Your One Stop Procrastination Shop
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Are you reading The Boss? Are you dying at the wait between chapters? Then today’s Saturday Conversation over at That’s What I’m Talking About will be of particular interest to you! Head on over there and find out what the big news is, then stay and discuss chapter four!
Before D-Rock smashes me in the throat with her smartphone to fix my thyroid, watch this episode of Roadhouse, where we chew the fat and give you the skinny on body image problems.
That was a pun.
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I’ll be closing the poll up today, but it looks like the results are pretty much in. Only two people strenuously objected to monetizing the blog, and so to those two people I say: sorry to disappoint you, but I understand completely that you must stick to your convictions. I’ll be adding an option for donations via Google wallet in the next few days, as well as a Flattr button, because while some of you have expressed a desire to donate without having to sign up for some other service, I like the idea of Flattr. Those of you who use Flattr can feel free to use it, otherwise, the other option will be there.
I will also be opening Troutmart, a Zazzle.com shop for all your snarky mug and t-shirt needs. More to come, because that shit is confusing and I’ve got some deadlines.
Annelia sent me these links, which are… phew. These are doozies, and will no doubt be enormously triggering to some of you, so… you know, warning, there are real images of domestic violence in progress in these links, and images of children witnessing domestic violence. The first is Photographer as Witness: A Portrait of Domestic Violence, and the other is I Am Unbeatable: Donna Ferrato’s Commitment to Abused Women.
*Subtly moves from DV links directly into recap*
So, if you don’t remember from last time, Ana was gearing up for this huge confrontation with the bitch architect who was going to steal her husband. Ana’s husband, not the architect’s – oh, never mind, you know what I was saying. But yeah, Ana got all tarted up to have some kind of vamp-off with this woman who… well, I’m getting ahead of myself. What are Gia Matteo’s defining characteristics, beyond the cardinal sin of being female?
Gia Matteo is a good-looking woman – a tall, good-looking woman.
So, that’s two strikes.
She wears her short, salon-blonde, perfectly layered and coiffed hair like a sophisticated crown.
I can’t decide if the blonde hair is a ball or a strike, since it’s “salon-blonde” and not “naturally blonde.” The latter indicates a genetic predilection towards evil man-stealing, while the former is merely the mark of a wannabe man-stealer, right? I can never keep my girl hate straight.
But it doesn’t matter, because she strikes out like the 2003 Tigers with her next sin:
Her clothes look expensive.
This is a really interesting theme that has run through all three books. Ana seems to have a very jaundiced view of people with money. She snarks Kate’s wealth and the generosity of her parents. One of her chief objections to dating Christian Grey was that he had too much money, and his wealth made her uncomfortable. She’s often saying how she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to having money. She passes all sorts of wacky judgement on other characters for having money, but most of them are helping her out financially. I wonder if Ana is just unable to face the reality that she hasn’t pulled herself up by her bootstraps, but has relied on the generosity of others.
She is well groomed – one of those women who grew up with money and breeding, though her breeding seems to be lacking this evening; her pale blue blouse is undone too far. Like mine. I flush.
Still not real clear on if Ana is trying to out-sexy Gia, or if she’s trying to have sex with her.
They do the standard greeting thing where Ana overanalyzes everything the other person does, a dig about the fact Gia is wearing mascara (unlike Ana who clumped that shit on in the last chapter) and then Christian puts his arm around Ana.
See… he’s mine. Annoying – infuriating, even – but mine. I grin. Right now, I really love you, Christian Grey.
Because she’s “winning” the “competition” (which I’m pretty sure Gia has no clue she’s participating in), Ana can forgive everything Christian has done to make her mad. To further express her happiness and possession of another human being, Ana squeezes Christian’s butt.
How uncomfortable would that make you, if you were Gia? If I were Gia, it would make me very uncomfortable. I would wonder if they were going to offer to make me their third. And I definitely would not want to fuck them, thanks.
[…] I’m gripped by the uncanny feeling that Christian and I are putting on a show, playing a game together – but this time we’re on the same side pitted against Ms. Matteo. Does he know that she’s attracted to him and is being too obvious about it? It gives me a small rush of pleasure when I realize maybe he’s trying to reassure me. Or maybe he’s just sending a message loud and clear to this woman that he’s taken.
Mine. Yeah, bitch – mine. My inner goddess is wearing her gladiatrix outfit, and she’s taking no prisoners.
Is it just me, or is this excerpt making Ana sounding just as awful as Christian? The only value she places on him here is as an object. I suppose it would be easy to blame Christian in this one; he is, after all, the only romantic interest she’s ever had, and he is “guiding” her through how to be in a relationship. But we’ve seen Ana act selfishly about the people in her life before she was married to Christian. Is this a learned behavior? Or is Ana just as fucking terrible as Christian? Discuss.
So, they start to talk out the plans for the house, and Gia casually touches Christian. So, okay, she may be crossing the line or making a play. Or, she might just be naturally touchy. Some people are. She just touches his arm, but since we know Christian doesn’t like to be touched, he gets all stiff and formal.
She makes him uncomfortable. Why didn’t I see that before? That’s why I don’t like her.
Yeah, that’s why you don’t like her.
They talk about the plans for the house, which I am so fucking not interested in, so I’m skipping all of that part. I don’t think you guys care if they have a glass wall or an alfresco dining room, either. Christian actually lets Ana drive the plans, though, which is nice:
“Like the bright blue shutters in the South of France,” I murmur to Christian, who is watching me intently. He takes a sip of wine and shrugs, very noncommittal. Hmm. He doesn’t like that idea but he doesn’t overrule me, shoot me down, or make me feel stupid. God, this man is a mass of contradictions. His words from yesterday come to mind: “I want this house to be the way you want. Whatever you want. It’s yours.” He wants me to be happy – happy in everything I do.
Unless you would be happy doing something he doesn’t want you to do. In that case, fuck you.
