Author: JennyTrout

I hate depression. It makes me into a different person, a person I don’t like. A person who snaps at her kids, a person who takes everything too personally. A person who googles “Jennifer Armintrout sucks” just to see if anyone agrees with her.

I get stuck in these deep grooves with depression, where I think I’m worthless, and I consider quitting writing. I feel absolutely no drive or passion to write, I open up old projects I’ve abandoned and tell myself, “You’re so lazy and worthless. You could at least finish this and self-publish it. You’ll have to, because no one will buy it, since you’re a shitty writer. You should just quit. Today. Contact everyone involved in your career and tell them to throw out your contracts and just quit. Go get a real job and stop being such a loser. Look at what you’re doing to your family. You’re never going to come up with any good ideas again, and if you do, you won’t follow through on them. You should just give up today.”

How can I let myself talk to me that way? That’s insane. If I heard someone saying that out loud to another writer, I would punch that person’s teeth in. I would be outraged beyond words.

But I suspect I’m not alone. I bet any number of writers struggling with depression have said those exact things to themselves. I bet I’m not the only person who struggles with this, even at the best of times. And while my career is certainly not enjoying it’s “best time,” things aren’t the worst they’ve ever been, either. So, what do I have to be defeated about? Nothing. It’s just a trick of my diseased brain, telling me mean stuff to knock me down a peg, just for kicks.

I don’t know why my brain chemistry hates me. I don’t know why it tries to destroy my confidence and mess with me, but I know that tomorrow I won’t feel this way. If that’s enough to get me through today, maybe tomorrow I’ll have confidence again, maybe something will smack me in the face and say, “Suck it up. When you google ‘Jennifer Armintrout sucks’ the first page of results is mostly shit you’ve said about yourself.”

That’s the carrot dangling in front of me right now. I’m going to just survive today. But if you suffer from depression, please feel free to share your stories in the comments, if that helps you.

I got snappy with some of you this morning, in comments on this blog, twitter DMs, and an email. And I want to apologize. I’m astounded by the enthusiasm with which you guys have passed this blog around the internet, and my silly little recaps have become much, much bigger than I thought they would. I’m overwhelmed, and I reacted badly to readers because of that. There’s no excuse for an author who routinely rants about bad author behavior, to participate in bad author behavior. So, I’m really sorry to the parties involved, you know who you are.

I like to think they are saying, “Jen’s back! And she has a camera!”

Before we get into the recap proper, I have to address something that came up in the comments, re: formatting of the book. In my last recap, there was a section where all the dialogue blended together, like this:

“I am saying something,” person one said. “I am saying something, as well,” person two said. “Well, I am not listening to you,” person one replied.

Some of you have commented that since this book started as fanfic, it’s bound to be rife with errors. I feel like that’s kind of insulting to fanfic. I’ve read a lot of it in my time, and let me tell you, this is some of the worst fanfic I’ve ever read. It’s right up there with the one where the Incredible Hulk rapes Princess Jasmine to death. Let’s not tar all fic with the same brush.

But that said, formatting errors like that aren’t present in the book. At least, the Vintage Books paperback. What happens is that every so often, when I use the block quote function on Blogger, it goes all stupid and lumps everything in together. When I proofread the post, it looks okay. But when I hit publish, sometimes, things go terribly wrong.

I understand blogger in the same way that I understand facebook: I can sort of convince people that I know what I’m doing, but I actually have no idea what’s going on.

So, just like with Jose’s missing accent mark, the book is properly formatted, I just can’t get blogger to accept that format. There is no justice in blogger, and there is no mercy.

When we last left Miss Steele, she was about to drop dead from hunger, because she’s just so skinny. Waaaaay too skinny. So skinny, in fact, that Christian says this upon entering a restaurant:

“This place will have to do,” Christian grumbles. “We don’t have much time.”

Because the timed chip he put in Ana’s brain is set to explode if she doesn’t eat on a certain schedule.

Here is the description of the restaurant that Christian is “settling” for:

The restaurant looks fine to me. Wooden chairs, linen tablecloths, and walls the same color as Christian’s playroom – deep bloodred – with randomly placed small gilt mirrors, white candles, and vases of white roses. Ella Fitzgerald croons softly in the background about this thing called love. It’s very romantic.

One of things I find most annoying about Christian is how he makes a huge deal about how rich he is. Now, I’m not talking about the buying lavish gifts thing. I’m talking about how nothing, ever, is up to his standards. The complimentary wine at a graduation reception or an art show. A perfectly nice restaurant. Other people’s cars. He turns up his nose at everything, and Ana, because she’s Ana and totally naive despite having allegedly attended four years of college with people from all different walks of life, always seems to believe that it’s because he’s rich. It’s not. It’s because he wants people to know that he’s rich, and he wants them to be impressed and intimidated by his very high standards and exquisite tastes. Or maybe he really believes that because he’s rich, he deserves to have the very best of everything all the time. Either way, this guy is still a massive dick.

“We don’t have long,” Christian says to the waiter as we sit. “So we’ll each have sirloin steak cooked medium, béarnaise sauce if you have it, fries and green vegetables, whatever the chef has; and bring me the wine list.” 

Ana doesn’t get to order her own food. But more on that in a second, I’ve got a nit that needs fierce picking. He makes a big deal about how the restaurant will “have to do,” because it’s clearly not FANCY enough for his FANCY tastes, and then he orders… sirloin and fries? Meat, starch, veg… what a FANCY meal for a FANCY guy. Seriously? If he wanted Ana to be impressed, he should have ordered the filet, and when they said, “I’m sorry, sir, we’re just not FANCY enough to carry that cut,” he should have flipped the table and shouted, “THIS IS BULLSHIT! WE ARE LEAVING!”


Just don’t do that at an Applebees, because the tables in those booths are bolted to the walls. Or so I hear.

Ana asks him what the fucking deal is, ordering for her, and he tells her she’s acting childish. Because ordering someone what you want them to eat, rather than what they want to eat, is not a childish act of control. But Christian isn’t referring to that:

“For deliberately making me jealous. It’s a childish thing to do. Have you no regard for your friend’s feelings, leading him on like that?” Christian presses his lips together in a thin line and scowls as the waiter returns with the wine list.

I blush – I hadn’t thought of that. Poor Jose – I certainly don’t want to encourage him. Suddenly I’m mortified. Christian has a point; it was a thoughtless thing to do.

