Man Debris

I decided to clean out one of my dresser drawers today.  Not the entire dresser, mind you, just one drawer.  I don't want to set unreasonable expectations or tax myself too much.  There are six entire drawers in this dresser... no need to get crazy.

The driver behind this was my need to get rid of socks with holes in them.  Nothing frustrates me more than picking out a pair of socks and discovering, just before my shoes go on, that my toes have extra ventilation.  But, seeing as how I'm lazy, more often than not those socks will just go back into the drawer, where they wait for the day I forget about the holes and pick them up again.  Hence the need for a periodic cleansing.

This drawer, however, holds more than just socks, it's got lots of flotsam and jetsam.  Junk.  Man debris.  I cleaned it, more or less, when I moved two years ago, but I realized I needed to do a better job.  So I emptied the drawer and found more than I bargained for.  Here's a list:

• My traveling hat, a blue baseball cap I picked up in Hawaii which has been around the world with me twice.  It's faded and worn and I never pack a suitcase without tossing it inside.  It's what makes the planes I'm on land safely.  Tell me I'm wrong.
• Watches.  Two nice ones, one cheap one, and one I won from a claw machine at Dave and Buster's.
• My expired passport, with a photo from twenty years ago, almost.  I look like a dork.
• My old Ray Bans.  I do not look like a dork when I wear these.
• A $5 silver certificate ($5 bill).  Not that I could redeem it for silver any more.  Fuckin' Nixon...
• Key fobs from when I bought my truck.  They have the salesman's name on them.
• Oil change key fob from when I bought my car.  I get the fifth oil change free.  Not a bad gamble by the dealer considering that car doesn't need its oil changed but every 10,000 miles.  Plus, I don't live in Pasadena any more and I'm not likely to drive back for an oil change.
• The warranty card from my new luggage.  That I bought six years ago.
• Old wallets.
• A collar bar.
• Change.  But no pennies.
• An old checkbook from the very first business I started a year after I got out of college.  Yes, it failed.  No, I did not learn my lesson.
• Three handkerchiefs.  I never use handkerchiefs, I don't like walking around with a pocketful of my own snot.  But if I change my mind, I have the hankies.
• Ancient passbooks from a savings and loan that collapsed during the Savings and Loan Scandal while Bush 41 was President.  It's cute, I thought $200 was a lot of money.
• Cuff links.
• Shoe laces.
• A pocket square.
• Oh, and dress socks.  About six pairs had holes.  I threw them out.  Finally.

This is how I know I'm a grown, adult man.  The stuff in my drawer.  I have three jewelry boxes of my father's stuff, and just for grins I took a quick peek inside.  And what did I find?

Old wallets.  Change but no pennies.  Lots of watches.  A collar bar.  Cuff links.  Handkerchiefs.  Key fobs.  Lighters (my father smoked until I was in college).

The apple never falls far from the tree, does it?

A Book A Week - Week 29: The Ocean At The End Of The Lane

This week's book:
   The Ocean at the End of the Lane  by Neil Gaiman

Grade: B-

There is so much more he could have done with this...
   I think it would be wrong of me to judge this book on what I wish the author would have done, though.  So I'll stick to what he did do.

This is, at its base, just a story.  A collection of characters, a setting, and a plot.  Things evolve from there.  Now, as just a story this is a fairly decent one.  A young English boy discovers there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in his philosophy.  He gets in trouble, he makes friends and enemies, and the trouble is resolved in a day or two.  Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, and it's done.  It's imaginative and well-written, descriptive and surprising, and moves at a quick enough pace to keep the reader interested.  If the author intended this to be just a story then he accomplished that goal.  But I think he intended it to be more.