Notice the subtle misogyny in the fact that Christian considers the house Ana’s domain. He trusts her to decorate, but not run her own career or life. The house, though, that’s all her.
The entire exchange with Gia alternates between “Blah blah blah, boring house plan, blah blah blah stay away from my man, bitch.” Ana decides she’s going to have words with Gia:
When I turn to Christian, he’s still looking at me – not at her at all. Yes! I am going to have words with Ms. Matteo.
If he had been expressing sexual interest in Gia, would Ana refrain from having these words? Gosh, when will an opportunity pop up, where you can be alone with her?
There’s a discreet cough from the entrance to the great room. We three turn as one to find Taylor standing there.
“Taylor?” Christian asks.
“I need to confer with you on an urgent matter, Mr. Grey.”
Of course you do. Because like three paragraphs before, Ana was just thinking how she was going to “have words” with the architect. Christian is conveniently called away by the author, and Ana gets to have her confrontation.
“So… the master suite?” Gia asks nervously.
I gaze up at her, pausing for a moment to ensure that Christian and Taylor are out of earshot. Then, calling on all my inner strength and the fact that I’ve been seriously piqued for the last five hours, I let her have it.
“You’re right to be nervous, Gia, because right now your work on this project hangs in the balance. But I’m sure we’ll be fine as long as you keep your hands off my husband.”
Wait, what? Hangs in what balance? I thought that was an expression you generally only used if you were mentioning two other things. So that there was a balance to hang in. I suppose “my husband” and “your work” would be those two things, but it seems weird to mention the two opposing things after the fact.
But there I go again, expecting waaaaay too much of the use of colloquial English in the best selling series of all time.
Ana warns Gia that she’s about to get her ass fired, and Gia is like, “But it isn’t him I want. It’s you.” And then they grab each other and hate fuck right on top of the plans.
Okay, that’s not what happens. But wouldn’t be awesome if that’s what happened?
What actually happens is that they have a stare-off. There’s some adverb or adjective that could be applied to the manner in which Ana conducts herself at this time, but fucked if I can remember which one it is…
But I hold my ground, gazing impassively into her widening brown eyes.
Don’t back down. Don’t back down! I’ve learned this maddening impassive expression from Christian, who does impassive like no one else.
Fuck, I wish I could remember what adverb or adjective that could be used at a time like this, to describe an emotionless glare. I feel like it’s right on the tip of my tongue, too. I’m sure if I heard it, or some variation of it, several times in close succession, I might understand exactly how Ana is staring at Gia.
What is it with three letter names in this series? Ana, Gia, Mia. Ana Gia Mia. That sounds like an Italian car. “The Fiat Anagiamia’s production was halted, because too many of the plant workers were committing suicide.”
“Let me be clear. My husband is not interested in you.”
“Of course,” she murmurs, the blood draining from her face.
“As I said, I just wanted to be clear.”
And to totally not sound desperately in need of proving something to yourself.
Now that I have the upper hand, I feel myself relax for the first time since my meeting with Christian this afternoon. I can do this. My inner goddess is celebrating her inner bitch.
His eyes grow wide in alarm. “You’re not jealous, are you?” he asks, horrified.
It’s horrific that Ana is jealous? I guess I can see where he’s coming from. I mean, he has to be jealous. Ana is a woman, and therefore she’ll just relentlessly fuck every male in her path if she doesn’t have a man to be jealous at her whenever those rival males are in proximity. But Ana being jealous is just… well, that’s silly.
“Ana, she’s a sexual predator. Not my type at all. […]”
I choose to believe the wording of the sentence was meant to imply that Gia isn’t Christian’s type of sexual predator. Because Christian certainly burns a fucking torch for Mrs. Robinson, didn’t he? And she wasn’t exactly not a sexual predator. She looked at a severely emotionally disturbed teenager and thought, “Ah, I can fuck that. He’s just broken enough to go for it.”
I thought Ana would jump directly on a chance to slam Elena, but Christian is still kind of stuck on this “how can you be jealous of me” thing and he’s not getting unstuck any time soon.
“How can you think otherwise? Have I ever given you any indication that I could be remotely interested in anyone else?” His eye blaze as he stares into mine.
Okay, here’s the thing, Chedward. Jealousy has nothing to do with the other person, and everything to do with the person experiencing the jealousy. You, Chedward, have no self-worth, hence your incessant and ridiculous posturing. Pro-tip? Ana has no self-worth, either. What little she might have had has been systematically destroyed by your “love,” so she’s constantly doubting she’s good enough to keep you from straying. You’re both in the same boat. Despite any evidence to the contrary, you believe she’s going to fuck around on you, so you treat her even worse, which in turn causes you to doubt she could ever love you, and, fuck it, you know what? This is hard to explain, let me provide a handy diagram:
“Oh, Christian” – my bottom lip trembles – “I’m trying to adapt to this new life that I had never imagined for myself. Everything is being handed to me on a plate – the job, you, my beautiful husband who I never… I never knew I’d love this way, this hard, this fast, this… indelibly.” I take a deep, steadying breath as his mouth drops open.
“But you’re like a freight train, and I don’t want to get railroaded because the girl you fell in love with will be crushed.
Let’s give E.L. a hand here, for not mixing a metaphor for the very first time in all three books. This calls for some kind of celebration.
And what’ll be left? All that would be left is a vacuous social X-ray, flitting from charity function to charity function.” I pause once more, struggling to find the words to convey how I feel. “And now you want me to be a company CEO, which has never even been on my radar. I’m bouncing between all these ideas, struggling. You want me at home. You want me to run a company. It’s so confusion.” I stop, tears threatening, and I force back a sob.
So, when I started recaping the first book, people would get furious with me. They would be like, “It’s a series! You have to read the whole thing to see how the characters develop! You must not understand how a series works!”