I hate that Christian has a point, by the way, but he’s right. I just find it interesting that in the midst of all his rightness, Ana is still going to end up eating what Christian ordered for her. I have this crazy feeling that Christian is less concerned for Jose and more concerned with changing the subject. To capitulate to her demands for control over what she puts in her body, he tells her to choose the wine. Probably so he can point out how not fancy enough it is. It doesn’t matter, though, because whatever they order, it will have spit in it. Christian treats the waiter like total shit.

I frown at Fifty. What’s eating him? Oh, myself probably, and somewhere in the depths of my psyche, my inner goddess rises sleepily, stretches, and smiles. She’s been asleep for a while.

Too bad she’s not in an irreversible coma. What is with calling Chedward “Fifty” all of a sudden? Did he get shot nine times?

“Ana, the last time we spoke, you left me. I’m a little nervous. I’ve told you I want you back, and you’ve said… nothing.”

Okay, it’s been five days. First of all, were they even dating long enough to use the phrase “you left me”? They didn’t live together. They weren’t even really boyfriend/girlfriend. They were more emotionally-stunted billionaire/sexual servant. And the way he’s phrased it sounds like he’s expecting that since he asked her to take him back, she’s just going to. Although we know that she’s going to take him back (because we know that this entire series is just a landslide into frustrating abuse-apology), he doesn’t know this. And he’s just… expecting it. After being broken up for five days. What has changed so much, in five days?

Ana says that she’s missed him, and that it’s been “difficult” without him:

This last week has been the worst in my life, the pain almost indescribable. Nothing has come close.

I understand that what the author is trying to do here is show us how strong the love between Christian and Ana is, that it so completely destroys them to be apart. But this just comes off as melodramatic. Really, nothing has ever hurt as much as breaking up with your first love? I admit, first heartbreak suuuuuuucks. And the ones that follow? Not fun either. But if that’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt, to the point that you’ve never felt anything like it? Ana is living a pretty charmed life.


Ana tells him that nothing has changed, she can’t be the person he wants her to be. He argues that she’s exactly the person he wants her to be, and then he says this:

“You’re upset because of what happened last time. I behaved stupidly, and you… So did you. Why didn’t you safe-word, Anastasia?” His tone changes, becomes accusatory.

This skeeves me off so much. You took her into your Red Room, knowing that she was afraid of pain, and beat her with a belt. Not a flogger, not a whip, not a strap, not a paddle, a fucking belt with a buckle on it, and you beat the shit out of her. Whether or not she used the safe word doesn’t matter, you should never have taken her into that room that night in the first place, because she specifically said she was going to go beyond her limits in a negative way, just to see how much it could hurt.

“I don’t know. I was overwhelmed. I was trying to be what you wanted me to be, trying to deal with the pain, and it went out of my mind. You know… I forgot,” I whisper, ashamed, and I shrug apologetically.

This is exactly why she should not have been in that room. And you know, Christian, it’s okay for you to shut down the session, too. You kind of have a responsibility, as a dom, to be in control of the situation and make sound judgments, because guess what? People do sometimes get caught up and forget to use the safeword. If you didn’t want to beat the shit out of her with a belt, her not using the safeword didn’t force your hand.

Christian tells Ana he doesn’t know how he’s ever going to trust her again, and then he’s a dick to the waiter again, and Ana apologizes to him for not using the safeword. Christian uses the opportunity to make her feel even more guilty, saying:

“I’m anything but fine. I feel like the sun has set and not risen for five days, Ana. I’m in perpetual night here.”

The original title of this book was “Twilight 6: Night.”

“You said you’d never leave, yet the going gets tough and you’re out the door.”

“When did I say I’d never leave?”

“In your sleep. It was the most comforting thing I’d heard in so long, Anastasia. It made me relax.”

Well, that solves the mystery of the thing she said in her sleep. I like how he thinks he can hold up statements made when one is unconscious as evidence of some kind of betrayal. “You said in your sleep that you’d stay! It doesn’t matter that I wouldn’t tell you what you said, I expect you to stick to it!”

The food comes, and so does the unavoidable conversation about Ana’s eating habits. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t want to eat, and Christian wants her to.

Deep down, I know I’m hungry, but right now, my stomach is in knots. Sitting across from the only man I have ever loved and debating our uncertain future does not promote a healthy appetite. I look dubiously at my food.

“So help me God, Anastasia, if you don’t eat, I will take you across my knee here in this restaurant, and it will have nothing to do with my sexual gratification. Eat!”

So… it would be a regular old beating, then? Is that what you’re saying, Christian? Let it be known, the hero of this not abuse-promoting book is threatening physical violence in an non-BDSM context against the heroine. Swoon ladies, swoon.

We eat our supper in silence. The music’s changed. A soft-voice woman sings in the background, her words echoing my thoughts.

This is the stuff I live for in these books. They eat their supper in silence… listening to music. Well, that’s not silence, is it? You just didn’t speak, is all.

Ana decides to try to have a normal conversation, so they talk about the music a little bit. But normal isn’t as fascinating as talking about how much Ana eats.

I have eaten half the food on my plate. I cannot eat anymore. How can I negotiate this?

Just say you’re not hungry anymore? I mean, seriously, Ana, you could just say, “Christian, I’m not hungry anymore. I’m going to need a doggie bag.” And if he says anything else about it? Kick him in the dick and scream “No! NO NO NO!” just like they tell you to do in self defense for women.

He stares at me impassively, not answering, then glances at his watch.

Mercifully, Christian is as bored with the “What did Ana eat today” conversation as we all are, and they’re going to leave. Ana asks if they’re going to take Charlie Tango, which sounds like a great idea after they’ve been drinking. Luckily, Christian has arranged for Taylor to drive them back to Seattle:

“[…] Taylor will pick us up. Besides, this way I have you in the car all to myself for a few hours, at least. What can we do but talk?”

Remember how he was talking about their communication problem? They’ve been doing nothing but talk about their relationship this entire evening. When they haven’t been talking about their relationship, they’ve been talking about what Ana is eating. And when they haven’t been talking about that, they’ve been talking about how they need to talk about their relationship. Their communication skills appear to be so incredibly bad that they can’t even recognize that they’re talking about their relationship while they’re talking about their relationship. They’re stuck in some kind of endless loop of talking about their relationship while simultaneously thinking they need to talk about their relationship. It’s like Portal, where you put the orange portal directly about the blue portal, and you jump in and just keep falling faster and faster and faster until you’d seriously concerned that you might not be able to get yourself out this time and you can’t remember when you last saved.

He has a proposition? What now? A couple of scenarios run through my mind: kidnapping, working for him.

