Review by Gregg E. Brickman


Which roughly translates to Oh Mr. Grey?

Who knew?

The Fifty Shades Trilogy by E.L. James is a long romance.  It has all the required components.  Boy meets girl.  Both he and she are hot for each other.  They have challenges and issues, break up and make up, and eventually live happily ever after.  That’s the contract the writer makes with the reader–an emotionally satisfying ending.

I confess, I haven’t read a lot of erotica–erotic passages mixed into a story, theoretically to advance the plot, yes.  Pure eroticism, not so much.  I’m reminded of when I was young and watched a hard-core porn video.  More accurately, I watched part of the video.  The point is the rather thin plot’s purpose was to tie a ribbon–or maybe a cable tie– around the sex. Fifty Shades is like that, tuning up my vocabulary while describing kinky f—ery in great detail.  In truth, it wasn’t just the POV character, Ana, who found the multiple orgasms tiresome, this reader did as well but in a different context.

Several friends said they gave it up–reading, I mean– in the middle of the third book.   They simply didn’t care enough about the story and the characters to read through the kinky sex, which becomes increasingly redundant.  I suppose there are only so many ways.

Sex sells.  Kinky sex sells.  I suspect we will see a rash of orgasmic fiction–which doesn’t necessarily mean it is fit-to-read story telling.  But it does put autoeroticism in a whole new light.