“I just want to give you the world, Ana, everything and anything you want. And save you from it, too. Keep you safe. But I also want everyone to know you’re mine. I panicked today when I got your e-mail. Why didn’t you tell me about your name?”
I flush. He has a point.
See? Immediately it becomes about him again. He wants to give her everything she wants – but what he really wants is to give her everything he wants for her, and to force her to want it, too. But instead of saying, “Hey, jackass, do you hear yourself?” she rushes to tell him how much she loves him – by quoting King Lear – and tries to reassure him that he’s the only one for her. She does, however, ask him if he would consider taking her name, if having the same last name means so much to him:
“Would you change your name to Christian Steele so everyone would know that you belong to me?”
Christian’s eyes fly open, and he gazes at me as if I’ve just said the world is flat. He frowns. “Belong to you?” he murmurs, testing the words.
He then agrees that he would, if it meant a lot to her. Spoiler alert? He doesn’t. And even if he did, it wouldn’t make up for aaaaaaall the other shit he’s done to her. The fact that he can’t even comprehend “belonging” to her the way he feels she “belongs” to him is a big, neon sign that he really does consider other people possessions instead of, you know. People.
“Does it mean that much to you?”
“Yes.” He is unequivocal.
“Okay.” I will do this for him. Give him the reassurance he still needs.
Boom. Right there. This is not a book about how a woman becomes empowered. This is a book about how a woman tricks herself into believing that she is empowered.
But hey, at least she’s going to get a reward:
“Mrs. Grey, do you know what this means to me?”
“I do now.”
He leans down and kisses me, his fingers moving into my hair, holding me in place.
“It means seven shades of Sunday,” he murmurs against my lips, and he runs his nose along mine.
See, this book isn’t anti-feminist at all! Stupid Jen, not understanding how the fact that he’s willing to pay lip service to her concerns by saying he would do something he ultimately doesn’t do and then rewards her by letting her have sex with him means this is the paragon of female enlightenment.
But just in case you think she’s earned this reward too easily…
“I need you to cut my hair. Apparently, it’s overlong, and my wife doesn’t like it.”
When Ana is all, hey asshole, I’m not a stylist, he says:
“Okay, good point well made. I’ll get Franco to do it.”
No! Franco works for the bitch troll!
Maybe I could give him a trim. After all, I cut Ray’s hair for years, and he never complained.
I like how she says “after all,” like that’s totally a given that someone has been giving their dad his haircuts for years. Like, “everyone does this, right?”
So, Ana is going to sexily wash Chedward’s hair, but they just can’t keep their hands off each other. Their desire is painstakingly detailed by the author, who has a masterful grasp of the English language:
Sculptured, chiseled, whatever, it is a beautiful mouth and he knows exactly what to do with it.
Clearly, those words were chosen with the utmost care. “Sculptured, chiseled, whatever.” I’m going to start writing all my books that way. “He was gorgeous, or something, and I totally felt, I don’t know. Like I might want to fuck him. Or whatever.”
Christian doesn’t want to have sex with her, though, he really wants his hair cut:
“I want this,” he continues. And his eyes are round and raw for some inexplicable reason. It’s disarming.
“Why?” I whisper.
He stares at me for a beat, and his eyes grow wider. “Because it’ll make me feel cherished.”
Now, I hate to point out that yet again, Ana is doing something that she doesn’t want to do because it’s something Chedward wants. Or that there is a lot of needless drama surrounding a fucking haircut here. But what I really, really hate to call to anybody’s attention is that a haircut makes him feel “cherished.” Remember what Mrs. Robinson does?
Yeaaaaaah.
Right there, that could have been a more interesting conflict than the name thing, the architect, any of it. But guess what E.L. does with it?
That’s right. She ignores it and takes a self-indulgent trip to sexy haircut town.
Ana washes Christian’s hair, at one point getting water in his eyes.
“Hey, I know I’m an arse, but don’t drown me.”
Do it.
And then there’s more sexy hair washing I’m skipping because it’s sooooooooo goddamned long and pointless.
Who would have thought after our argument this afternoon he could be this relaxed? Without sex?
I like how Ana is already viewing sex as marriage maintenance.
I’m skipping the sex scenes from now on. They’re all exactly the fucking same. In this one, Ana has no idea what titty fucking is, but they don’t do it, they just talk about it, and it’s all the fucking same lines about fucking hard etc. until Chedward tells her to orgasm and she does, on command, and then of course she cries because it’s the most beautiful, emotional sex ever in the history of anything.
Ana ends up wearing Christian’s shirt, a garter belt and stockings, and then she scampers off to get the scissors so she can finish Christian’s haircut.
Guys, this haircut is fifteen fucking trade-sized pages long. You probably could go get a haircut, start reading about this haircut, and then still not be finished with it by the time your hair was done.
So, Ana goes to get the scissors, as I was saying, and…
Okay, do you have your cigarettes handy?
As I enter the main corridor, I notice the door to Taylor’s office is open. Mrs. Jones is standing just beyond the door. I stop, rooted to the spot.
Taylor is running his fingers down her face and smiling sweetly at her. Then he leans down and kisses her.
Wow! I’m reeling. I always thought Mrs. Jones was older than Taylor. Oh, I have to get my head around this.
Not, “Wow, how weird, my domestic servants have hooked up, Bates and Anna style.” No, she needs to get her head around the fact that a man would want to fuck an older woman. And yet, she’s super jealous that her husband might fuck Mrs. Robinson. CAN ANYONE IN THESE FUCKING BOOKS HAVE ANY LEVEL OF LOGICAL CONSISTENCY? AT ALL?
But then Ana opens a drawer in Christian’s office and finds a gun.
I open the top drawer and am immediately distracted when I find a gun. Christian has a gun!
You know how they say people who own a gun for home defense are more likely to be killed by their own gun than they are to kill an intruder? That claim is kind of bullshit, but whatever, I wish it was real now that I know Chedward owns a gun.