Maybe he wants you to work for him, and the job will be kidnapping people. Seriously, those are the first two options that jump to mind? Not, “Maybe he wants to revise the sex contract,” or “maybe he wants to put the Audi in my name,” something like that. I mean, I understand the one about working for him, since he’s dangled that carrot in the past. But kidnapping? How does she arrive at kidnapping now, and not waaaaaay back in the first book, when he was buying abduction supplies literally right from her? Ana is a weird person.

They go to the car, and Ana’s obsession with kidnapping continues unfettered:

Christian opens my door. Climbing in, I sink into the plush leather. He heads to the driver’s side; Taylor steps out of the car and they talk briefly. This isn’t their usual protocol.

I love that she’s cautious now. Not in the first book, where she went back to his fortress of solitude after knowing him for like, a week, and in that week she’d seen him buy Dexter-level murder supplies. Not when he locked her in a room with him against her will, or when he stalked her all the way to her mother’s home in Georgia. She let those things pass without a second thought, but she gets suspicious when he changes his car-getting-into protocol, like she’s some foreign dignitary in a hostile country.


When Christian does get into the car, he wants to talk about their relationship, but Ana is concerned about Taylor overhearing. Christian reassures her:

“Happy now? He’s listening to his iPod. Puccini. forget he’s here. I do.”

Not only is Christian super charming in the way he treats his employees, he’s also got his driver listening to earbud headphones while driving. Yeah, that’s illegal in Washington state. It’s illegal in a lot of states, actually, and could endanger Taylor’s commercial driver’s license. Also, I wonder if Christian picked the music Taylor is listening to. I bet he did.

“Did you deliberately ask him to do that?”

No, Ana, he accidentally asked him to wear earphones so he wouldn’t overhear your conversation. Isn’t that a funny coincidence?

Christian gets right down to business with the proposition:

“Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regular vanilla relationship with no kinky fuckery at all?”

Kinky. Fuckery. Forever, that phrase will be burned into my brain. Keeping in mind that the “kinky fuckery” was the reason Ana ran for the hills in the first place, this is her response:

“I like your kinky fuckery,” I whisper.

Girl. Girl, girl, girl. Girl. Sit down and shut your obviously confused mouth for a quick second. You like his “kinky fuckery”? You spent all of the first book talking about how much you hated that he was into BDSM, how much you hated doing it, and then you ultimately broke up with him because you thought he was fucked in the head for liking it. You seriously were so disgusted by the “kinky fuckery” that you broke up with him. And now you like it?

She goes on to explain what she doesn’t like about the “kinky fuckery,” and basically, it’s all of it. She doesn’t like pain, she doesn’t like not being able to touch him, she doesn’t like punishments or anything in the Red Room. So basically, she fucking loves pizza, except for the cheese and the sauce and the crust and the toppings.

Oh, and the eating part, lest we forget.

Ana asks Christian if he’s trying to redefine the hard limits:

“Not as such. I’m just trying to understand you, get a clearer picture of what you do and don’t like.”

That’s called dating, Christian. Most people do this shit as they go along, instead of trying to force their partner into a mold to make them adequate in one conversation that will settle it forever and for all time, which is what the contract tried to do in the first place.

“Fundamentally, Christian, it’s your joy in inflicting pain on me that’s difficult for me to handle. And the idea that you’ll do it because I have crossed some arbitrary line.”

“But it’s not arbitrary; the rules are written down.”

If you remember the contract from the first book, you’ll recall how incredibly vague those rules are, leaving literally any of Ana’s actions open to “punishment.” It’s totally arbitrary, because Christian can and has fit any of her actions and reactions, even involuntary physical reactions, under some clause or another so that he’s allowed to “punish” her.

He asks her if she minds being spanked with just his hand, and when she says she’s okay with that, and she actually liked it when he used the ben wa balls and spanked her, this is how he interprets her answer:

“So you can deal with some pain.”

That’s not what she said at all! She said she didn’t mind being spanked with ben wa balls in her cooch. I wonder how long it’s going to take Chedward to use this against her? “But you said you could take some pain! By refusing to let me beat you with a patio umbrella, you’re betraying me!”

He strokes his chin, deep in thought. “Anastasia, I want to start again. Do the vanilla thing and then maybe, once you trust me more and I trust you to be honest and communicate with me, we could move on and do some of the things that I like to do.”

In other words, maybe if we get back together and get more serious, you’ll be invested enough in this unhealthy relationship that I can manipulate you into doing things you don’t want to do. Have your panties magically melted off your body yet, ladies?

He wants the light, but can I ask him to do this for me? And don’t I like the dark? Some dark, sometimes. Memories of the Thomas Tallis night drift invitingly through my mind.

If you haven’t read the first book, the Thomas Tallis night was when Christian tied Ana up, blindfolded her, put headphones on her and played classical music while he teased her with like, a feather and some light flogging before he fucked her. It was about as dark as a game of Candy Land.

“But I’m a selfish man. I’ve wanted you since you fell into my office. You are exquisite, honest, warm, strong, witty, beguilingly innocent; the list in endless. I’m in awe of you. I want you, and the thought of anyone else having you is like a knife twisting in my dark soul.”

HA HA HA HA WHAT? Why is he talking like a seventeen-year-old goth kid writing breakup poetry before he’s ever even gone on a date? “a knife twisting in my dark soul?” I’m pretty sure that’s from a Sisters of Mercy song. And I love the “endless” list of adjectives to describe Ana, that tops out at six items, half of which aren’t true at all. Ana isn’t honest, she lies to her friends constantly about her relationship with Christian. She isn’t warm, not even to her mom or dad. And she sure as hell isn’t strong, if she’s planning on getting back together with this creepo rather than go through some post-break up depression.


After listening to Christian objectify her for a few paragraphs, this is Ana’s response:

If that isn’t a declaration of love, I don’t know what is.

Clearly, you don’t know what a declaration of love is. The guy basically just said he’d settle for fulfilling your needs because he views you as a toy he doesn’t want to share. But positively dazzled by his declaration of “love,” she tells him that she didn’t try very hard at their relationship the first time, and that she thinks the pain of being without him would be worse than any physical pain he could inflict on her. She gets into his lap and says:

“I love you, Christian Grey. And you’re prepared to do all this for me. I’m the one who is undeserving, and I’m just sorry that I can’t do all those things for you. Maybe with time… I don’t know… but yes, I accept your proposition. Where do I sign?”

