It’s difficult to know how to approach life after a tragedy. With my entire country reeling from grief, there’s a lot of finger pointing, a lot of anger, and a hugely politicized gun control argument. We’ve got people saying this is because we’ve moved into a secular society and removed God from schools. We’ve got other nutjobs saying that Connecticut deserved this because they offer marriage equality to their residents. We have people passionately calling for a ban on guns, with others passionately calling for armed teachers. At the end of the day, every single one of those reactions are coming from people trying to make sense out of the fact that twenty children are dead at the hands of a deeply disturbed individual.

I started a blog post with the intent to look at some aspects of the media coverage that make me uncomfortable. The rush to blame mental illness, the rush to divert gun control into a discussion about violence in videogames. The way that everyone gets up in arms about the tragedy of a school in a “safe” setting being targeted, but collectively we couldn’t care less about the gun violence deaths of children of color in our cities.

The more I wrote, the more mired down in depression, until I couldn’t do anything but stare numb at the tv and watch episode after episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer in my increasingly odorous clothes I hadn’t changed and, yes, had slept in. I recognized this as the beginning of a depression spiral that I can’t afford, and I know it’s having the same effect on a lot of you out there, because some of you have shared your struggles with mental illness.

So, with that in mind, for the next week, this blog will be all fluff. There may be pictures of baby animals (my husband says he can tell how depressed I am based on how many videos of cute baby animals are in my youtube history). There may be mindless chatter about stupid shit. But I won’t be mentioning the shooting, and I’m not going to air any big political opinions.

That might sound callous, but I assure you, it’s coming from a good place. There is no amount of analyzing we can do that will bring those kids back to life. No amount of cultural reflection will mend the families whose lives were irrevocably torn apart. But at times like these, when every channel is airing photos of the smiling faces of the deceased, when every facebook status update is lauding the heroes who laid down their lives, it’s very easy for people made vulnerable by mental illness to get overwhelmed. So, I just want to explain why it’s going to seem like I’m carrying on without a care in the world while the rest of the nation falls apart.

It’s not because I don’t care or I’m ignoring the tragedy. I hope you all understand.

Yes, I’ve changed the blog. I’ve received a lot of complaints about this. Please be patient while I figure something else out. I rather like this format, but if it’s going to mess with everyone, I’ll have to find a new one, and that might take me a minute or a day or a week.

My tweep @Zionastar wanted to share this with you all:

Also, check out the really disturbing stuff Barbie is getting up to these days:

Tweep @Bindibo0 shared this picture, which certainly heralds the coming apocalypse:

If you can’t see it clearly, that’s a window decal that says “Laters, Baby.” First, I was like, “It’s awesome that someone put words from a book on their car,” and then I was all, “But people put ‘Not all who wander are lost’ bumperstickers on all the time, so fuck your book nerd pride, this is a crisis.” I guess I should be grateful that the etsy seller who made the decal didn’t put a possessive apostrophe in it, so thank god for small miracles (“LAAAANAAAAAAA! I said, thank god for small miracles.”). Other things that are good about this sticker: it’s on a Hyundai, so I think it’s safe to say that no sadistic billionaire has gotten to this poor woman yet.

Wasn’t that fun? Well, don’t get used to it. The fun stops here, because now we have to read the actual book, and let me tell you, things were left a mess in the last chapter. Ana ran off to the bathroom to cry and get som space from Christian. Wanna guess how that worked out?

“Hey,” Christian’s says gently as he pulls me into his arms, “please don’t cry, Ana, please,” he begs. He’s on the bathroom floor, and I am in his lap.

So… how is that “needing space” thing working out for you? And by the way, I didn’t mistype there. That’s how the actual first sentence reads on the page.

Christian holds Ana while she cries, then carries her to bed, where he continues to give her the space and time to think that she needs. Just kidding, he turns into the plant from Little Shop of Horrors.

Christian is wrapped around me like a vine. He grumbles in his sleep as I slip out of his arms, but he doesn’t wake.

Ana goes for juice and headache pills, then goes to the window, where she thinks about how she has a lot of stuff to think about. That’s another of my least favorite aspects of this book. She never just thinks about anything. First, she has to think about how she needs to think about it. But she does eventually get around to thinking about what she thinks she needs to think about:

Marriage. It’s almost unbelievable and completely unexpected.

Unless you’ve read the Twilight series, in which case you were able to set your watch by his proposal.

I look like his mother. This wounds me deeply, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. We all look like his mom.

How the hell do I move on from the disclosure of that little secret? No wonder he didn’t want to tell me. But certainly he can’t remember much of his mother. I wonder once more if I should talk to Dr. Flynn. Would Christian let me? Perhaps he could fill in the gaps.