A revolver. Holy fuck! I had no idea Christian owned a gun. I take it out, slip the release, and check the cylinder. It’s fully loaded, but light… too light. It must be carbon fiber.
I’m not sure there are full carbon fiber revolvers you can just buy. If there are, someone leave a link in the comments, because I’m actually interested to know if there are. You can certainly get a carbon fiber grip for a handgun, probably for a revolver, but it seems like if you made a revolver completely out of carbon fiber it would be super expensive to produce and it would probably have a fucking crazy kick that would possibly affect your accuracy on repeat shots. I can’t imagine what the customer base would be for a totally carbon fiber revolver. They make sniper rifles with carbon fiber barrels, but it seems like it would just be super impractical for a mass produced revolver.
What does Christian want with a gun?
Wanna know how I know the author isn’t American?
I put the gun back and find the scissors.
I vote you use the gun to cut his hair, Ana.
Ana runs into Taylor in the hallway, and she’s embarrassed because she’s half undressed. So, of course the first thing Ana does is tell Chedward that his bodyguard has seen her dressed provocatively, because she likes to make everyone’s lives so super easy:
“I just ran into Taylor.”
“Oh.” Christian frowns. “Dressed like that?”
Oh shit! “That’s not Taylor’s fault.”
Christian’s frown deepens. “No. But still.”
“I’m dressed.”
“Barely.”
Demand for circumspection coming from the man who has his cleaning lady wash his buttplugs.
Ana asks Christian if he knew Mrs. Jones and Taylor were knocking the boots:
“Ana, they’re adults. They live under the same roof. Both unattached. Both attractive.”
Right, because everyone knows that two attractive people who are single MUST FUCK.
“Well, if you put it like that… I just thought Gail was older than Taylor.”
“She is, but not by much.” He gazes at me, perplexed. “Some men like older women – ” He stops abruptly and his eyes widen.
I scowl at him. “I know that,” I snap.
I hope this book ends with an explosion in which everyone except Taylor and Mrs. Jones are killed.
“I was thinking we could convert the rooms over the garages for them at the new place,” Christian continues. “Make it a home. Then maybe Taylor’s daughter could stay with him more often.” He watches me carefully in the mirror.
“Why doesn’t she stay here?”
“Taylor’s never asked me.”
“Perhaps you should offer. But we’d have to behave ourselves.”
Christian’s brow furrows. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
You hadn’t thought that maybe Taylor didn’t want to bring his daughter, whom he has the occasional weekend custody of, to the apartment where his boss makes women kneel naked on the floor, waiting to serve him sexually, exclusively on the weekends? Why wouldn’t he want to bring his child into that environment?
Christian tells Ana that he pays for Taylor’s daughter’s schooling:
“Seemed the least I could do. Also, it means he won’t quit.”
ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? This is how Christian Grey gets loyalty from his employees?! He puts the happiness of their children at stake?! Christian Grey cannot get through life without controlling every aspect of every other person around him. And people let him? This isn’t about being left alone with his mother’s body. Christian Grey is a dangerous person who doesn’t understand personal boundaries or individual autonomy.
There is a reason Ana’s subconscious is constantly reading Dickens. Because Christian Grey is Ebenezer Scrooge. This isn’t Twilight fanfic, it’s A Christmas Carol fanfic. The prompt was clearly, “What if Scrooge was a young dude, and he had some dummy telling him it’s totally okay to ignore his conscience at every turn?” And Snowqueen’s Ice Dragon grabbed that prompt in her utterly incapable hands and made this.
This guy. This fucking guy.
I hate this guy.
So much.
Flames.
On the sides of my face.
Ana tells him basically that of course he doesn’t have to do stuff like that to keep people close to him, because Taylor really likes him and blah blah blah because Christian Grey is somehow the man everyone wants a piece of despite the fact that he’s truly horrible. Sometimes, when I’m really down in depression and telling myself I’m a piece of shit and no one loves me, I stop and think, “No. No, you’re not Christian Grey. If he deserves love, then so do you.”
Ana cuts his hair, and of course it’s perfect because she does everything perfectly, all the time, nonstop perfection because she’s a fucking Mary Sue, and then there’s a section break and she goes to bed.
“What?” he says as he climbs into bed beside me wearing only his pajama pants.
Does he usually wear a three fucking piece suit to bed?
Ana tells him she doesn’t want to run SIP, and he argues with her about whether or not she wants to run SIP, because he obviously knows better than she does what she wants.
“You see,” he continues, “running a successful company is all about embracing the talent of the individuals you have at your disposal. If that’s where your talents and your interests lie, then you structure the company to enable that. Don’t dismiss it out of hand, Anastasia. […]”
Oh please, tell us more about how to successfully run a business, Mr. If-You-Fuck-Me-I’ll-Buy-You-A-Company.
Then Ana asks him something about tying him up during sex, and he wouldn’t be down with that, and then they’re going to have sex again:
And soon we’re lost… lost in each other again.
I wish you were lost at sea. I wish you were lost in a haunted castle with a murderer on the loose. But the good news is, the chapter is over, so we don’t have to see them get lost in each other.
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Today I was feeling super unfocused, fatigued, and unproductive (because I have health problems, yo), and I decided the best way for me to feel productive would be to complete a simple task from my work to-do list today. Lucky for people who read The Boss, the only easy thing on the list was posting chapter four. So, chapter four is available now, here.
In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will recap every episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Well, okay. Not really “alone” because a lot of people do it. Shut up, you don’t know her life. Anyway, in every generation there is a chosen one. She will recap every episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer with an eye to the following themes:
“You’ve tasted it. I’m your faithful dog. You bring me scraps.”
The Master says he’s waited for “three score years” stuck in the Hellmouth (I don’t know how long that is) and when he ascends everybody better hope he’s in a better mood. Holy shit, I’m pretty sure I’ve had that argument with my husband before.