Do all what for her? Not beat her because she doesn’t like it? What a fucking prince. Oh, hey, is this my domestic violence handout that Kelsey St. James sent me? I think it might be. “You feel bad about yourself when you are around him.” Huh. You mean like, thinking you’re undeserving and feeling guilty that he’s sacrificing his sexual fetish for you? Gee.


Christian hints that the reason he doesn’t like to be touched is because his mom’s pimp molested him or abused him or something. I’m confused about this whole pimp thing, myself. Isn’t a crack whore (and yes, he refers to his mother as “the crack whore” in this scene) someone who fucks people for crack? Do pimps really need their girls tricking for drugs? I thought the whole point of pimping was to make money. Have rappers been lying to me all along? He also tells Ana that he was alone with his dead mom for four days after she committed suicide. 


Somehow, the story of Chedward’s horrific childhood of abuse and trauma lulls Ana to sleep, and she doesn’t wake up until they’re in Seattle, where Christian comments that he could “watch you sleep forever, Ana.” So, yeah, I guess we’re still on schedule for that murder. Chedward doesn’t want to sleep with Ana, because she has to work early in the morning. I feel like he’s getting that wrong, that’s what you say when you’re leaving the girl’s house after you’ve fucked her. Also, he wants her to have to beg him first. Probably something like, “Mister, if you let me go, I won’t – I won’t press charges I promise. See, my mom is a real important woman… I guess you already know that…” depending on the situation.

He does have a present for her, though, and she’s supposed to open it when she’s inside. But first, she has to tell him information he doesn’t need to know, in order to complicate her life further:

“My boss wants me to go for a drink with him tomorrow.”

Christian’s face hardens. “Does he, now?” His voice is laced with latent menace.

I don’t think “latent” is a word you can use to describe Christian Grey’s menace. He suggests that he could pick her up after drinks, and she thinks this is a fine idea and not a bid for control in yet another aspect of her life. There is some kissing, it is dramatic and moany, and he says “laters, baby,” and I take another shot.

Inside, Ana opens the present. It’s her laptop and BlackBerry. I suppose those are her rewards for going out with him again. A commenter suggested that there is a keystroke logger on the laptop, and I laughed, and then realized that yup, there probably is. There is also an iPad, and a note from Christian saying that the music on it says what he feels.

I have a Christian Grey mix tape in the guise of a high-end iPad. I shake my head in disapproval because of the expense, but deep down I love it. Jack has one at the office, so I know how they work.

Wait, Christian made a mix tape for your boss? He’s so thorough.

The wallpaper image on the iPad is a picture of the model glider she gave Christian as a breakup present. There’s also a picture of the two of them at Ana’s graduation.

Christian looks so handsome and I can’t help my face-splitting grin – Yes, and he’s mine!

Stand back ladies! He’s all hers!


Ana does a walkthrough of all the apps on the iPad. No, I’m not kidding, she tells us all about the apps, from one of the British Library’s historical collection, a food app, etc. There is an entire page, all about the damn iPad and the apps,  before she gets to the music. Ana mentions a few songs by name, the most unsurprising of which is “Possession.” I can only assume she means Sarah McLachlan’s “Possession.” Have you ever heard it? I suggest you listen to it right now. Try to ignore the fact that she looks like Buffy’s mom.

Funny story about this song. It’s not meant to be romantic. It was written by McLachlan modeled on letters she was receiving from “fans,” some of which had threatening sexual content. Even just a cursory listen tells you that it is an entirely appropriate song for Chedward and Anabella’s relationship, but not the way Ana (and I suspect, E.L. James) thinks it is.

Ana listens to some more of the songs (“Try,” by Nelly Furtado, “The Scientist,” by Coldplay) and thinks about what they mean.

This iPad, these songs, these apps – he cares. He really cares.

That would make a great Apple commercial, right before Valentine’s Day or Mother’s Day or something. “Show mom you care, with the gift of apps.”

As Ana listens to the songs and compares the meanings against her relationship, I become more acutely aware that this was a fanfic. If you are unfamiliar with fanfic, then let me tell you, the device of having a character apply lyrics and meanings of popular songs to the (relation)ship in the fic is so common that it has its own name: Songfic.


Ana being Ana, she’s ready to just dismiss the whole iPad thing, thinking that she’s probably reading too much into this. See, if they just accepted that they want each other, there would be no reason to continue with the book, so Ana needs to doubt Christian every step of the way. This gives the illusion of conflict.


They email each other about the iPad, and during the exchange, we learn that Christian also put “Every Breath You Take,” by The Police in the “I love you/I want to make a dress out of your skin” playlist. You have got to be fucking kidding me. He also tells her that spanking can be a part of “vanilla” relationships, “Usually consensually and in a sexual context… but I am more than happy to make an exception.” So, that’s the second time in this chapter alone that he’s threatened to hit her in anger. Of course, Ana responds to all of this with hearts and flowers and romance, and she even pulls out the deflated mylar balloon he gave her and hugs it in bed. Because Ana is fourteen.

Jose Gonzalez starts to sing a soothing melody with a hypnotic guitar riff, and I drift slowly into sleep, marveling how the world has righted itself in one evening and wondering idly if I should make a playlist for Christian.

I don’t know, Ana. How many times can you put “Good-bye, Earl” on repeat?

First of all, let me just tell you guys thank you again and again and again for helping out Lindsey and Frank with the fundraiser. You guys rock, and Lindsey and Frank are totally grateful. They’ve been able to get a car that will get them home, and things are looking much further up than they were last week. In case you missed it, Lindsey left a comment in my last post, which I will repeat for you here:

Thank you all so much. every bit is helping us. We would be so lost with out this amazing gesture. Thank you. One Thousand times THANK YOU!

So, congratulations, guys! You made a difference.


And now, I suppose you deserve your reward. So here we go.


Let me just get this part out of the way, in case you’ve forgotten since I recapped the last book. I really do not care for the way these books came about, aka, plagiarism. There is no secret whatsoever that these books began as Twilight AU fanfic. As an avid reader and writer of fanfiction,  these books are a slap in the face to all the true fans in all the fandoms everywhere, who don’t want to rip off the people who created the works they truly love, but who just want to have fun playing with the characters and settings and events for a while, then put them back nicely where they belong. E.L. James is not a writer, she’s a thief, plain and simple. She couldn’t come up with all the components of a decent book on her own, so she took someone else’s. I know I’ve said this before, but I will continue to say it so it doesn’t get conveniently wiped from our cultural memory.