I think Mr. Gaiman intended this to be a modern myth.  The main character states his preference for myth stories at the beginning, and the tropes are there: the outcast hero, the journey to a distant land, the betrayal in his homeland, the magical guide.  The family at the end of the lane - where the Ocean is - are three women: daughter, mother, and grandmother.  Maiden, Mother, and Crone.  The Fates.  Whose presence, if you've never read Greek, is a pretty big clue that you're reading a myth.  There is also a big monster to defeat, something huge and beyond his ability, an unattainable goal.  Which the hero decides to deal with in his own fashion instead of listening to the advice of his guide.
    Like I said, all the classic trappings are there, this is clearly intended to be a myth.

He doesn't pull it off.  I'm a fan of ancient myths myself, I loved learning them when I was about the age of the hero of this novel.  If you don't know classical myths then think Grimm's Fairy Tales, the delicious, dark ones, where children kill witches and evil elves steal babies.  Those are myths too, relatively recent ones.  Myths explained things.  Myths were a primitive people's way of understanding the vast, unknowable universe around them.  Myths also had a moral.  Always.  They were allegories of the human condition, usually cautionary tales, that also, for example, tried to explain how people first learned about fire.  Or about hope.  Or about lies.

This story - this attempt at making a new myth - doesn't have a moral.  And, near as I can tell, doesn't attempt to explain anything.  Mr. Gaiman takes a stab at it, the hero of the story is a seven-year-old boy who is baffled, repulsed, and fascinated by adults.  The author takes great pains to show that his hero, as a child, is already a stranger in a strange land where adults rule and the customs are foreign.

But the story never resolves this tension, it never explains anything about the workings of the world or about being an adult, and it never presents a moral.  The story includes all the bits and pieces of a myth, and the storytelling intent, but it never quite comes together.  What was the purpose of the hero's journey?  The resolution of the story makes it impossible for him to learn from his experiences, so... what was the point?

If you're a Neil Gaiman fan you should read this book.  If you like fantasy or fairy tales you should read this book.  If you have never read fantasy or Mr. Gaiman's work you should give it a try, it's a good introduction to both.  It's also a good Summer read, not too taxing on the brain, even though I wish it were.


Next week:
 Salt, a World History   by Mark Kurlansky
 No, this is not the novelization of that terrible Angelina Jolie movie.  I'm going back to non-fiction next week, and a book about the only rock people eat.

A Book A Week - Week 28: Kitchen Confidential

This week's book:
   Kitchen Confidential  by Anthony Bourdain

Grade: A+

You want to know the best way to make people like you?  Engage their nostalgia.  I'm sure Mr. Bourdain did not have my nostalgia in mind when he wrote this book thirteen years ago, but he fed it and nurtured it nonetheless.  It doesn't hurt that he's a particularly good writer, too.

Flashback to... dear God, twenty-four years ago.  Holy crap.  Fresh out of college, I didn't have a car, job prospects across the country were miserable for anyone my age, and I was back living with my parents.  I took a job as a waiter for two reasons:  1) they agreed to hire me and 2) I could walk to work.
   I slaved as a waiter and prep cook for nearly four years, even after I had secured a much better job, because it was hard to leave 'the life.'  It really is hard, trust me.  My friend Mike says the restaurant business is like a toilet that will not flush, the turds just keep going around and around and around.  He's dead right.

'Kitchen Confidential' is the author's memoir, at least up to that point in his life.  Some stuff has happened to him since then.  And I have no doubt that everything in it is absolutely, 100% true.  Because I have similar stories, minus the astonishing substance abuse.  He was a child of the 70's, after all.

I have to be careful, because every time I think about a scene in the book it sparks a similar memory of my own time at the restaurant, and things rapidly devolve into 'good times, good times' thoughts and I want to call my friends and ask them if they 'remember when...?'

Mr. Bourdain has had at least two shows on cable TV so far - that I know of - and chances are good if you haven't watched either of them you've at least heard of him.  He writes like he speaks in those shows.  Or he speaks how he writes, whatever.  The cadence is familiar, and despite his lower-class leanings, he did go to Vassar.  For a while.  He knows how to write well and how to engage his reader, is what I'm saying here.