That’s a great idea. I think it’s really a marker of a solid, trusting relationship if you have to get answers for your partner’s behavior from a medical professional instead of just talking directly to said partner. That’s why nearly every romantic comedy features a scene of Katherine Heigl talking to Gerard Butler’s therapist.

The Ugly Truth is that this movie sucks 100 balls.

And what’s the BFD about her looking like Chrisitan’s mom? I look a lot like my husband’s mom. And his sister. And him. And nobody thinks that’s creepy.

Okay, now I see it. Forget I said anything.

The peaceful tranquility is shattered by a visceral, primeval cry that makes every single hair on my body stand to attention. Christian! Holy fuck – what’s happened? I am on my feet, running back to the bedroom before the echoes of that horrible sound have died away, my heart thumping with fear.

 What happened is, Christian woke up when you left the room, then waited a little while, until it seemed just the right time to scream and draw you back into his manipulations. Because it’s dramatic, and men like Christian invent drama to keep women tied to them.

Even assuming Christian is really having a night terror, I love the timing of it. Ana is thinking, “Gosh, could I actually live here and be married to him? What’s it going to be like?” and then suddenly she hears the Doom scream and it doesn’t strike her as a bad sign.

I flip one of the light switches, and Christian’s bedside light comes to life.

According to Pixar, that can totally happen.

The amount of needless explanation for everyday actions and common phrases is starting to wear me down. Seriously, E.L., we all know what happens when you flip a light switch. Why not just say, “I switch on Christian’s bedside lamp?” We don’t need some florid metaphor about what happens to a lamp when you turn it on, just like we didn’t need context clues to know what “overflowing” meant in the last chapter. I get describing things like the sound of a car engine (“He turned the key and the engine roared to life,” for example) or the way light looks in a room (for instance, saying light flooded a room or that a lamp glows with soft golden light), but seriously? You’re going to walk us poetically through the steps of turning on a lamp when you’ve got this night terror situation already hooking the reader?

He’s tossing and turning, writhing in agony. No! He cries out again, and the eerie, devastating sound lances through me anew.

Shit – a nightmare!

Really? Are you sure he’s not building a boat? Learning to read Greek? Crafting hand-dipped candles? NO SHIT HE’S HAVING A NIGHTMARE.

Also, I would like to just have you guys imagine that the cry he’s making is the velociraptor impression D-Rock made in the video I posted yesterday. Because it makes this whole thing so much funnier.

Ana shakes Christian awake, and he’s not needy, like, at all:

“You left, you left, you must have left,” he mumbles – his wide-eyed star become accusatory – and he looks so lost, it wrenches at my heart. Poor Fifty.

“I’m here.” I sit down on the bed beside him. “I’m here,” I murmur softly in an effort to reassure him. I reach out to place my palm on the side of his face, trying to soothe him.

If she wasn’t creeped about about looking like his mom before, she definitely will be now, let me tell you. Especially if this whole “Mommy, I had a bad dream” thing plays out more than once.

 “You’re here. Oh, thank God.” He reaches for me, and grabbing me tightly, he pulls me down on the bed beside him.

How did he know she was gone in the first place, if he was asleep? Hey, caught you in your lie, Mr. Grey. Of course, I’m probably interpreting this entirely differently than the author intended. I’m sure that this scene is intended to show the reader how attuned to Ana that Chedward is, that even when he’s sleeping, he knows where she is. Which would make me seriously reconsider that whole marriage proposal thing. I mean, is he just marrying her because she helps him sleep better? Get one of those Sleep Number beds from the tv and a body pillow and suck it up, Chedward.

Christian starts getting gropey, and of course Ana is completely into the sexxors, until she remembers that he’s boning her because she looks like his mom:

He wants me, but his words from earlier choose this moment to come back and haunt me, what he said about his mother. And it’s like a bucket of cold water on my libido. Fuck. I can’t do this. Not now.

So, they stop having sex, because Ana asks to stop.

“Christian… Stop. I can’t do this,” I whisper urgently against his mouth, my hands pushing on his upper arms.

“What? What’s wrong?” he murmurs and starts kissing my neck, running the tip of his tongue lightly down my throat. Oh…

What’s wrong is literally everything in this book. But at the moment, what’s wrong is that Ana is telling you to stop, she doesn’t want to have sex, but you’re going to keep pushing her:

“No, please. I can’t do this, not now. I need some time, please.”

“Oh, Ana, don’t overthink this,” he whispers as he nips my earlobe.