Darker begins after three title pages, which seems a bit excessive. Then, there is a really poorly written prologue that I won’t include here because it would be a huge trigger for anyone who has ever experienced domestic violence. It’s written from the POV of a young Christian Grey, and includes the phrase “You are one fucked-up bitch” six times. In a row. No, I’m not kidding. Then, it’s on to Chapter 1! And it begins with the same gripping momentum as the first book, which is to say, none at all:

I have survived Day Three Post-Christian, and my first day at work. It has been a welcome distraction. The time has flown by in a haze of new faces, work to do, and Mr. Jack Hyde. Mr. Jack Hyde… he smiles down at me, his blue eyes twinkling, as he leans against my desk.

Now, having written quite a few sequels myself, I feel like I have to comment on the fact that there is absolutely no backstory or introduction whatsoever here. We go from a kid watching his mother get beaten, possibly to death, and an unnamed man (spoiler alert, it’s Christian Grey) waking up drenched in sweat, to the paragraph above. No explanation of who Christian is, why they broke up, who Jack Hyde is or… oh, hey, wait a minute, we have no idea who Ana is, either. Now, you might be thinking, “But Jen, she can’t info dump that all in the first paragraph, it’s totally unfair of you to expect that.” You would be correct. But I would have liked, oh, any sort of pretense that this was not just carved out of the middle of a longer story in a big chunk because why charge readers fifteen bucks for one paperback that has no story arc when you can force them to buy three at fifteen a piece. But I guess I expect too much from series these days.

Shit, even Jim Butcher bothers to tell the readers that Harry’s a wizard a few paragraphs in, and that’s after, what, like fifty, sixty books, right?

Jack thinks Ana is doing excellent work, and she asks if it’s cool if she goes home. Then Jack tells her that it’s 5:30 and she can go home, and they say goodnight. Oh, how I’ve missed these tedious conversations about nothing important to the story that Ana has to have with every single character that chances into her deranged path.

Collecting my bag, I shrug on my jacket and head for the door.

Those actions are all backwards, Ana. You’d probably put your jacket on before you got your bag, or else you’re putting your jacket on over your purse and who does that?

Out in the early evening air of Seattle, I take a deep breath. It doesn’t begin to fill the void in my chest, a void that’s been present since Saturday morning, a painful hollow reminder of my loss.

See? Right here would be the perfect time to let first-time readers in on what’s happening. E.L. could have followed this up with something like, “I’d just had my heart broken for the first time, yadda yadda,” or something that would let the reader know what the situation is before plunging ahead into the story. But she doesn’t, because writing a good story was like, fourth or fifth down the “writing to-do list” that was tacked above her computer.

1. Make sure everyone knows Ana is really skinny.
2. Add tons of badly described, really vanilla sex.
3. Make it super long, without much happening, so it can be cut up and sold in parts.
4. Try to make some of it seem like I was maybe kind of trying.
5. But not trying too hard.
6. Plot and pacing.

Collecting my bag, I shrug on my jacket and head for the door. Out in the early evening air of Seattle, I take a deep breath. It doesn’t begin to fill the void in my chest, a void that’s been present since Saturday morning, a painful hollow reminder of my loss. I walk toward the bus stop with my head down, staring at my feet and contemplating being without my beloved Wanda, my old Beetle… or the Audi.

The reader who didn’t read 50 Shades of Grey first, but who has, due to accident of similar covers and super confusing titles, still doesn’t know who Christian Grey is. For all they know from what they’ve read so far, Ana has just forsaken her religion and really, really misses having a car.

Ana knows she can afford to get a new car, because “he” (whoever he is, to the uninformed reader) has been “overgenerous” in his payment. Again, no backstory about the car or anything. You better have come to class prepared, reader.

The apartment is empty. I miss Kate, and I imagine her lying on a beach in Barbados, sipping a cool cocktail.

You miss her? You couldn’t stand her through pretty much all of the last book, and you didn’t bother to spend a single night in the new apartment her parents bought for you, until you dumped your boyfriend. Let’s add that to our running tally of why Ana is such a shitty friend. She doesn’t bother to talk to you if she’s in a relationship, but the moment that relationship ends, you better be right there to help her pick up the pieces.

So help me god, if Ana puts on pink pajamas, I’m setting this book on fire.

I sit and stare blankly at the brick wall. I am numb. I feel nothing but the pain. How long must I endure this?

Probably not for long. Your boyfriend will start stalking you again any day now. But you know what would be a clever way of showing the passage of time? If E.L. James had made a bunch of blank pages with just chapter headings and the name of the month that she was excluding. Actually, if she could have done that with the entire book, we’d be all set.


So, someone buzzes the intercom, and Ana gets it:

“Delivery for Ms. Steele.” A bored, disembodied voice answers,

Thanks for telling us it’s disembodied over the intercom, Ana. We couldn’t have put those pieces together on our own.

Ana is disappointed, probably because she thought it might be Christian and it wasn’t. But of course, it’s something to do with Christian, because Ana is like this huge planet of sad and clumsy that pulls smaller satellites of awful and dickish into her orbit, so that nothing in her life can ever be not about Christian Grey.

I sign for the package and take it upstairs. The box is huge and surprisingly light. Inside are two dozen long-stemmed, white roses and a card.

Yup. Christian sent her roses to celebrate her first day of work… three days after she dumped him.  So, not only is Christian a stalker when you’re dating, when you’re not dating he turns into Stacy from Wayne’s World. And yet Ana thought he got rid of the last subs? Is she sure they didn’t burn out of there Katie Holme’s style?

There’s a card with the stalker surprise gift, but I’m not going to tell you what it says. Instead, I’m going to tell you what it should have said:

I have become my own island state. A ravaged, war-torn land where nothing grows and the horizons are bleak.

Reread that. I’ll wait.


So, Ana is basically just crying all the time that she’s not at work, and she can’t listen to any music, even commercial jingles, because music reminds her too much of Christian. This is where Ana and I differ, for I tend to find solace in music during times of heartbreak. While Ana just stares at brick walls and trivializes the horrors of war, I prefer to drink heavily and lay on the floor listening to Boys for Pele while I consider joining the Army.


I’m kind of enjoying reading this book, to be perfectly honest. It’s like reuniting with old friends. Not Ana and Christian, I mean, things like Ana being ridiculous about everything and Christian being a stalker and, oh hey, who do I see just over there on page seven?

I am finding it difficult to eat. By lunchtime on Wednesday, I manage a cup of yogurt, and it’s the first thing I’ve eaten since Friday.