One thing that does perk The Master up a little is the knowledge that there could be a slayer close by. Then we cut back to the library, where Giles explains what a slayer is:
“Alright. The Slayer hunts vampires. Buffy is a slayer. Don’t tell anyone. Well, I think that’s all the vampire information you need.”
Buffy says that since she let Jessie get kidnapped, he’s her responsibility, even though Xander wants to go in all guns a-blazin’ and Willow wants to go to the police. Then we’re back in the Hellmouth, where Jessie is standing around listening to Luke and The Master talk. The good news for Jessie is, they’re not going to murder him right away. They’re going to use him as bait, to try and lure the slayer to them.
Back in ye olde school library that no students beside Buffy, Xander, and Willow go to, Willow finds some plans for the underground utilities in Sunnydale. The utility tunnels and sewers are basically an underground city for the vamps, who can move about freely without ever having to go into the blazing hot sunlight that would kill them. You know, like people who live in Houston scurry about underground to avoid the weather. Call me crazy, but the last thing I would vote for, were I on Sunnydale’s city council, is any improvement of modern civilization that would make it easier for vampires to get me. Of course, this is assuming that anyone in Sunnydale has ever actually noticed the vampires in their midst.
Xander: “So what’s the plan? We saddle up, right?”
Buffy: “There’s no ‘we,’ okay? I’m the slayer, and you’re not.”
Xander: “I knew you’d throw that back in my face.”
Buffy: “Xander, this is deeply dangerous.”
Xander: “I’m inadequate. That’s fine. I’m less than a man.”
No, Xander, you fucking prick. You’re not less than a man. You’re less than a slayer. And the slayer is always female, so you’ll always be less than a particular female. You can’t handle the idea that Buffy might be stronger than you because #5. If you’re not stronger than Buffy, you can’t save Buffy, thus making her beholden to repay you in sexual attention.
“This is just too much. Yesterday my life’s like, ‘uh-oh, pop quiz.” Today it’s ‘rain of toads.'”
I like this motivation a lot more than his previous, “I’m a man, therefore I should have my maleness constantly validated,” argument. I totally get and can sympathize with “I know something is wrong but there’s nothing I can do to fix it.” That should have been the angle the writers worked all along, instead of, “My maleness is diminished by letting a woman take charge.”
At the crypt, Buffy finds the secret entrance, and Angel finds Buffy. She asks him if he has a key, and he makes it clear that he’s not a part of The Master’s gang. Which is all well and good, but if he didn’t use the secret entrance, how did he get into the crypt in the middle of daylight in the first place? At this point Buffy doesn’t know that Angel is a vampire, the audience doesn’t know that Angel is a vampire, but still… when we do eventually find out halfway through the first season, it’s hard not to think back to this time when Angel was out wandering around in broad fucking daylight, since he couldn’t get through that locked door:
So, after getting some stern twitter words from some of you, and some emails, and some comments, and basically nonstop, Phillip J. Fry shouts of “Shut up and take my money,” I am ready to quite uncomfortably approach the subject of donate buttons and other forms of remuneration for my time.
In the past, when people have asked me, “How can I pay you for this,” I’ve said, “Go buy one of my books.” It’s only recently that people have started saying, “No. I mean I want to give you money.” And god love you for knowing how publishing works. But I’m quite uncomfortable with the idea of getting paid, even in donations, for blogging. When I started this blog, it was as a way to raise awareness of and further my own writing career. That’s why authors blog. For publicity. But when I started recapping 50 Shades of Grey, I was at a point where I was seriously considering that my career might be over. I hadn’t contracted a book with a New York publisher since 2009, reviews and sales for my fantasy series had been overwhelmingly disappointing (time will tell on that one, Melville style), and while Abigail Barnette was doing quite well for herself, she wasn’t doing quite as well as Jennifer Armintrout had done. I figured my writing days were somewhat over, so I could do whatever I wanted on my blog (which no one was reading, anyway). If you doubt the veracity of this claim, I urge you to check out the entries pre-50 Shades recaps, where I posted cupcake recipes and pictures of smiley fries that resembled James Carville. So, when the blog exploded and there was this renewed interest in what I was doing, my biggest hope was that I would end up getting a little more work thrown my way.
Holy cow, was more work thrown my way. In addition to my involvement in the 50 Writers on 50 Shades of Grey anthology, I’ve done interviews, launched The Boss, and embarked on an entirely new phase of my career writing YA. And on top of it all, I found this amazing tribe of weirdos. All of this should be thanks enough, right? But there are still some people totally like:
So, tl;dr, I’ve been resistant to the notion of putting up a donate button or anything like that. But enough of you have asked that I decided I would put this up for debate via poll, here on the blog. I’ll go with whatever you guys decide. If you could take a second and answer some brief questions, I’d be grateful. I guess I’ll give it a week and see what happens?
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Here’s Roadhouse, episode 19, where we’re going to talk about Klango Fett and body image:
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A lot of you have left comments or tweeted or emailed me to let me know about the broken links on the main recap page. Thank you so much, everyone, because while I knew one or two posts were missing, I had no idea there were soooo many of them with broken links. I will be working to get these fixed, I promised. Right now, I have to figure out if they’re broken because I messed up, or because the posts didn’t export to this blog, or something like that. Please know that I am working on it.
Now, I want to introduce you to someone very special.
Ana tells Christian she recognizes it’s Jack from his earrings and the shape of his shoulders and build. She thinks he’s wearing a wig, or he’s cut and dyed his hair. Which throws me for a bit of a loop, because I had been visualizing Jack Hyde as Rufus from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.
“you seem to have studied your ex-boss in some detail, Mrs. Grey,” he murmurs, sounding none too pleased.
“Was it about you, or me?”
“Me.” He sighs.
“What sort of things? About your lifestyle?”