Yeah, don’t overthink it, Ana. Don’t be put off by the fact that in a single day you have had a gun pointed at you because of me, that I provided pretty intimate care for my ex-girlfriend in your apartment and then got jealous because while I was doing that you were with an old friend, that I asked you to marry me because I’m afraid you might go spend the night at your apartment for once, that we’ve been together a couple weeks and I want you to move in, and that I can’t give you space for five fucking minutes to use the bathroom alone, and now I’m telling you that you really want to have sex when you don’t. Just give in, baby, and you can maybe retreat into your head for five minutes while I’m pounding you. Just don’t, you know, go far, because I can’t live without you.

“Ah!” I gasp, feeling it in my groin, and my body bows, betraying me. This is is so confusing.

Not really. It’s called coerced consent, and it’s a very common form of rape.

But of course, it’s the most scorching hot, sexy rape you’ve ever read, and Ana loves every minute of it, because that’s the kind of book this is.

I’m not saying I don’t like to read the occasional dub-con story. I like an old school historical rapemance as much as the next person. Hell, I’ve written dub-con. I don’t really have a problem with people enjoying rape-fantasy, because the mind, as a sex organ, is all kinds of interesting and many times will arouse us with things we fear. See also, the time I fantasized about a gang bang with the The Gentlemen from Buffy. But I don’t enjoy this particular dub-con, because there is no element of fantasy to it. E.L. James has (unintentionally, I firmly believe) written a shockingly realistic account of an abusive relationship. Getting hot to this isn’t the same thing as reading, say, a Catherine Coulter wedding night rape scene, where you know the hero is going to feel super bad about his actions later, even though his medieval culture and upbringing tells him that it was totally cool of him to force himself on the heroine. Getting hot to this is like jilling off to The Accused, because Christian Grey is never going to stop manipulating Ana, and he’s not going to think he was wrong for forcing himself on her here. He won’t even consider it forcing himself on her, and neither will Ana. And that, friends, is my problem with this kind of rape-fantasy. When you don’t realize it’s rape, when the author is justifying why it’s not rape, or why the rape is okay, it’s not a rape-fantasy. It’s just a plain old rape scene.

In this particular scene, though, at least we’re spared, “Oh, Ana, what you do to me,” or whatever the fuck it is that Chedward is always saying while they bone. In this scene, that’s all turned on its head:

Oh, what I can do to him!

See, completely different.

“Don’t give me a chance to think, Christian. I want you, too.” 

This is the consent she gives. “Okay, we’ll do this, but only if you don’t let me remember why I didn’t want to.” Swoon.

So, they have sex, Chedward says she’s going to “unman” him again (so maybe it is a Catherine Coulter scene after all), and this time, Ana gets to be on top:

I grab his hands and start to move, reveling in the fullness of my possession, reveling in his reaction, watching him unravel beneath me. I feel like a goddess. I lean down and kiss his chin, running my teeth along his stubbled jaw. He tastes delicious. He clasps my hips and steadies my rhythm, slow and easy.

That’s all like, 100% copy-pasted from all the other sex scenes. Jesus, I know that sex in a monogamous relationship can get stale, but that got repetitive really quickly. And I’ve got a whole ‘nother book to go. I’ll be truly shocked if the sex scenes in book three don’t just read like, “He starts to move, really move, I unravel, my inner goddess does something, teeth, stubble, blazing eyes, yadda yadda are you done masturbating yet?”

Ana can’t orgasm because, surprise, she’s not entirely into the sex, owing to all the mental torture he’s put her through so far that day. So, you know what happens next. Christian just finishes, tells her thanks for the sex, and promises he’ll make it up to her with some oral next time, when she’s more in the mood.

Sorry, I mixed up my copies there for a second, I was reading BIZARRO Shades Darker. What actually happens is this:

“Come on baby, I need this. Give it to me.”

Look, I’m no sex expert… sexpert… exsexpatriot… but I’m almost completely sure that pressuring someone into orgasm doesn’t work. Unless they really get off on stress.

Or unless it’s in this shitty, shitty book:

And I explode, my body a slave to his, and wrap myself around him, clinging to him like a vine as he cries out my name, and climaxes with me, then collapses, his full weight pressing me into the mattress.

Oh yeah, before I have to correct it in the comments, they did switch positions, so he was on top at the end. That’s not a mistake.

Hey, Ana, remember how you were like, “Oh, Leila is so pathetic, I’m glad I’m not like pathetic, stupid, awful, pathetic Leila,” about a chapter ago? You just had sex with Christian Grey because he wanted you to, and you had an orgasm because he told you to. That’s the equivalent of falling on the ground in supplication the way Leila did. It might be a little worse. But of course, we’re not supposed to see it that way. Leila is a crazy whore, and Ana is strong, bright, and interesting, so she’s choosing to react this way.