It is good to see you, old friend. Oh, Christian is not going to like you. “But Jen,” you ask, “it doesn’t matter any more, because she and Christian broke up, so it’s not like he’s going to find out about it.” I pat your head in a loving, yet condescending way. “Just wait,” I say, holding a finger to your lips. And it is the most legendary moment in your life.

Holy shit. An e-mail from Christian. Oh no, not here… not work.

When I read that, I kind of wondered if she was going to have an orgasm from opening the email. Not gonna lie.


In his email Christian writes:

Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it’s going well.

He hopes that his intrusion is going well?

Christian asks Ana if she needs a ride to Jose’s gallery showing, because you know, if Ana is going to go hang out with some guy, she’s probably going to want her ex-boyfriend coming along.

I clutch my forehead. Why hasn’t Jose phoned? Come to think of it – why hasn’t anyone phoned?

Because you’re a shitty friend, Ana. They’re probably avoiding you.

Shit! I am such an idiot! I still have it set to forward calls to the BlackBerry. Holy hell. Christian’s been getting my calls – unless he’s just thrown the BlackBerry away. How did he get my e-mail address?

Okay, first of all, he has emailed you before. He had your email address already. Unless this is a work email account or something, but if that’s the case then it should be specified in the text somewhere. Second, he’s been getting her calls for five days now, and he didn’t mention it as the very first thing in the email? Yeah, I bet he threw that BlackBerry away. There’s no chance he’s monitoring your calls or anything.


So, then Ana thinks about how she could just tell him she changed her mind and they could get back together, but then she remembers, “Oh, hey, the thing that really rings his bell is beating the shit out of me with a belt and keeping me tied up in emotional knots.” No, just kidding! She talks about how much she’s going to miss him, and how she feels like she’s in purgatory. Really, purgatory isn’t a bad place, when you think about it. It’s where you get the dents banged out of your soul so that you can drive into heaven like a brand new Cadillac. So, in this metaphor, “I am in purgatory,” she’s getting the dents banged out of her romantic feelings so she can drive into a new and better relationship.


But she doesn’t want a new and better relationship, can’t you see that, you fool?! So she emails Christian back and says she’d appreciate a ride to the gallery, because there are no Greyhound buses in Washington state. You know, Kate has a car, and she lets Ana borrow it all the time. Did she drive to Barbados? I’m doubting that, very much. Maybe Ana could –


No! Of course she couldn’t! Because these crazy kids have to get back together, they just have to! So, after Ana calls Jose to check on the time, she and Christian engage in a multiple part email exchange about when he’s going to pick her up. Now, here’s the thing… why doesn’t he just send Taylor with the car? Oh, snap, because he wants to manipulate her into getting back together.


Ana wonders if Christian has missed her:

Probably not like I’ve missed him.

It’s not a competition, Ana! Jeez!

Has he found a new submissive? The thought is so painful that I dismiss it immediately.

Girl, it has been FIVE DAYS. He hasn’t even had time to hire a lawyer to draft the paperwork yet. Ana decides to change things up and not cry herself to sleep that night, so instead she thinks about how Christian’s mom was a crack whore and:

In my mind’s eye, I visualize Christian’s face the last time I saw him as when I left.

What?

The next day, Ana wears Kate’s plum dress because she doesn’t own any clothes of her own, I assume, and she’s not giving that dress back until the fucker is just plain wore out. Her boss asks her if she has a date tonight, and she’s indecisive about answering, but she finally tells him she’s going to meet an ex. Jack Hyde suggests that he and Ana should get together for drinks to celebrate how well she’s doing.

Tidying my hair so that it hangs artfully down my back, I take a deep breath. This will have to do. 

So, she’s settling for “artfully.”

On her way through the lobby she waves at the receptionist we first met at the end of 50 Shades of Grey, and Ana once again thinks how she could probably be friends with her. You may also remember that the receptionist was a woman of color. No one spoil the ending for me, I bet she never becomes friends with Claire the black receptionist.

Jack meets Ana in the lobby and walks her to the curb, because, and say it with me, everyone with a penis loves Ana. Seriously, he watches “in dismay” as Ana gets in the car with Christian Grey. Yes, “the” Christian Grey is finally making an appearance in the book. Swoon, ladies. Swoon.

I turn and climb into the back, and there he sits – Christian Grey – wearing his gray suit, no tie, white shirt open at the collar. His gray eyes are glowing.

Because he’s a vampire, and he’s hungry.

My mouth dries. He looks glorious except he’s scowling at me. Why?

Because he’s a dick. And also a vampire.

“When did you last eat?” he snaps as Taylor closes the door behind me.

Oh, I’ve really missed the fighting over food. I hope they do it a lot in this book. Like, a really lot. Ana tells him that she had a yogurt at lunch time, and of course that’s not enough to make him happy.

I glance up and Jack is waving at me, though how he can see me through the dark glass, I don’t know. I wave back

“Who’s that?” Christian snaps.

I’m so glad he’s back with us.

Ana actually has some balls and stands up to Christian, telling him it’s none of his business when she last ate. Well, for like, a single line she has some balls, then she tells him she hasn’t eaten since Friday.

He closes his eyes as fury, and possibly regret, sweeps across his face. “I see,” he says, his voice expressionless. “You look like you’ve lost at least five pounds, possibly more since then. Please eat, Anastasia,” he scolds.

Okay, we get it. Ana is skinny. Skinny, skinny, skinny. A few commenters noticed in the recaps of the last book that having Ana and Mia as character names was kind of suspect, due to their ties to the pro-eating disorder online community. I thought it was a coincidence, but there has been such a blatant focus on how thin Ana is in this book – and at this point we’re thirteen pages in – that I’m starting to worry that it’s maybe not an accident. I mean, James takes the time to tell us how thin Ana is, over and over, but she hasn’t managed to work in any backstory to connect this book to the one before it. Ana being skinny has been far more important.

Remember what I said before, about meeting old friends?

Why does he always make me feel like an errant child?

I want to struggle out of his hold, to maintain some distance, but his arms are wrapped around me. He’s pressing me to his chest. I melt. Oh, this is where I want to be.

Aaaaand we’re back.

They arrive at a building that has a helipad because, as with Ana’s never eating and thinness, it is of utmost importance that the reader know that Christian has a helicopter. When they get out of the car, Ana says to Taylor:

“I should give you back your handkerchief.”

Now, I read the last book (obviously) and that’s why I know that when Taylor drove Ana home after the breakup, he gave her his handkerchief. Putting aside the fact that a reader starting the series at book two wouldn’t know this, has Ana been carrying this handkerchief around for five long, crusty, tear-stained days?