I love that this is still being portrayed as something that would ruin Christian Grey, both personally and professionally. He likes to spank women in his sex dungeon. As far as I’m aware, that’s probably the first and mildest vice anyone is going to suspect a billionaire of getting up to. I mean, off the top of my head, I imagine Donald Trump jacks off while personally slaughtering the urban foxes that are later fashioned into his stupid wigs (and he can’t sue me for saying that because THIS POST IS INTENDED AS SATIRE). So, “He’s into some kink,” isn’t going to shock the plebs, we all think rich people are up to deviant shit nonstop. It isn’t as though Christian Grey is making snuff films or feeding unruly servants to eels or anything.
Apparently, the car Jack Hyde drives is a 2006 Camaro. You guys, I’m so glad this came up, because CAR PORN TIMES:
“Well, Mrs. Grey, it seems that you are not only decorative, but useful, too.” Christian’s eyes light up with wicked amusement. I know he’s teasing.
Oh, so he doesn’t really think you’re useful? I assume that’s the part he’s teasing you about. What the shit is that? He’s saying, quite clearly, that the only value he thought Ana had was her looks. Did he go to the Dowager Countess Grantham School For Backhanded Compliments?
“Hungry?” he asks.
“No.”
“I am.”
“What for?”
“Well – food actually.”
OMG, they flipped it! This time it wasn’t about sex! E.L. James is truly a treasure of human wit! They have the longest conversation ever about what he wants to eat, and they repeatedly call each other Mr. and Mrs. Grey because it wasn’t tiresome at all when they were calling each other Mr. Grey and Miss Steele, and I certainly can’t get enough of it and I hope it just keeps going on and on and on until one or both of them is dead by my hand.
Ana goes to the kitchen to make the MOST NEEDLESSLY DRAMATIC SANDWICH OF ALL TIME:
“Um – so what does Christian like in a, um… sub?” I frown, struck by what I’ve just said. Does Mrs. Jones understand the inference?
Ana seems to actually believe that everyone in the universe is obsessed with Christian Grey’s sex life. What’s spooky is, since this book has come out, that’s kind of become true.
“Barefoot and in the kitchen,” he murmurs.
“Shouldn’t that be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?” I smirk.
He stills, his whole body tensing against me. “Not yet,” he declares, apprehension clear in his voice.
Too late, dummies!
They continue to make the MOST NEEDLESSLY DRAMATIC SANDWICH OF ALL TIME until a section break, after which Christian and Ana look over the plans for the remodel of their new house, and it turns into what I’m sure was an unintentional metaphor for their entire relationship:
“[…] I fell in love with the house as it was… warts and all.”
Christian’s brow furrows as if this is anathema to him.
BOOM. The reason I know this is totally unintentional on E.L. James’s part is because it’s clear from her repeated statements in the media that she doesn’t find their relationship unhealthy at all. But right here, we have Ana, the girl Christian picked to mold and shape and change through all his bullshit contract requirements about what to eat and how she’s supposed to work out and what clothing she’s allowed to wear, saying she likes something as it is, even if it’s not her idea of perfection, and he can’t possibly understand the concept. Now, I’m 100% fucking certain that E.L. put this in to show us that Christian doesn’t understand how Ana can love him as he is, without changing, or to prove to the reader that Ana really can love him despite all his flaws. But it actually says more about Christian’s inability to have a relationship with anyone he isn’t controlling and smashing into the mold he wants them to fit into.
After they’re done looking at the plans for the house, which includes more talk about how they don’t want to start a family yet, because when E.L. James looked up “foreshadowing” in the dictionary, this picture was next to the definition:
We have sat here three, maybe four times total, and Christian usually reads a book. He’s not interested in television at all. I curl up beside him on the couch, tucking my legs beneath me and resting my head against his shoulder. He switches on the flat-screen television with the remote and flicks mindlessly through the channels.
“Any specific drivel you want to see?”
Try not to be too condescending there, Chedward.
I’m going to get on my soapbox here and say:
I flush. “Of course.” Well, kind of…
“What! Who with?”
Oh no. I do not want to have this discussion.
“Tell me,” he persists.
I gaze down at my knotted fingers. He gently covers my hands with one of his. When I glance up at him, he’s smiking at me.
“I want to know. So I can beat whoever it was to a pulp.”
I giggle. “Well, the first time…”
“The first time! There’s more than one fucker?” He growls.
“We’re supposed to be making out.” I groan.
Christian stills. “I thought we were.”
“No. No sex.”
And then they have sex. Okay, so I get the whole, “let’s not have sex/let’s have sex now” thing is often used in romantic scenes, but this concerns me because remember, when they’re doing BDSM stuff nowadays, they’re not using safe words anymore, he’s just going to stop when she asks to stop. But right here, she has initiated sexual activity, she’s saying, “No sex,” and the first thing he does is set off on a quest to get her to have intercourse. He won’t play by the rules of her game, probably because they’re her rules. This isn’t inspiring a lot of confidence for that whole, “We don’t need safe words,” thing.
After boring and repetitive sex, Christian turns the sound on the tv to watch X-Files. He says he liked the show when he was a kid, but Ana says it was before her time. Wait, what? This book was published in 2011, right? So Ana was twenty-two in 2011, meaning she was thirteen when The X-Files was cancelled. Now, I can see why maybe a kid who’s ten or eleven wouldn’t be into the show, and there’s no law that everyone has to watch The X-Files.
Which reminds me… I shift, propping myself up on my elbows to see him better. “Why were you shouting at Sawyer?”
He stiffens immediately. Oh shit.
“Because we were followed.”
“That wasn’t Sawyer’s fault.”
He gazes at me levelly. “They should never have let you get so far in front. They know that.”
“Look, I realize that it was my choice to drive separately from our security, but they’re the ones who had the audacity to not be in the car with us when we were being followed. Also, they should have kept up with us, even though I encouraged you to drive like ninety miles an hour in an R8 when they were in an SUV. They should have swapped out for a sports car at the drop of a hat.”