And enough with the vines already. This isn’t fucking Tarzan.

After their “lovemaking” (and yes, that’s actually how Ana refers to it, please don’t hang yourself), Ana asks him about his nightmare. The nightmare was about his mother’s pimp putting cigarettes out on him.

“It’s the pain I remember. That’s what gives me nightmares. That, and the fact that she did nothing to stop him.”

Interesting aside, did you know you can’t actually remember pain? But that the memory of pain can be more damaging than the actual pain you experience? Google it, there’s a lot of interesting stuff out there. I’m not saying this to point out anything wrong with the book, I just think it’s a really bizarre thing.

Oh no. This is unbearable. I tighten my grip around him, my legs and arms holding him to me, and I try not to let my despair choke me. How could anyone treat a child like that? He raises his head and pins me with his intense gray gaze.

“You’re not like her. Don’t ever think that. Please.”

Christian goes on to talk about his mom being dead, and him being hungry, and I was kind of hoping he’d say he ate parts of his mom’s dead body, but instead he talks about the pimp beating him. But it’s not the pimp that Christian hates. I’m finding it kind of strange that his hatred of his mom causes him to seek out women who look like her so he can beat them. It seems like he should be into finding women who look like his mom and then letting other people beat them while he does nothing to stop it. He cut out the middle man, and I’m all for efficiency, but a lot of his anger toward his mom doesn’t wash, especially considering he’s been going through therapy. It seems like any therapist worth anything would have told Christian that he and his mother were both victims of the same abuser, the pimp, that his mother was not only an addict but a woman being controlled by a violent man, and that while in a perfect world she should have been able to protect him, she just couldn’t in those terrible circumstances.

“She didn’t love me. I didn’t love me. The only touch I knew was… harsh. It stemmed from there. Flynn explains it better than I can.”

Wait, his therapist is telling him that his mother didn’t love him? I’m confused here, because it seems like the good memories he does have, like of a mom baking him a birthday cake, wouldn’t have happened if his mom didn’t love him, at least a little bit. A therapist probably would have touched on that. And also, that whole, “your mom was a victim of your abuser, too,” thing.

“You  are so precious to me, Ana. I was serious about marrying you. We can get to know each other then. I can look after you. You can look after me. We can have kids if you want. I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever. Please think about it.”

Yeah, you guys should definitely bring a child into this. You both have your shit entirely together, so what could possibly go wrong?

Ana tells Christian she’ll think about, and then she says she wants to talk to Dr. Flynn. Christian says:

“Anything for you, baby. Anything. When would you like to see him?”

So, anything for you except the right to refuse sex, the right to not orgasm, the right to have space, the right to not be pressured into things, but anything. Anything, baby.

This guy. This fucking guy.

And just to prove that Ana is totally not some pathetic, mind-controlled sexbot like Leila is?

He curls his arms around me, his front to my back, and nuzzles my neck. “I love you, Ana Steele, and I want you by my side, always,” he murmurs as he kisses my neck. “Now go to sleep.”

I close my eyes.

See? Not mind controlled at all.

In the morning, she wakes up in a situation oddly similar to something we’ve already read. Twice.

I feel cloudy, disconnected from my leaden limbs, and Christian is wrapped around me like ivy.

I guess Ana and Christian have a relationship not unlike that of Dr. Pinder-Schloss and the man eating plant in The Addams Family.

We’re getting the way-back machine for this one, folks.

Ana is late for work, and flustered, so I’m going to assume that she just didn’t have time to make any damn sense in this paragraph:

I check my clothes – black slacks, black shirt – all a bit Mrs. R, but I don’t have a second to change my mind. I hastily don black bra and panties, conscious that he’s watching my every move. It’s… unnerving. The panties and bra will do.

Please, if you can explain to me what the hell she’s saying in that paragraph, share it with the class. I get that she thinks her clothes are like Mrs. Robinson’s. I don’t get why she’s putting on her bra and panties when it sounds like she’s already dressed. Or maybe she’s not going to get dressed at all, maybe that’s why she says “The panties and bra will do,” because she’s not going to wear anything else. In fact, for the rest of the scene, she just puts on a watch and a pair of shoes, and then says it will “do” again. Is Ana getting dressed today?

One thing is certain, and that is that Christian will not be getting dressed today. In fact, he wants Ana to skip work to have sex with him, but that’s a no go, so he tells her to have Taylor drive her. The danger with Leila is over, but Christian is afraid Ana won’t be able to find a parking spot and punch the clock on time, so she should just have his manservant ferry her there or something. I’m telling you this so that you are aware that the brand new car that he absolutely had to buy Ana still has not been driven one fucking time yet. Ana hasn’t missed that point, either, but she agrees with Christian:

But he’s right, of course – it will be quicker with Taylor.

