Fifty Shades of Dull

AFTER so much online debate, I finally caved and purchased Fifty Shades of Grey. Based on the Twilight series with beginnings as a work of fan fiction, it is fair to say I had low expectations for this book which has been widely branded as ‘mummy porn’.

I could argue that it is demeaning to women to assume that we all suppress a secret urge to be tied up and spanked. However, the ridiculous amount of sales this book has achieved would put that argument to rest pretty quickly.
Perhaps I should pretend to take a feminist stance and argue that it is the term ‘mummy porn’ that bothers me so much about this book. But if I am honest, I was just plain bored.

There is nothing ground-breaking here if contrasted with the movement of eroticism since the turn of the 19th century. Writers such as Anais Nin and D.H Lawrence paved the way for erotica as a form of literature a long time before Ms E. L James came along. Marketing this book as anything other than the cheap chick-lit that it is not only disrespects erotica as a genre but also those who spent the money to read this expecting so much more.

A young virgin having an earth-shattering sexual experience followed by a drawn out battle to marry the man who wishes to be her ‘dom’ is so far from erotica it is laughable.

I do not wish to judge what others respond to, but the only feelings this book aroused in me were feelings of despair for what is a well-respected genre.

This book is not only poorly written and repetitive, but it also uses expletives to try to add sexual tension where none exists.

Long gone are the days of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. If this is what passes for erotic literature now, I fear for the future of the genre.

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