“Enough!” Christian is suddenly curt. “This is not up for discussion, Anastasia. It’s a fact, and they won’t let it happen again.”
Anastasia! I am Anastasia when I am in trouble, just like at home with my mother.
Because your husband infantilizes you. He’s also clearly an American Conservative, because he’s insisting his opinion is a fact and refusing to entertain common sense.
Ana asks Christian if they ever caught up to the woman in the Dodge:
“Sawyer saw someone with their hair tied back, but it was a brief look. He assumed it was a woman. Now, given that you’ve identified that fucker, maybe it was him. He wore his hair like that.” The disgust in Christian’s voice is palpable.
But I thought Jack Hyde drove a Camaro. Oh, please. Don’t do this to me, E.L. Please tell me you know the difference between Chevy and Dodge?
The next morning, Christian rides with Ana to work, but this time, security is in the car with them. They have the longest good-bye in the history of long good-byes. Why can’t these nimrods ever just say, “See you at five, have a good day?” Oh, because romance, I forgot.
Since Ana left on her honeymoon, shit has changed at SIP. For example:
Hannah is my assistant. She is tall, slim, and ruthlessly efficient to the point that sometimes I find her a little intimidating. But she’s sweet to me, in spite of the fact that she’s a couple of years older.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Errant Wives
Date: August 22 2011 09:56
To: Anastasia Steele
Wife
I sent the e-mail below and it bounced.
And it’s because you haven’t changed your name.
Something you want to tell me?
First of all, Christian, your email didn’t bounce because she hasn’t changed her name. It bounced because she hasn’t changed her email address. An hour after arriving at work, just back from her honeymoon, she hasn’t changed her email address to reflect her name change, and this is assumed to be a clear signal by her new husband? What a fucking psycho.
Ana emails him back saying she’s not planning to change her name at work, and asks to discuss it that evening, as she has a meeting to go to:
As the meeting progresses, I grow more and more uncomfortable. There’s a subtle change in how my colleagues are treating me – a distance and deference that wasn’t there before I left for my honeymoon. And from Courtney, who heads up the nonfiction division, there’s downright hostility. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but it goes some way to explaining Elizabeth’s odd greeting this morning.
My mind drifts back to the yacht, then to the playroom, then to the R8 speeding away from the mystery Dodge on I-5. Perhaps Christian’s right… perhaps I can’t do this anymore.
“If you’ll excuse me, Roach, I’d like a word with Ms. Steele.” Christian hisses the S sibilantly… sarcastically.
How do you not say “s” sibilantly? Either way, imagine Robert Pattinson saying this line, stressing every S. It will be the best laugh you’ve had in days. It certainly was for me.
After making a comment about how small her office is – expect a new office in an hour, Ana – Christian says:
“I’m just looking over my assets.”
“Your assets? All of them?”
“All of them. Some of them need rebranding.”
“Christian, I’m working.”
“Looked like you were gossiping with your assistant to me.”
Two women speaking to each other is always “gossiping” isn’t it? But when two men talk, even if they’re gossiping, it’s “networking” or “discussing.” Fuck this bullshit. I hope Christian Grey’s dick falls off.
There’s a knock on the door. “Come in!” I shout, too loudly.
Hannah opens the door and brings in a small tray. Milk jug, sugar bowl, coffee in a French press – she’s gone all out. She places the tray on my desk.
“Thank you, Hannah,” I mutter, embarrassed that I have just shouted so loudly.
“Do you need anything else, Mr. Grey?” she asks, all breathless. I want to roll my eyes at her.
“I like to make the odd impromptu visit. It keeps management on their toes, wives in their place. You know.”
“Are you ashamed of me?” he asks, his voice deceptively soft.
“No! Christian, of course not!” I scowl. “This is about me – not you.” Jeez, he’s exasperating sometimes. Silly overbearing megalomaniac.
“How is this not about me?” He cocks his head to one side, genuinely perplexed, some of his detachment slipping as he stares at me with wide eyes, and I realize that he’s hurt.
That’s called a narcissistic injury. Seriously, he can’t understand why someone would not want to advertise that they got their job by sleeping with the dude who owns the company? All he’s focusing on is that the object he acquired to have sex with doesn’t want to do as it’s told.
“Christian, when I took this job, I’d only just met you,” I say patiently, struggling to find the right words. “I didn’t know you were going to buy the company.”
What can I say about that event in our brief history? His deranged reasons for doing so – his control freakery, his stalker tendencies gone mad, given completely free reign because he is so wealthy. I know he wants to keep me safe, but it’s his ownership of SIP that is the fundamental problem here. If he’d never interfered, I could continue as normal and not have to face the disgruntled and whispered recrimination of my colleagues.
See, this concept is so simple, even Ana gets it. ANA GETS IT. I feel like I can’t stress how simple this is if Ana is able to grasp the fundamental truth of it.
Ana asks Christian why it’s so important that she change her name:
“I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”
“I am yours – look.” I hold up my left hand, showing my wedding and engagement rings.
“I want your world to begin and end with me,” he says, his expression raw. HIs comment completely derails me. It’s like he’s punched me hard in the stomach, winding and wounding me.
Ana says:
“It does,” I say without guile, because it’s the truth. “I’m just trying to establish a career, and I don’t want to trade on your name. I have to do something, Christian. I can’t stay imprisoned at Escala or the new house with nothing to do. I’ll go crazy. I’ll suffocate. I’ve always worked, and I enjoy this. This is my dream job; it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But doing this doesn’t mean I love you less. You are the world to me.” My throat swells and tears prick the backs of my eyes. I must not cry, not here. I repeat it over and over in my head. I must not cry. I must not cry.
Keeping in mind, this entire time, she’s at work. Have you ever worked with someone whose partner would show up at work and upset them? I have. It happens often in ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS.