Mr. Bourdain's writing and his unvarnished opinions are delicious, savory bits of literary accomplishment that leave a reader fat and happy.  Here's my very favorite from this book:
     Vegetarians are the enemy of everything good and decent in the human spirit, an affront to all I stand for, the pure enjoyment of food.
     That's what you're signing up for when you decide to read this book.  I love it.

Who should read this book?  Anyone who's ever worked in the restaurant business, of course, because you'll see that things are the same all over.  But, more importantly, I think everyone who has never worked in a restaurant needs to read this book.  Especially those of you who think that you want to be a chef, or own a restaurant or catering business or cupcake store or hamburger stand or what have you, because the author tells it like it is.  This is really, truly, the way life in a restaurant is.  It's not glamorous, it's gross, and you deal with thieves and lowlifes and horrible people all day, every day, 365 days a year.  And that's just the kitchen staff, the waiters and bartenders and customers are even worse.  Read it, and if you still want to be in the restaurant business after you turn the last page then you're made of stern stuff indeed.  Good luck. 
 

Next week:
 The Ocean at the End of the Lane  by Neil Gaiman
 Mr. Gaiman can write a comic book, that's for sure.  And I dimly recall reading 'American Gods' a few years back.  But his most recent TV outing was, hands-down, the worst episode of 'Dr. Who' I've ever seen, and that show's been in production for decades, there are stinkers a-plenty.  I hope he does a better job with this book than he did with The Doctor.

A Book A Week - Week 27: Gone Girl

This week's book:
   Gone Girl  by Gillian Flynn

Grade: A

The first 'A' experience I've had with fiction since May.  People in the know pointed me to this book, told me it was a great read.  I had my doubts, and... great?... well, it had its moments.

I have to say, I really hated the first fifty pages.  Which is less than 10% of the book, but still.  I didn't hate them quite so much as I hated the first three chapters of 'The Crying of Lot 49,' but it was very close.
   See, one of the things I hate most, more than broccoli, more than shrimp, more than almost anything, is writing about writers.  I loathe it.  I refuse to read a story about a writer writing.  It's lazy, it's navel-gazing, and, for Christ's sake, nobody gives a fuck.  If you want to be a writer, then write a story, but if you write me a story about you writing I will go to Starbucks in person and slap you with your own MacBook.*

This novel starts out with not one, but two writers.  Laid off writers, a husband and wife who have both lost their writing/journalism jobs in New York City within weeks of one another.  They move from NYC to Missouri to take care of the husband's ailing mother and Alzheimer's-ridden father, and they've been there for two barely-tolerable years.  The story progresses from there.
  The writing in the first fifty pages is just... I can't say terrible because it's not.  But maybe... rewritten too much?  Rewritten by someone other than the author?  Once I got past those first fifty pages things changed, the narrative got tighter, the pacing picked up, and it was overall a much better book.

We get to know the husband first, on the day he learns that his wife has gone missing.  Nick and Amy have been growing apart since the move from NYC, and things aren't looking up.  Then he makes the discovery that changes his world forever.
   We learn about Amy from diary entries, from the time she first met Nick to their time in Missouri, as their lives are unraveling.  At first we sympathize with Nick, then, slowly, we learn that he is both more and less than he seems to be, and his time with Amy was fraught with unspoken resentment and, eventually, downright hostility.

And there's where any plot discussion has to end.  Because I did like this book - eventually - I have to resist giving away the plot.  It's a murder mystery with plenty of twists.  REAL twists, Dan Brown, not like the sputum you puked up in 'Inferno.'   The story definitely does not end up in the place I suspected it would at the beginning.  Not even close.

For my tastes the writing is a little wordy.  I wouldn't want this story to be Hemingway-spare, but I think the author could have easily cut 25% of the description.  In and among the twists and the plot reveals, we do get a glimpse of the tension in a marriage, of the different things women and men expect from a relationship, and how things can unravel quickly when those needs aren't met.  The people seemed real, the motivations real (if more than a little petty and twisted), and the outcomes real as well.