I’m drawn, Icarus to his sun. I’ve been burned already, and yet here I am again.

Believe me, Ana, I know exactly how you feel.

They get into the elevator and don’t have sex with each other, but then Ana bites her lip, and whoo boy, you know what that does to Chedward.

Oh, I still affect him. My inner goddess stirs from her five-day sulk.

Ana, it’s been five days. You don’t stop being sexually attracted to someone after five days. Okay, I guess in your case, we could make an exception, because you’ve reminded us over and over that you’re just physically hideous, but trust me on this one, okay?

They get up to the roof, there’s Charlie Tango, Christian likes putting the harness on her, yadda yadda, it’s so similar to the helicopter scene in the last book that I’m not even going to bother with it. They see the Space Needle, which Ana has never seen, and Christian suggests they should go there together.

“I’ll take you – we can eat there.”“Christian, we broke up.”“I know. I can still take you there and feed you.” He glares at me. 

No, you can’t still go out on a date with her. She dumped you. To quote Mr. Campbell, “That’s what breaking up is.”

They start talking about her job, and she wonders if she should tell Christian that her boss makes her uncomfortable. Yeah, that’s probably a great strategy, Ana. You should tell your stalker ex-boyfriend that your boss asked you out for drinks, so he can buy the company and fire the guy. There’s this phrase writers (and now readers, I guess) use to describe a heroine who makes repeated bad choices. That phrase is “Too Stupid To Live.” Usually, it applies to suspense/paranormal/urban fantasy/woman-in-danger scenarios. But with Ana, I’m genuinely shocked that she doesn’t drown from leaving her mouth open in the shower. She has absolutely no instincts of self-protection, at all.

There’s some more tedious Icarus stuff, and they land in Portland, where Christian says,

“Well, let’s go see the boy’s photos.”

Christian, you’re like, five years older than them, aren’t you? To quote Mr. Campbell again, “Ixnay on the condescension, Chet.” Let me also point out how very, very skeevy it is for the white, wealthy, privileged hero to be calling Jose, who is a person of color, “boy.” So, have a little racism with your misogyny, why don’t you?

Christian is in full Heathcliff mode on the drive to the gallery, begging the question again, why did he not just send a car? He doesn’t want to go to the thing, why is he going?

His mouth – oh, his mouth is distracting, and unbidden. I remember it on me – everywhere.

I think that period was supposed to be a comma, because otherwise Ana is thinking that his mouth is there despite her not asking him to bring it. They fight some more about how thin Ana is, and how she needs to eat, so she promises that she will. Christian has missed his true calling as an E.D. counselor.

I cannot keep the disdain out of my voice. Honestly, the audacity of this man – this man who has put me through hell over the last few days. No, that’s wrong. I’ve put myself through hell. No. It’s him. I shake my head, confused.

I’m picturing having an argument with someone who suddenly breaks off and just starts shaking her head, apropos of nothing, like a cocker spaniel watching a ball in someone’s hand.

“But nothing’s changed.” You’re still fifty shades.

Is that his superhero identity? They talk some more about how they should talk, but they don’t talk, because they arrive at the gallery, where we’re once again reminded that Christian Grey is so sexy, women turn into man-stealing whoores whenever he’s around:

A young woman dressed in black with very short brown hair, bright red lipstick, and large hooped earrings greets us. She glances briefly at me, then much longer than is strictly necessary at Christian, then turns back to me, blinking as she blushes.

Ana is the gaze police, carefully timing the gazes of other women. I wonder if this chick gets more time on the clock, since she’s not an evil blonde?

My brow creases. He’s mine – or was. I try hard not to scowl at her. As her eyes regain their focus, she blinks again.

I feel like I’ve been focusing hard on the grammar and general writing craftness in this recap, but really, it’s hard to avoid when you’ve got stuff like that massive POV shift slapping you in the face every few paragraphs. I’m not trying to be pedantic, this book is forcing it upon me. Oh, and by the by, this is the Vintage Books version. So this one? Has been edited by a legacy publisher.

Christian gets Ana some wine, and it’s a good thing, because we’re on page twenty and she hasn’t had a drink yet. Then she sees Jose, who sputters his stereotypical “Dios mio” and points out how skinny Ana is,  but of course, Ana’s sole focus is on Christian:

Christian glances up and our eyes lock. And in that brief moment, I’m paralyzed, staring at the impossibly handsome man who gazes at me with some unfathomable emotion. His gaze hot, burning into me, and we’re lost for a moment staring at each other.

Holy cow… This beautiful man wants me back, and deep down inside me sweet joy slowly unfurls like a morning glory in the early dawn.

This is all happening while Jose is standing there having a conversation with her. Gee, I wonder why your friends don’t call more often, Ana.


Jose gets dragged away (by the hostess Ana now refers to as “Miss Very Short Hair and Red Lipstick”) to speak to the press, and Ana wanders around looking at the photographs. Christian does his level best to not have a good time at all:

“Does it come up to scratch?” My voice sounds more normal.He looks quizzically at me.“The wine.”
“No. Rarely does at these kinds of events. The boy’s quite talented, isn’t he?” Christian is admiring the lake photo.

Tell us how you really feel about all of this, Mr. Grey. If it wouldn’t hurt you too much to stop being such a classist prick?

Because Ana can’t concentrate on anything that doesn’t center around Chedward, she starts asking him questions about his past subs. And then, oh no!

We turn the corner, and I see why I’ve been getting strange looks. Hanging on the far wall are seven huge portraits – of me.

The portraits are close ups of Ana’s face in various expressions, which throws me a little. I was imagining her as Bella Swan, aka Kristen Stewart, and everyone knows she has only one expression.

“Excuse me,” he says, pinning me with his bright gaze for a moment. He heads to the reception desk.
What’s his problem now? I watch mesmerized as he talks animatedly with Miss Very Short Hair and Red Lipstick. He fishes out his wallet and produces his credit card.
Shit. He must have bought one of them.

Yeah, Ana. I’m sure your super rich ex-boyfriend who is obsessed with you bought ONE of those photographs. Just like I’m sure he’s not going to hang them all up in his Red Room of Pain and jack off to them while stubbing out cigarettes on his thighs. Ana asks Christian if he bought one of the photos:

He rolles his eyes. “I bought them all, Anastasia. I don’t want some stranger ogling you in the privacy of their home.”

 So, then she counters that he must feel it’s perfectly okay for him to ogle her in his own home, and then she calls him a pervert. Which is not really fair to perverts.