And then, this bullshit happens:
“Look, we were talking about my name. I want to keep my name here because I want to put some distance between you and me… but only here, that’s all. You know everyone thinks I got the job because of you, when the reality is – ” I stop when his eyes widen. Oh no… it is because of him?
“Do you want to know why you got the job, Anastasia?”
Anastasia? Shit. “What? What do you mean?”
He shifts in his chair as if steeling himself. Do I want to know?
“The management here gave you Hyde’s job to babysit. They didn’t want the expense of hiring a senior executive when the company was mid-sale. They had no idea what the new owner would do with it once it passed into his ownership, and wisely, they didn’t want an expensive redundancy. So they gave you Hyde’s job to caretake until the new owner” – he pauses, and his lips twitch in an ironic smile – “namely me, took over.”
Holy crap! “What are you saying?” So it was because of him. Fuck! I’m horrified.
“So one of the reasons I’m here – apart from dealing with my errant wife,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “is to discuss what I am going to do with this company.”
Errant wife! I am not errant, and I’m not an asset! I scowl at Christian again and the threat of tears subsides.
“So what are your plans?” I incline my head to one side, mirroring him, and I can’t help my sarcastic tone. His lips twitch with the hint of a smile. Whoa – change of mood, again! How can I ever keep up with Mr. Mercurial?
“I’m changing the name of the company – to Grey Publishing.”
Holy shit.
“And in a year’s time, it will be yours.”
My mouth drops open once more – wider this time.
“This is my wedding present to you.”
I shut my mouth then open it, trying to articulate something – but there’s nothing there. My mind is blank.
“So, do I need to change the name to Steele Publishing?”
“You’re also the most well-read person I know,” he counters earnestly. “You love a good book. You couldn’t leave your job while we were on our honeymoon. You read how many manuscripts? Four?”
“Five,” I whisper.
Seriously? She read five manuscripts in three weeks, and he thinks that’s impressive? For an editor? I know an editor who read four manuscripts in a day last week.
Then, this other bullshit happens:
His eyes darken… in that way. Oh no – I know that look. Sultry, seductive, salacious… No, no, no! Not here.
Yup. Christian thinks that after disrupting Ana’s day, causing a scene at her job, telling her she only got her position because he bought it for her, he thinks she’s going to fuck him:
“We’re in a small, reasonably sound-proofed office with a lockable door,” he whispers.
“Christian, no. I mean it. You can fuck me seven shades of Sunday this evening. But not now. Not here!”
Before I read Fifty Shades of Grey, I had no idea that people used “x shades of n” as a legit expression. I mean, it’s used so often in here, I assume it must actually be an expression, right? I don’t know at this point, and trying to google it just leads to shit about these stupid fucking books. Whatever, at least we know what the inevitable sequels will be called.
Also, they’ll be about body-snatching aliens who are in no way plagiarized from The Host.
“Seven shades of Sunday?” He arches an eyebrow, intrigued. “I may hold you to that, Ms. Steele.”
“Oh, stop with the Ms. Steele!” I snap and thump the desk, startling us both. “For heaven’s sake, Christian. If it means so much to you, I’ll change my name!”
His mouth pops open as he inhales sharply. And then he grins, a radiant, all-teeth-showing, joyous grin. Wow…
“Good.” He claps his hands, and all of a sudden he stands.
What now?
“Mission accomplished. Now, I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Grey.”
Christian is quiet when I climb into the car that evening.
“Hi,” I murmur.
How the fuck do you murmur that?
Ana gives Christian the somewhat silent treatment all the way back to Escala, where they have an argument I swear to Christ we’ve read before:
“What exactly are you mad about? I need an indication,” he asks cautiously.
I turn and gape at him.
It’s so much funnier if you assume she does this with her vagina.
“Do you really have no idea? Surely, for someone so bright, you must have an inkling? I can’t believe you’re that obtuse.”
I can’t believe we haven’t read this exact line of dialogue before, because I’m having wicked bad deja vu here.
They go into the apartment, where they continue to fight. I’m not going to recap the whole argument because we’ve seen it a thousand times before, and also, you and I both know this is never going to get resolved. She’s just going to accept what he wants and go blindly on with her life. But there is some awesome foreshadowing:
“Don’t be mad. You’re so precious to me. Like a priceless asset, like a child,” he whispers, a somber reverent expression on his face. His words distract me. Like a child. Precious like a child… a child would be precious to him!
Look, if anyone was shocked when they got to her finding out she’s pregnant, then… I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. But in the condescending way the eleventh Doctor would be sorry, not the genuine way Ten would have.
Christian reminds Ana that the architect is going to be coming over, so Ana does a little more internal back and forth about how infuriating Christian is and how horrible these things are that he’s doing, but how much she loves him and she’s going to put up with this bullshit forever, and then she gets all prettied up to face the perceived competition:
I’m wearing my gray pencil skirt and sleeveless blouse. Right! My inner goddess gets out her harlot-red nail polish. I undo two buttons, exposing a little cleavage. I wash my face, then carefully redo my makeup, applying more mascara than usual and putting extra gloss on my lips. Bending down, I brush my hair vigorously from root to tip. When I stand, my hair is a chestnut haze around me that tumbles to my breasts. I tuck it artfully behind my ears and go in search of my pumps, rather than my flats.
It sounds to me like she’s trying to fuck the architect, rather than stop her from fucking Christian, but whatever. Ana joins Christian in the great room, where they dance to a requiem – creeeeepy- and then Taylor announces Gia is there and the chapter is over.
We did a really good show last week, and the upload went awry. This week, we winged it, and it went just fine.
I see Marco Rubio’s drinking problem in action for the first time, and we talk about all the ways we’re strange
Next week, we’ll be talking about body image and weight issues. Tell us what you’d liked to see covered in that show in the comments.
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It’s every other Saturday again, and That’s What I’m Talking About is featuring The Boss, chapter 3 as their Saturday conversation!