Go on, read the book.  Power through the first fifty pages, it gets much better.

 * full disclosure:  I actually love 'Barton Fink.'  Which is a movie about a writer... writing.  But it's the Coen Brothers, which means the story's not really about what it seems to be about, and the exception that proves my rule.

Next week:
  Kitchen Confidential  by Anthony Bourdain
   I think Anthony Bourdain and I would get along fine.  While I don't drink quite as much - or at all - and I don't have his love of organ meats or bone marrow, I think we share a sensibility.  I did work in a restaurant for four years after college, I think I know some of the stories he's going to tell.

A Book A Week - Two Week Hiatus

I always wanted to be 'on hiatus.'

I was away for a week, and then recovering from being away for another week.  But now I'm rested up and ready to resume my 'book a week' yearlong experience.

 I was in New York, the Big Apple, the city so nice they named it twice, and to fill time and space I thought I'd share a few random thoughts.  In no particular order:

•   It's not a stereotype, Newark really does smell funny.  And not 'ha-ha' funny, more like 'chemical accident that creates a super-villain' funny.
•   Also not a stereotype, Midtown Manhattan still smells like tinkle.  Not as strongly as it did last time I was there, but it didn't not smell like tinkle either.
•   Pizza crust really is better in NYC.  Sorry, Chicago.
•   Believe it or not, at least one person drives a Maserati on New York city streets.  Seems like a pointless risk to me, but then again I can't afford a Maserati so what the Hell do I know?
•   I saw almost no cyclists using the new bike lanes they put in since the last time I was there, but I did see a lot of people using the new medians as parking spots.  At least someone benefits.
•   New Jersey Transit workers were all very nice.  Seriously.  I didn't have a bad interaction with a single one.  I was kind of expecting a staff of Tony Sopranos.
•    Deli clerks seem to have problems making change.  At least four times I had to give them back money.  Because that's how I roll.
•    Tourists all wearing the same bright yellow shirt look like a line of ducks crossing the street.  I know the same shirt makes it easier to keep everyone together, but did it have to be yellow?
•   When I looked out the windows at the tall buildings, I really did kind of expect Spider-Man to go swinging by.  And I was disappointed when it never happened.

 Next week:
  Gone Girl  by Gillian Flynn
   People in the know tell me this is a book I must read, it's the author's breakout and a great, well-written story.  I don't know.  I'm having better luck with stuff I find on my own.  You know what your mother used to say instead of an outright 'no?'  We'll see...

A Book A Week - Week 24: Earth Afire

This week's book:
   Earth Afire  by Orson Scott Card and Aaron Johnston

Grade: C

Meh.

Maybe this was my fault for picking up the middle volume in a trilogy, but this book just didn't do it for me.  I found it unremarkable in every way, not really fantastic, not horrible, more like Wednesday night sitcoms, just hitting the beats and keeping the core audience happy.

This plot is standard sci-fi stuff, there's an alien invasion and one guy is trying to tell the world about it but no one will listen.  And then the aliens come anyway and they're not nice at all and, for some reason, decide to kill everything on the planet.  If you're an American and you've watched TV or movies you've encountered this plot before.  The difference is the authors try to make it plausible using what we know about science today.  An admirable effort, but when writers try this usually they end up twisting themselves into knots trying to explain how their sci-fi stuff works.  These authors largely avoid that, the story isn't about the tech, it's about the people.

But that's the problem.  I know where they're going with this, it's plain on the page: most disasters in human history are the result of incompetence rather than malice, and one person with purpose can accomplish more than a directionless army.  I agree.  But that doesn't mean I want to spend 400+ pages reading the same thing over and over again.  And that's what this book is, the same situation over and over again.
    For instance, every main character has a bully.  And I don't mean that metaphorically, like they all have a nasty obstacle to overcome, I mean that each character literally has a bully, a bit-player character who picks on them and tries to keep them down.  Most of the time these bullies are part of the establishment, functionaries who - also quite literally - put themselves directly in opposition to the main characters.  The authors are not just making a point, they're hammering it home with a big ol' mallet, making sure you, the reader, get what they're trying to say.
   All the main characters see things much clearer than anyone else around them.  This is also standard sci-fi stuff... but all of them?  Each one?  Every time?  It's an epidemic of competence to combat the malaise of incompetence around them.  It's also not very believable.