They banter, and we get a cause/effect lesson:

“You look very relaxed in these photographs, Anastasia. I don’t see you like that very often.”

That would be the effect, right there. The cause is:

What? Whoa! Change of subject – talk about non sequitur – from playful to serious.

If Christian wants people to be at ease around them, he needs to not, you know, emotionally manipulate them and scare them with his crazy ass mood swings. And surprisingly, Ana tells him that:

“You have to stop intimidating me if you want that,” I snap.

But he counters with:

“you have to learn to communicate and tell me how you feel,” he snaps back, eyes blazing.

She does tell you how she feels, Christian. Ana isn’t the one with the communication problem. All through 50 Shades of Grey she told you exactly how she felt. It’s just that when she did, you didn’t like what you heard, so you would either fuck her to distract her from the relationship problems, or you would try to explain why your needs were more important than hers. Someone needs to learn about communication, you’re right. It’s just not Ana.


So, Ana tells him how she feels. AGAIN. She tells him AGAIN that she doesn’t like how she never knows what to expect from him, or how to act to make him happy. She tells him AGAIN that she doesn’t like feeling confused about his expectations. And then Christian says:

“Good point well made, as usual, Miss Steele.”

And as usual, he’s going to ignore it, by changing the subject and telling her that it’s time to leave her friend’s art show:

“We’ve only been here for half an hour.”
“You’ve seen the photos; you’ve spoken to the boy.”

I know I’ve said this before, but like I said about old friends… This. Fucking. Guy. He points out that the last time he met Jose, he was in full date rape mode, and Ana shoots back that hey, at least he never hit her. And Christian changes the subject AGAIN to avoid talking about Ana’s feelings, because he doesn’t really want to hear them:

“I’m taking you to get something to eat. You’re fading away in front of me. Find the boy, say good-bye.”“Please, can we stay longer?”“No. Go. Now. Say good-bye.” 

It should come as no shock to you, dear reader, that Ana does what Christian tells her to. Even though she has broken up with him, even though she’s angry at him for trying to control her, she’s so manipulated by Christian that she actually goes to her friend and is all, “Hey, I have to leave your art show that I promised I’d be at, even though we just got here.”

Jose sweeps me into a big bear hug, spinning me so I can see Christian across the gallery. He’s scowling, and I realize it’s because I’m in Jose’s arms. So in a very calculating move, I wrap my arms around Jose’s neck. I think Christian is going to expire. His glare darkens to something quite sinister, and slowly he makes his way toward us.

If there is one word I like used in descriptions of romance novel heroes, it’s “sinister.” Also, Ana is clinging to Jose to make Christian jealous? Rather than returning actual affection toward her friend, she’s using him as a prop. Ana and Christian are both horrible, horrible people.

Christian grudgingly compliments Jose on his photographs, then drags Ana outside, where this happens:

He looks quickly up and down the street then heads left and suddenly sweeps me into a side alley, abruptly pushing me up against a wall. He grabs my face between his hands, forcing me to look up into his ardent, determined eyes.

He kisses her, and she’s totally into it, but… how does he know that? Oh, right, it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t care. Even if Ana wasn’t into it, even if she wanted to push him away and say, “We’re broken up, you don’t have the right to touch me like that,” he still would. Because he’s an abuser.

“You. Are. Mine,” he snarls, emphasizing each word. He pushes away from me and bends, hands on knees as if he’s run a marathon. “For the love of God, Ana.”
I lean against the wall, panting, trying to control the riotous reaction in my body, trying to find my equilibrium.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper once my breath has returned.
“You should be. I know what you were doing. Do you want the photographer, Anastasia? He obviously has feelings for you.”

That’s right, Ana. You should totally apologize for making Christian force you up against that wall and kiss you without permission. How. Very. Dare. You.

And then the chapter ends with Christian telling Ana she needs to eat. I shit you not.

I was trying to bite my lip, but then at the last second I considered that an abusive millionaire might jump right the fuck out of the books and force me to sign sex paper work. And I just don’t have time for that on my birthday, so I stopped mid-lip bite.

That’s right. You guys gave me the best/worst birthday present, ever. You helped out my friend, and you doomed me to more of this nonsense.

You raised over $1,000.00 in THREE DAYS for Lindsey and Frank, and your generosity ensured that I have to honor my commitment and recap the next two books. Thank you for helping small business owners in need. Now buckle up, because the recaps will resume this week. God help me.

I have this personal policy wherein if something good happens to me, I try to make something good happen for someone else. This purely selfishly motivated, because I do this so that if something really bad happens to me, someone might try to help me out. Some people call this karma, so if that’s the word for it, let’s go with that.

I’ve never once, in my entire life, said that people shouldn’t say what they want to say, when they want to say it. It’s the way I live, it’s the way I conduct my career. But I also accept the consequences for my actions.

Look, here’s the thing. I don’t want to be known as an “angry” blogger. But everyone keeps pissing me off.

Like these jack-offs at Stop The GR Bullies. Fuck these guys, okay? First of all, I’m going to go on record and say that there is at least one author involved here. I don’t know this for a fact, but I know it with my heart, soul, and guts, because only authors can carry a mean, vindictive streak like this out to its inevitable conclusion. Because we’re all barely functioning vis-a-vis mental health. And if there isn’t an author directly writing these posts? There’s an author mobilizing this with a bunch of “poor me, reviewers are so mean” whinging.

I can’t even coordinate my thoughts, that’s how pissed off I am.

Let’s start here: in one post on “Stop The GR Bullies,” the fuckwads actually post a GoodReads user’s name, the city she lives in, and where she works? What is the point of that? So the next time she steps out of line on GoodReads, someone can try and get her fired. Seriously? This is what constitutes stopping a bully?

In another post, a GoodReads reviewer is accused of being a problem drinker and neglectful mom. Yeah, sure, that’s going to solve the problem of “bullying,” and mocking the fact that she’s writing a novel is TOTALLY going to mean that she gives nicer reviews to YOUR books on GoodReads.

Grow up, book community. You’re accusing people of child abuse and trying to get them fired OVER BOOKS. FUCKING BOOKS. THEY ARE MADE UP STORIES ON PAPER OR DIGITAL MEDIA. IF YOU LIKE SOMETHING AND SOMEONE ELSE DOESN’T? FUCKING DEAL WITH IT.

On Saturday morning, I woke up to find this comic, titled “Wrong Century” from 9Gag.com positively plastered all over facebook: