep telling her, over and over, how darned attractive she is.7
As the book begins, Anastasia has somehow managed to complete four years of college, during which time she has had—despite being so physically attractive—no romantic involvement of any kind with anybody. In fact, she’s still a virgin. Also, she does not own a computer nor does she know how to operate one. She has no e-mail account, and seems to be only dimly aware of how the Internet works. At one point she says, quote: “Holy cow! I’m onGoogle!”
That’s right, Anastasia uses the expression “Holy Cow!” Also, when she gets upset (which is often) she says: “Crap!” When she gets really upset, she says: “Double crap!”
In short, Anastasia is a totally believable and realistic depiction of a normal twenty-one-year-old female American college student as she might be imagined by a middle-aged female British author who has lived her entire life in a cave on another planet.
So anyway, early in the book Anastasia meets the main male character, Christian Grey. He is average-looking.
Hah! I am of course joking. He is the handsomest man in the history of men. Lest we forget this crucial fact, Anastasia remarks on Christian’s handsomeness at least once every two pages. Her inner goddess repeatedly s—s her tiny imaginary leotard over the hotness of this man.
To add to the stark realism of his character, Christian is also, at age twenty-seven, a self-made billionaire. He started a company called, realistically, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc., which employs thousands of people engaged in the field of doing some kind of vague business things in accordance with businessy-sounding orders given by Christian over his mobile phone as he stands around in various stylish settings with his worn but stylish jeans hanging loosely off his hips looking unbelievably hot. Christian also is an expert dancer, piano player and glider pilot. Plus he has the ability to read minds and move so fast you can’t even see him.
No, sorry, that’s Edward from Twilight.
So anyway, Anastasia and Christian meet, and he is of course attracted to her, although because of her walnut brain she can’t believe this despite the fact that, as I have already noted, every freaking person she meets is attracted to her. Christian starts stalking her and pressuring her to engage in—and I do not mean this to sound in any way judgmental—sicko pervert sex. He wants to tie her up with ropes, handcuffs, shackles, tape, etc. He wants to blindfold and gag her. He wants to spank her, whip her, flog her, cane her, paddle her, put nipple and genital clamps on her, bite her and use hot wax on her. We know this because he asks her to sign a contract agreeing to let him do these things to her. Yes! To be fair, the contract clearly states that there will be “no acts involving fire play . . . urination or defecation and the products thereof” and “no acts involving children or animals.” Because that’s the kind of old-fashioned cornball romantic Christian is.
What do you think Anastasia does when she sees this contract? Do you think she gets herself a restraining order and an industrial-sized drum of pepper spray, which would be the response of a normal sane woman or reasonably intelligent cocker spaniel? Not our Anastasia! Crap no! She decides to go right ahead and get into a sexual relationship with Christian even though she thinks he is a moody weirdo pervert. (But hot!)
In this relationship, Anastasia keeps trying to get Christian to be a regular huggy-kissy-smoochy boyfriend, but he doesn’t want to do that. In fact, he doesn’t even want her to touch him because he has a Dark Secret in his past. What he wants to do, and keeps trying to get Anastasia to let him do, is tie her up and flog her with various implements, as per the contract. She doesn’t want that, but she keeps seeing Christian anyway because she finds him so darned fascinating, in the sense of hot.
So the plot is: They have sex, she wants to smooch, he wants to flog, there’s a bunch of talking about this, they have sex again, she again wants to smooch, he again wants to flog, there’s a bunch more talking about this, and so on for several hundred word-filled pages.
Finally, Anastasia decides to let Christian flog her, to see what it would be like. So he takes a belt and flogs her on the butt. Then, in the dramatic climax to the story, the moment we have been building up to, Anastasia comes to a shocking, life-changing realization, which nobody could have foreseen in a million years: Getting flogged on the butt hurts. Yes! It’s painful! Anastasia does not like it! Double crap!!
So she breaks up with him.
And then . . .
And then the book is over.
I’m serious. That’s the plot.
There are two more books in this series, titled “Fifty Shades Darker” and “The Third Fifty Shades Book That Was Required to Make It a Trilogy.” I assume these books bring these two lovebirds back together, as well as revealing the Dark Secret in Christian’s past. I don’t know because I haven’t read them, although I fully intend to do so in the future if the only alternative is crucifixion.
But never mind the other two books. The first book was the big one, the one tens of millions of women could not put down. So to get back to my original question, from the standpoint of a guy sincerely trying to understand women: Why was this book so incredibly popular? When so many women get so emotionally involved in a badly written, comically unrealistic porno yarn, what does this tell us? That women are basically insane? Yes.
I mean no! No. Of course it does not tell us that. What it tells us is this: Women are interested in sex.
This may be obvious to women, but, trust me, it is not obvious to men. In fact, it is contrary to everything men are led to believe, dating back to puberty. When a young man goes through puberty, he basically turns into a walking boner. He would happily have sex with any receptive female or room-temperature vegetable. He thinks about having sex all the time, but the only person he knows who wants to have sex with him is himself. He would be very interested in having sex with an actual human female, but he has no earthly idea how to accomplish this. Generally he spends years in this frustrating state before he manages to find a woman willing to have sex with him. Some males become so desperate that they resort to paying for sex, or even running for Congress.
As a result of these experiences, men come to believe—and this belief is reinforced throughout their dating lives as they get shot down more often than the Egyptian Air Force—that women are nowhere near as interested in sex as they are; that women are capable, somehow, of not thinking about sex for entire minutes at a time.
So men exist in a state of perpetual confusion about when, exactly, human females are receptive to the idea of having sex. Men wish that women had some kind of clear signaling mechanism, as is found in other species. Dogs, for example. Years ago I had a female German shepherd puppy named Shawna. For the first few months of her existence, she exhibited no interest whatsoever in having sex with male dogs, and the male dogs in the neighborhood exhibited no particular interest in her.
And then one spring day, BAM, Shawna became a woman. To get the word out, she turned into a 50,000-watt AM hormone transmitter, broadcasting a scent that traveled vast distances at the speed of lust. Horny male dogs were showing up from as far away as New Zealand. The house was surrounded, day and night. You didn’t dare to open the door for fear that a furry canine sex missile would burst past you and commence humping. There were no misunderstandings between the genders; nobody was being subtle. The male dogs were, like, “I gather from the odor you are emitting that you are receptive to having sex with a male!” And Shawna was, like, “That is correct! I very much desire to be mounted from the rear ‘doggie-style’ and I do not care by whom!”
This went on for several tense days. And then, BAM, Shawna was over it. She stopped broadcasting and the males disappeared, and shortly thereafter Shawna was fixed and she never heard from the male dogs again, not even a postcard.
Unfortunately, human sexuality does not work this way, except on Jersey Shore. Human females are less obvious, which means human males must be able to pick up subtle cues, and unfortunately we are terrible at this. So we tend to assume that women just aren’t that interested.
This is why the immense popularity of Fifty Shades of Grey is actually great news for men. It’s a signal from the female gender—not unlike the one broadcast by Shawna—transmitting an exciting and encouraging message to men everywhere: “We are interested in sex! We’re just not interested in sex with you unless you’re a superhot billionaire.”
OK, so this is not a totally positive message for us men. But we can work with it! We can interpret it to mean that women would like their sex lives to be more interesting. Maybe they wish that we would be more obsessive and stalkerish. Maybe they even secretly fantasize about engaging in unconventional, even “kinky,” sexual activities. There is only one way to find out, men: You need to have an honest, “no holds barred” conversation about sex with the special woman in your life. I did this with my wife, and as difficult as this was for me, I’m glad I did because it was very revealing. Here’s the complete transcript:
Me: Hey, do you secretly want me to tie you up and flog you?
My wife: No.
Yes, communication is the key to a successful relationship. That, and not peeing in the shower. That’s pretty much all the advice I have for you men. In a word: Be sensitive. And now, if you’ll excuse me, my inner god needs to turn on the TV and watch huge men knock each other down.
Excerpted from “You Can Date Boys When You’re Forty: Dave Barry on Parenting and Other Topics He Knows Very Little About,” published by G.P. Putnam’s Sons, a member of Penguin Group (USA), on March 3.
****************
I’m certain we have all had enough. . .
sharplittlepencil said:
Paula, I saw you in Wordle land or somesuch prompt. This post is priceless. I am a proto-feminist. not a feminazi, simply believe in equality of the sexes. When I first had girlfriends prodding me (pun intended) to read this tripe, I already knew it wasn’t gonna happen. the dust jacket alone screamed SOCCER MOM PORN; when it meant to say “tasteful erotic.” Every critic has confirmed this fact. Dave Barry takes it into the realm where it belongs to languish forever: the ridiculous.
Women have been sneaking paperback, Fabio-cover-modeled paperbacks into the gym for years. Hey, I love sex. My husband and I must be very inventive if we are still into it after 16 years, but it’s all about the tenderness. The day he whips out handcuffs is the day I die laughing. And he will, indeed, be joking, I know.
Just in case, I have a return volley: an old bustier from my jazz singing days. Take THAT, you… you MAN, you!! Ha ha. Thanks for a few belly laughs and another bunch of sensible reasons to both avoid the book and bemoan the crap great authors took form publishers, just as van Gogh never sold a single work. Amy Barlow Liberatore, AKA Sharp Little Pencil
Paula Tohline Calhoun said:
Thanks ABL/SLP! so much for stopping by and enjoying. I was feeling rather snarky about such things that day, I guess. Anyway, it made me laugh! Glad it struck a similar chord in you. Come again!
danniehill said:
As a writer I have trouble bashing success of other writers– so I won’t. E.L. James has done something most writers dream of. For an independent writer getting the editing perfect is the highest cost for publishing, but this book shows that content– that women apparently want to read– overcomes what many see as errors in plot and syntax. My biggest amazement isn’t that the book is successful and the movie is making money, but that they are planning at least two more movies about the submissive nature of the female character.
Doug said:
Yo, Danniehill,
I am glad anybody will read anything independent. Maybe their taste will get more sophisticated over time, or not, then they might read some torrid Shakespear if they haven’t succeeded in banning it by that time. 🙂
Paula Tohline Calhoun said:
The two more movies are because there are two more volumes to the trilogy! It boggles my mind.
Paula Tohline Calhoun said:
That thumbs down should be a thumbs up! My huge thumb fumbled the touch! Sorry!
allthoughtswork said:
50 Shades is an incredibly powerful book…for psychiatrists.
Just give a copy to any female patient. If she finds it to be masterful writing, recommend electroshock treatments. If it reminds her of past loves, hypnosis and intensive deprogramming are in order. If it turns her on, shake your head sadly and begin explaining the side effects of Thorazine while you write the prescription.
Paula Tohline Calhoun said:
First of all, let me offer my sincere apologies to all. I DID NOT READ THIS BOOK. I HAVE READ ABOUT THIS BOOK (AD NAUSEAM), AND I AM FAIRLY CERTAIN I NEVER WILL ACTUALLY READ IT, AND MOST CERTAINLY WILL NOT BUY IT! My tone in the intro, and Dave Barry’s in the article reflect primarily the fact that we had not had our bran flakes before sitting down to write. 😕 But he always makes me laugh out loud, and this confirmation of my own suspicions about a less-than -stellar book (by almost all accounts) is no exception. Even though you correctly picked up on definite whiffs of sour grapes from both of us! 😀
Thanks so much for offering your insights. I have grown much less patient with this sort of book, lately than I ever was when I was younger. However, I don’t believe I would ever hold Shades of Grey up next to some of the superb YA (so called) fiction that is being written today.
But, as you say, anyone who successfully publishes has worked to get their royalties. I have nothing against Grey’s author. I just wish that readers everywhere would elevate their tastes and interests. The problem with pornography is that it does nothing but appeal to the self-centered at the expense of others. I read a lot of YA fiction, and much of it is rather pedestrian for older adults, and even the youth at which it is aimed, BUT there is some absolutely extraordinary YA fiction being written today that deserves a place next to the finest writing for readers of any age. It is sad, to me, that books of Grey’s ilk crowd such fine works off the market, because they require nothing of the reader.
But, like I said, I didn’t eat my bran flakes this morning! Please come back and weigh in whenever you have time!
Doug said:
Its incredibly difficult to get anything published now days. Proof reading is costly.
There are thousands of personality types; some are good and some evil. Hence you can make a story that evokes a laugh or a vomit. We could make reading illegal and stop teaching it and crush all video screens and cuff our ears off if putting an end to expression and communication is what we want to do.
Paula Tohline Calhoun said:
It’s not a matter of how much proof reading costs, I don’t think. After all, it is assumed that at least one competent, careful and observant reader from a reputable publisher would have the grammar, spelling, and basic writing skills to at least block some of the junk that is flooding the market. Proofreaders, good ones, are worth their weight in gold, to say nothing about competent editors. We have all become lazy (well, a lot of us – like me – in polishing our use of language and tuning our voices well. I guess I am just very old fashioned when it comes to good writing. You are right – different strokes for different folks, ahem! 😋
Fortunately we live in a society where we can read anything we please. It’s just that my own biases want to see people reading some really great writing, that informs, inspires, and entertains, and in a less salacious manner.
Thanks, Doug, for reading and commenting! Much appreciated!
writingbolt said:
Amusing article. Though, in the beginning, he sounds a bit harsh and “anal” about writing “styles” while writing a few lines in a “style” I find fault with. I feel more informed, now. But, could this spoil the opportunity of some to read this fresh and decide for themselves? I will admit too many “inner goddess” quotes about different dances might speak for the book itself. And, I can see the “innocence” of the author which need not be insulted. After all, every artist has their sensitive side. And, we don’t need to drive any artist to some dark path or habit. I am sure E. L. James wrote from her “captive youth” rather than “expected maturity” (at her age). But, is that any different from so many writers of what might be classified YA fiction? This series WAS touted as fan fiction for Twilight. So, maybe that’s what it is. And, why does that make it popular? Well, why on Earth are adults loving Harry Potter? I never got that. I still refuse to read the books. I saw the movies and liked the first three. I don’t know if I LOVE the story. But, I exposed myself to some of it.
In short, I think what the article author reveals is what should be learned/known from any experience with porn viewed by men and women. I learned from researching pornographic fiction long before this “hit” surfaced. I learned the same. Men want all the action while women want back story and emotional drama if not also “true love” woven into and around the action. I guess, either way, I can save myself a fortune and write my own tales to spark life in the bedroom. 🙂 But, if my gal (when I have one) wants to read these books (this particular trilogy), I may want to observe her closely lest the worst case scenario arise: She becomes interested in BDSM (which is good for neither of us).