Don't get me wrong, like I said, this book is not terrible.  There are even moments of suspense and drama and action.  When the characters aren't speaking the narrative is actually very taut, the description crisp, and the pacing great.
   But then the characters speak.  Whatever good will the authors built with their narrative all gets lost when the characters interact.  I couldn't find any difference between characters in their dialogue, if the parts hadn't been labelled I wouldn't have known which character was speaking.  And then there's that whole epidemic of competence idea again, which strains credulity, especially when, for instance, a wise-beyond-his-years little Chinese kid has adult-style conversations with a grown military officer.  I've known many, many eight-year-olds in my time - I spent nearly a year as one - and though they can be smart and perceptive, they're still eight years old.  Enjoying sci-fi requires a willing suspension of disbelief, and almost every dialogue exchange in this book violated that for me.

Now to my deep genre-specific critique, for the sci-fi nerds out there.  I haven't read much Orson Scot Card, just a few short stories and those were years ago.  However, this narrative feels very Heinlein-esque to me.  Or at least like it's trying to be.  Maybe it's the invasion part, or the military part, or the realistic-space-opera part.  But for me Card's efforts fall flat where Heinlein's didn't.  The difference, I think, is that Heinlein actually served in the military where Card never did.  It's like if I tried to write a detailed account of what being pregnant is like; I can certainly try to understand it but my narrative would never have the credibility or veracity of one written by a woman who's actually carried a child in her womb.  It's an object lesson for writers everwhere: stick to what you know.

If you're more of an action-oriented sci-fi reader, you'll like this book.  If your tastes are more character-driven I think you'll be disappointed.


Next week:
  No book next week, I have stuff to do that will prevent me from reading and reviewing.  I'll pick it up again the following week.

A Book A Week - Week 23: Inferno

This week's book:
   Inferno  by Dan Brown

Grade: C

It started out so promising.  I never read 'The DaVinci Code,' or any of the other books.  Never saw the movie, even.  But I liked the first few chapters of 'Inferno.'  Really.  Up until around page 40, I was pleasantly surprised, it was well-written and intriguing.  This was not the fiction I had been led to believe Dan Brown usually committed.  I was along for the ride and I was enjoying it.

Then I made the mistake of reading more.

Ugh... which authorial sin do I outline first?  My major quarrels are with the contents and execution, not with the mechanics, except for this annoying habit:  the author's tendency to have his dialogue be unashamedly 'on the nose.'  Like, when a character is feeling sad he'll have them say 'I'm sad,' instead of showing it.  Mr. Brown has his characters caption most things he's just explained to the reader, as if the characters needed the reassurance of saying their own internal dialogue out loud.
    Other sins:  the villains who turn out to be friendly and the friends who turn out to be villains.  Or do they?  Done to death, and you can set your watch by the reveal.  Heroes who consistently outsmart a determined and far-better armed and prepared (and non-amnesiac) adversary.  The running chase through foreign cities, where the hero doesn't even try to contact the local police, or, indeed, even get stopped by them, like Florence is used to daily gun battles so one more doesn't gain any notice.
    Also:  the author crams so many trite tropes into the story that it becomes very hard to take it seriously.  The beautiful, mysterious woman who helps the hero.  The sinister mercenaries in black.  The behind-the-scenes manipulator of things.  The insane genius with a mad agenda.  The hero with amnesia.

"Huh?" I can hear you saying.  "Amnesia?  Seriously?"
   Yup, that staple of the dearly departed weekday soap operas, amnesia, features prominently in this book.  Turns out that it's been established in prior novels that Dr. Langdon, the hero, has an eidetic memory.  He recalls everything.  So in order to generate suspense, the author gives him amnesia.  The entire first half of the novel - maybe more - is devoted to the hero re-discovering the clues to the truth that he's already figured out before the novel opens, yet can't remember.  Double Ugh.

Mr. Brown, amnesia is not a plot device, it's a cheat.  It's trite and awful and nobody comes away from an amnesia story thinking 'you know, the author really had no other choice, he had to go with amnesia.'

There is a particular Dan Brown sin that runs through the entire book: the desperate need to make a suspense story an historical travelogue.  He's incapable of not telling us every detail of everything he's researched.  It's the second worst part of this book.  Every chapter - EVERY CHAPTER - has an art or history or art history lesson as part of the narrative.  The characters either explain things to each other or explain things in their internal dialogue, as if they were teaching class.  Sure, the hero Langdon is a professor, but, jeez... shut up about it once or twice.  The constant, extensive lessons really distracted from the narrative, which wasn't all that strong to begin with.

The worst sin, by far, however, only came to light in the second half of the narrative.  Mr. Brown seems overly fond of the M. Knight Shyamalan-style 'twist,' wherein the characters reveal, through tortured dialogue exchanges, that everything the hero - and by extension the reader - knew up until that point was a lie.  And no, I don't mean 'was misunderstood,' I mean was a bald-faced lie.  This is another literary cheat and points to weak plotting and shoddy characterization.  This bothers me so much that I need to make a very strong, direct point about it.

Mr. Brown: a 'twist' is a plot reveal that the reader didn't see coming, yet makes perfect sense in context.  For instance, in 'The Sixth Sense' where it's revealed that Bruce Willis's character is, in fact, already dead but he doesn't know it.*  That reveal made the audience re-evaluate everything they knew up until that point, and did not violate anything thus far in the plot.  Unlike all the 'twists' you throw at your audience in this book.
    TELLING THE READER THAT EVERYTHING YOU TOLD THEM SO FAR IS A LIE IS NOT A 'TWIST,' IT'S A CHEAT.  AS AN AUTHOR YOU SUCK FOR DOING IT NOT ONCE, NOT TWICE, NOT THREE TIMES, BUT OVER AND OVER AND OVER.  YOU SUCK YOU SUCK YOU SUCK YOU SUCK YOU SUCK.

Okay, I got that off my chest.  I just really hate feeling cheated.  It's like I got the ring over the milk jug at the County Fair but the gap-toothed carny just won't fork over the giant Pink Panther.  It's a swindle of epic proportions.

I'm sure Mr. Brown doesn't give a rat's ass what my opinion is, he's going to sell a million of these books before the Summer's done.  The hero of the book is a 'symbologist,'** though, and studies  hidden meanings.  So I won't actually say what I think, I'll use symbols.  To wit:  Normally I read on the couch, or on my back porch, or even seated on the floor, but as a hat's-off to Mr. Brown I read the last five chapters of 'Inferno' firmly seated on my toilet, while doing my business.  Make of that what you will.

* yeah, spoiler alert 14 years later

** not a real thing

Next week:
  Earth Afire  by Orson Scott Card and Aaron Johnston
   Sci-fi again.  New.  From the guy who wrote 'Ender's Game,' which I've never read, and several short stories I did read.  And liked.

A Book A Week - Week 22: Fifty Shades of Grey

This week's book:
    Fifty Shades of Grey  by E.L. James

Grade: C-

Dear Penthouse:

I always thought the letters in Penthouse Forum were fake, and I certainly never expected this to happen to me.  But...  I read ‘Fifty Shades of Grey.‘  All the way through.  I still can’t believe someone like me read something like that, and when I think of the details it’s like a hazy dream...

I got the e-book, because I just couldn’t bring myself to actually walk into a bookstore - not even Half Price Books - and let someone else see what I was buying.  It doesn’t come in a plain brown wrapper the way proper pornography should.
    I read the first chapter of the e-book, and I was underwhelmed by the prose.  It wasn’t bad, certainly not as bad as ‘Twilight,’ but, really, what else is?  It wasn’t great either, and there were spots where it could have used a serious rewrite.  The heroine is a college Senior who helps out her sick roommate by conducting an interview for the school newspaper with not-yet-thirty multimillionaire Christian Grey.

Right away, Penthouse, I knew I was in for a conflict with my suspension of disbelief.  Most twenty-somethings are saddled by back-breaking student debt and barely know how to wipe their own asses, let alone paddle someone else’s... but I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let’s just say that the story at this point already was treading precarious ground.  And I know I’m putting myself in that ‘letters to Forum are fake’ category, but I carried on reading.
   The main character Ana is not really so much a person as a blank screen on which the reader - mostly females - can project themselves.  She’s clumsy, a particularly uninteresting trope I’ve noticed, and she doesn’t think of herself as attractive at all, even though others clearly think she’s drop-dead gorgeous, including the whip-thin-yet-ripped, copper-haired, loose-pants-wearing, sexual deviant hero.  Ana falls victim to his whirlwind attentions, and - inexplicably - allows him to whisk her on his helicopter to his Bond-villain lair in Seattle.  Yes, Penthouse, I did say helicopter.  Which the twenty-seven-year-old gorgeous specimen of an anti-hero flies himself.  Because he has all that spare time from running his multi-million dollar manufacturing enterprise.

Once they’re in his crisp, white, impossibly chic and hip penthouse (HA!), things get hot and heavy.  He shows her his ‘playroom,’ where he keeps his whips, chains, restraints, and cages, and she does not run screaming to the police.  No, she signs an NDA and they discuss his ‘dominance’ contract.
    It was about here, Penthouse, that I started feeling uneasy.  Dirty, even.  Then, a few e-pages later, we got to the pornography.  And I’m not engaging in hyperbole here, Penthouse, this is real pornography, graphic details of Ana’s first ever sexual encounter.  Encounters, there’s the bed, then the tub, then the bed again.  Maybe this is the thing for this genre, if this is a genre other than porn, but it’s not something I’m used to reading in a book.  In the letters section of a magazine, however...

It all went downhill from there, Penthouse.  The heroine goes home after her night with Christian Grey, and tries to return to normalcy.  But she’s just too stupid... sorry... too obsessed with him and his sinister, controlling ways to let it go.  Because he’s a millionaire - as all freaky, under-thirty, super-sexy BDSM guys have to be, I suppose - he can lavish gifts and clothes on her in an attempt to ‘woo’ her.  This, of course, makes her a prostitute as well as stupid, but even though Ana realizes this it doesn’t seem to bother her all that much.  Not enough to give the stuff back, anyway.
   There were more sex scenes, Penthouse, bondage-type encounters that really made me cringe.  Honestly, it was like reading a gruesome description of murdering bunnies or something, which I suppose could be someone’s fetish but certainly isn’t mine any more than a good, crisp spanking is.  Yeah, spanking’s in there too, right before Ana realizes that she’s in over her head and needs to escape Christian Grey.  All that bondage and dominance, and it’s a spanking that does her in.  Go figure.  Oops, I hope I didn’t spoil the story for you, Penthouse.  Oh well, if you don’t want to read the book now, I suppose it’s all my fault.  Darn me and my clumsy writing...

All in all, Penthouse, it was a particularly uncomfortable experience.  The ‘story’ part of the book felt like the string on a pearl necklace, just there to tie the glistening orbs of pornography together.  The characters aren’t really characters, they’re not even archetypes, they’re just bodies with impossible back stories and hollow motivations.

If I were you, Penthouse, I’d give this book a pass.  Reading the letters in your Forum section is much more honest.

-- DH 

Next week:
   Inferno  by Dan Brown
   I'm dipping a toe into the 'DaVinci Code' water, where I've never swam before.  Clearly my standards have been reduced after 'Fifty Shades of Porn.'