Bull fucking shit it will be. Every time I’ve thought of Taylor while I was in the shower, he had staying power. Also, all of my fantasies start out with him murdering Christian Grey in cold blood, and he comes to me still dripping with gore. We consumate our love on the back of a motorcycle, running from the cops.

Sorry, what?

Ana wonders if something is wrong, because Christian doesn’t usually stay in bed all day, but he informs her that he’s going to, because he can.

I shake my head at him. “Laters, baby.” I blow him a kiss, and I am out the door.

OMG, GUYS, THIS TIME ANA WAS THE ONE WHO SAID “LATERS, BABY!”

The fact that there isn’t an instance of irony in the lyric is what makes the song itself ironic.

Because Ana is late, Taylor drives the way he drives in my sex dreams about him, which 1) breaks the rule about keeping Ana safe, and 2) terrifies Ana. So, good job, Taylor!

I remember Christian telling me he drove tanks; maybe he drives for NASCAR, too.

You see a lot of tanks in NASCAR, Ana? She’s talking about Taylor driving tanks, by the way, not Christian, not that you would be able to tell thanks to that wonk pronoun referral. Whatever, I’m just happy she didn’t say, “maybe he drives for Formula One, too.”

Ana gets to work fifteen minutes late. Which, you know, shit happens, but isn’t this her third week? It really doesn’t matter, because she’s not going to be in this job for long. I’m not saying that because I’ve read the whole book, I’m saying that because if I had an employee who pulled all the shit she’s going to pull on this day, I would fire them. Immediately. Let’s start by keeping a running tally, and we’ll add to it every time she does something that should get her reprimanded by her boss. The clock starts with:

1. Fifteen minutes late to work.

When Ana gets to her desk, Jack is in no mood:

“What time do you call this?” he snaps.

 “I’m sorry, I overslept.” I flush crimson.

 “Don’t let it happen again. Fix me some coffee, and then I need you to do some letters. Jump to it,” he shouts, making me flinch.

 Why is he so mad? What’s his problem? What have I done?

You were fifteen minutes late to work. In a lot of jobs, being on-time is the same thing as being fifteen minutes late. And you’ve only worked there for two weeks. Plus, your boss knows that your boyfriend is the most powerful man in the city, so maybe he thinks you’re late because you don’t give a shit and you don’t really need your job. It’s unfair, but I would be giving  you the side eye, if I were him.

 Maybe I should have ditched. I could be… well, doing something hot with Christian, or having breakfast with him, or just talking – that would be novel.

Yeah, because you guys never talk. It’s not like you spent the entire last chapter crying and talking and talking and crying. Seriously, I wrote a book once where my editor sent it back with a tersely worded, “NO CRYING” post it on the first page (in ye olden days when physical manuscripts were mailed back and forth), and it didn’t have nearly as much crying and talking as just the previous chapter of this book.

Jack gives Ana a handwritten letter he wants typed up. Because this book is set in the 1960’s, when people didn’t have computers and iPads and shit. Sorry, but if Jack wanted Ana to take a letter, he would probably just dictate it to her, or type one up himself and ask her to polish it. But whatever, Ana doesn’t do it, anyway:

It is with some relief that I finally sit down at my desk. I take a sip of tea as I wait for my computer to boot up. I check my emails.

1. Fifteen minutes late to work.
2. Checks personal emails instead of working.

And it’s not like she just “checks” her emails. She emails back and forth with Christian for a while, with no mention of anything happening between sending and receipt of emails. For example, the first email she sends has a time stamp of 09:27, and the reply she receives comes at 09:32. Then she responds again at 09:35, and gets an answer back at 09:40. So, for like ten minutes, all she’s doing is email chatting. Keep this in mind for later, when Ana can’t figure out why her boss is furious with her.

As for the content of the emails, Christian sends an email to her work account that says:

Please use your BlackBerry.

So, Ana responds, via her work account, of course:

My boss is mad.

I blame you for keeping me up late with your… shenanigans.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

So, keeping in mind that he’s already told her to use her BlackBerry, and we know the account is monitored (because apparently SIP, even though it’s a small company that was about to go under before Christian purchased it, has enough payroll to throw around to have staff members able to monitor literally every email on the company server), Christian’s response is, in part:

But I like keeping you up late 😉

Please use your BlackBerry.

Oh, and marry me, please.

Every email is signed with an automatic signature listing his full name and job title, but he’ll go ahead and talk about sex and marriage on an email account he knows is monitored.

Ana emails back that she wants to talk to his shrink (despite him continually reminding her that she has an email account she can use that isn’t monitored, although I’m not sure why he doesn’t just stop emailing her at that address), and he gets mad:

Anastasia, if you’re going to start discussing Dr. Flynn, then USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.

 This is not a request.

 Christian Grey,

Now Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

You know what’s funny about this whole thing? Ana never once mentioned the shrink by name. Pretty much all the info leaks Christian is worried about are coming straight from him. And again, if he was going to use the good doctor’s name, why didn’t he just send that email to the BlackBerry on his own?

Oh shit. Now he’s mad at me, too. Well, he can stew for all I care. I take my BlackBerry out of my purse and eye it with skepticism. As I do, it starts ringing. Can’t he leave me alone?

Dude, you’re the one who was emailing back and forth with him, it’s not like he was just pelting you with emails you were trying to ignore. Also, lol at Ana eyeing the BlackBerry with skepticism. She’s used it before. Also, I don’t know if this is true for everyone (because I have an Android phone now), but when I had a BlackBerry, it wasn’t like I had a special, BlackBerry-only email account that I could only access from the BlackBerry. I just had a personal email account linked to my device. Why doesn’t she just go into that email account on her computer?

It’s not Christian, but Jose who is calling her. Since we haven’t seen Jose for a while, I want to remind you that Jose has an accent mark in his name that I haven’t figured out how to reproduce in Blogger’s compose mode. So, don’t get up in arms about Jose’s missing accent mark and blame E.L. for it.

“Jose! How are you?” Oh, it’s good to hear his voice.

“I’m fine, Ana. Look, are you still seeing that Grey guy?”

“Er – yes… Why?” Where is he going with this?

I’m wondering that, myself, because didn’t he just see them last Thursday? I would be a little offended if my friends saw me out with my boyfriend on Thursday, and then two weeks later be like, “Are you still with that guy?”

On the other hand, it’s kind of nice that he checks, because, as he points out, Christian did buy all those photos of Ana. I’m not sure I would want to sell my friend’s ex a bunch of huge, wall-sized photos of them.

“Well, he’s bought all your photos, and I thought I could deliver them up to Seattle. The exhibition closes Thursday, so I could bring them up Friday evening and drop them off, you know. And maybe we could catch a drink or something. Actually, I was hoping for a place to crash, too.”

“Jose, that’s cool. Yeah, I’m sure we could work something out. Let me talk to Christian and call you back, okay?”

Yeah, I see this going really well, Ana. Just tell Christian that you want Jose, the guy he hates and fears most in this world because Jose has a penis and dared to dream of using it near you, wants to come and get drunk and spend the night. This is going to go down flawlessly.

Ana and Jose hang up, and Ana thinks:

Holy cow. I haven’t seen or heard from Jose since his show. I didn’t even ask him how it went or if he sold any more pictures. Some friend I am. 

No shit. That’s what I’ve been saying. Within seconds of hanging up the phone, Ana remembers what reality she’s currently operating in:

So, I could spend the evening with Jose on Friday. How will Christian like that? I become aware that I am biting my lip till it hurst. Oh, that man has double standards. He can – I shudder at the thought – bathe his batshit ex-lover, but I will probably get a truckload of grief for wanting to have a drink with Jose. How am I going to handle this?

While Ana sits there and mulls over her personal problems, there’s the small matter of a letter she’s supposed to be typing up:

“Ana!” Jack pulls me abruptly out of my reverie. Is he still mad? “Where’s that letter?”

 “Er – coming.” Shit. What is eating him?

Let’s take a look:

1. Fifteen minutes late to work.
2. Checks personal emails instead of working.
3. Takes a personal call instead of working.

Seriously, it’s been like a half hour. I was a secretary, okay? It doesn’t take that damn long to just type up a letter. So, Ana gets to work, and brings the letter to Jack:

“I don’t know what you’re doing out there, but I pay you to work,” he barks.

“I’m aware of that, Jack,” I mutter apologetically. I feel a slow flush creep up my skin.

“This is full of mistakes,” he snaps. “Do it again.”

Fuck. He’s beginning to sound like someone I know, but rudeness from Christian I can tolerate. Jack is beginning to piss me off.

He’s beginning to piss you off? Are you fucking kidding me? You got to work fifteen minutes late, didn’t bother to start working until like, an hour past start time, and then you only started working because your boss got harsh with you, and he is starting to piss you off? Bitch, there are a lot of people in this country who need jobs. Maybe act like you want yours.

Holy fuck. He’s being unbearable. I sit back down at my desk, hastily redo his letter, which had two mistakes in it, and check it thoroughly before printing. Now it’s perfect.

Hey, Whiney McShutup, maybe you should have checked it thoroughly for errors the first time. Since, you know, that’s your job and all.

Ana takes the letter back to Jack, and gets offended when he repeats his earlier instructions to her:

“Photocopy it, file the original, and mail out to all authors. Understand?”

“Yes.” I am not an idiot. “Jack, is there something wrong?” 

1.  Fifteen minutes late to work.
2. Checks personal emails instead of working.
3. Takes a personal call instead of working.
4. Half-asses a simple typing job.

No, I don’t see what the problem could possibly be. Ana, being a much better psychiatrist than Dr. Flynn, has an idea:

Perhaps he, too, suffers from a personality disorder. Sheesh, I’m surrounded by them.

You’re the common denominator here, Ana, so maybe don’t sling diagnoses around like confetti, unless you want to end up hitting yourself with some.

We get a half paragraph about Ana’s struggles with the copier, and I’m so over reading about that. Sorry, Ana, I have done my time working in the Xerox mines, I will not come along with you on this journey. When she gets back to her desk, she takes another personal call, bringing the tally to five:

1. Fifteen minutes late to work.
2. Checks personal emails instead of working.
3. Takes a personal call instead of working.
4. Half-asses a simple typing job.
5. Takes another personal call.

Five, ah ah ah. Five reasons Jen would fire Ana!

It’s Ethan. He needs to pick up Ana’s keys again, and he wants to know if she wants to grab a coffee. She tells him she doesn’t have time:

“Not today. I was late getting in, and my boss is like an angry bear with a sore head and  poison ivy up his ass.”

She also calls him “‘Nasty and ugly,'” which sounds terribly clever, until she looks up and sees Jack watching her from his office. I hope he can’t lip read. No, fuck that, I hope he can. I hope his major in college was in Deaf education and he is a fucking master lip reading teacher. Ethan shows up for the keys, and since half a page has gone by without any mention of Christian, Ethan brings him up, mentioning that Ana has “‘got it bad,'” and Ana thinks:

That’s not the half of it, and in that moment I realize, I have it more than bad. I have it for life.

I bet that’s a similar moment to coming to grips with having a disease.

When Ana gets back to her desk, Jack is pissed, because once again she wasn’t, you know. Working.

“Where have you been?” Jack is suddenly looming over me.

“I had some business to attend to in Reception.” He is really getting on my nerves. 

So, the moral of this story is don’t hire Anastasia Rose Steele if you expect her to actually do her job:

1. Fifteen minutes late to work.
2. Checks personal email instead of working.
3. Takes a personal call instead of working.
4. Half-asses a simple typing job.
5. Takes another personal call.
6. Friend stops by the office.

Jack sends Ana to get his lunch, so she’s immediately right back on her BlackBerry, and what does she find, but yet another email from Christian, reminding her (and the reader) of shit that has already been drummed through our heads over and over again:

Please use discretion… your work e-mails are monitored.

HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THIS?

Yes. Shouty capitals as you say. USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.

Dr. Flynn can see us tomorrow evening.

“Hey, use discretion when emailing, especially about my personal life, but let me name my therapist again in yet another email.” And thus did the blind lead the stupid through the valley of reader frustration, because at this point I suspect even fans of the series were saying, “Ugh, again with this email thing?”

Christian also sent her another email, because literally two hours went by since she had last emailed him, and he was worried. She has a job, Christian. Surely someone who built a multi-billion dollar empire by the age of twenty-seven is familiar with the concept of being busy at work?

Or not, because when Ana calls him, his assistant puts her right through, as per Christian’s orders. Christian tells Ana:

“You’re normally so quick at responding to my emails. After what I told you yesterday, I was worried,” he says quietly, and then he’s talking to someone in his office.

So, no emails about personal stuff, but he’ll talk about it in front of his employees. No big. And let me stress once more, Ana is at work, at her job, which is not, despite what we’ve been shown in the narrative, just sitting on her ass and sending flirty emails. After an unbearable round of “no, you hang up,” (don’t ask if I’m serious, because I can really only wish I was joking about that part), Christian says:

“You’re biting your lip.”

Shit, he’s right. How does he know?

From what we already know about Mr. Grey, he’s probably just standing outside the deli Ana is getting Jack’s lunch from, creepily watching her. And speaking of Jack, when Ana gets back, he is still in no mood, so she decides to confront him:

“You seem kind of out of sorts today. Have I done something to offend you?”

He blinks at me momentarily. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to list your misdemeanors right now. I’m busy.” He continues to stare at his computer screen, effectively dismissing me.

Whoa… what have I done?

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.

 How I wish I could make this happen with just the power of my mind.

Ana goes to Starbucks for lunch. Some might say this is because she’s anorexic, but remember how many calories are in Starbucks’s overpriced crap. This is probably the highest calorie count she’s ever had for lunch. Remember, though, that she told Ethan she wouldn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee with him, and then she goes to Starbucks? That’s cold, Ana. I hope Ethan walks by and sees you there, sipping your latte.

In Ana’s defense, it would be really hard to sit there with Ethan and think of nothing but Christian, which is what she really wants to do on her lunch hour. Oh, shit, no it wouldn’t be. She went to the bar with Ethan the night before and all she did was think about Christian, so his company is clearly not a hindrance to Ana’s obsession.

My mind drifts. Christian the sadist. Christian the submissive. Christian the untouchable. Christian’s Oedipal impulses. Christian bathing Leila. I groan and close my eyes while that last image haunts me.

Can I really marry this man? He’s so much to take in. He’s complex and difficult, but deep down I know I don’t want to leave him despite all his issues. I could never leave him. I love him. It would be like cutting off my right arm.

Let us all now remember the timeline of this book, and the fact that she and Christian have been dating for like a month, a week of which they were broken up.

I ask you, dear reader, why do we have to suffer through this introspective bullshit? We all know she’s going to marry him, anyway, so why punish us with all this, “Will I? Won’t I?” crap? It’s like Xander and Anya in season 6 of Buffy.

 How I wish D’Hoffryn would show up and deal with Ana.

 Looking back on my life before Christian, it’s as if everything was in black and white, like Jose’s pictures. Now my whole world is in rich, bright, saturated color. I am soaring in a beam of dazzling light, Christian’s dazzling light I am still Icarus, flying too close to his sun. I snort to myself. Flying with Christian – who can resist a man who can fly?

You obviously can’t resist a metaphor, that’s pretty fucking clear. Notice how she manages to make a dig at her friend’s art while congratulating herself on her new, better friend. And way to define your entire life by one person. What if his glider crashes? Everything goes back to black and white and darkness and being… Daedalus? I guess, would be the opposite of Icarus? I’m so confused by all these metaphors. But the point is, we have reached the moment in the “romance” where the best our hero and heroine can hope for is to die together. That’s the best possible outcome here, for them to be consumed in a fireball.

Oh, and lest I forget:

It’s DAZZLE TIME.

I have to share with you, that when I tried to put the dazzle .gif there, I accidentally posted the Bristol Stool Chart instead, and for a second I thought, “Would anyone notice the difference, if I just left that there?” And I laughed and laughed, heartily, alone, in my office. Just me and my office plant. Think about that the next time you need a good cry.

Ana is still thinking about Christian, and whether she should “leave him” or stay with him:

And it strikes me like a thunderbolt – that’s what he needs from me, what he’s entitled to – unconditional love. He never received it from the crack whore – it’s what he needs.

First of all, no one is entitled to unconditional love, unless you belong to one of those religions where God loves you unconditionally no matter what you do. But we’re working with physical reality here, and in our physical reality, without any metaphysical nonsense muddying our waters, no one is entitled to unconditional love. No one is actually entitled to anything, for that matter. Entitlement is an artificial construct. Second, how does Ana know if Chedward’s mom gave him unconditional love or not? She was a victim in an abusive situation. She didn’t act the way she probably should have, but no one can prove that she didn’t love her son. To look at the situation and say, “Gosh, she was on drugs and a hooker, so she had no capacity for love,” is incredibly insulting. I guess I can understand a twenty-two year old thinking like that, but this book was written about a twenty-two year old, not by a twenty-two year old. A grown ass woman with children should fucking know better than to assume other mothers don’t love their children enough because of the way they respond to shitty, emotionally destructive circumstances. And third, Ana is calling Christian’s mom “the crack whore” now? I get it, it’s how they were introduced, but come the fuck on. You never met the woman, so get off your high horse. You were a prostitute, too, once, Ana. You sold the right to whip your hiney to a guy, and he didn’t pay you cash for it, but you got a lot of expensive gifts in return. And you filed paperwork on it. Judge not, lest I judge the fuck out of you.

I’ve seen the weighty evidence of his goodness – his charity work, his business ethics, his generosity – and yet he doesn’t see it in himself.

Let’s talk about his business ethics, a second. His business ethics include buying any company his girlfriend works for, meaning he has a little spy already planted in the office. His charity work includes not wanting Ana to donate money to his father’s charity, because he wants to win a private battle with her. And his generosity seems to lie in buying a lot of toys for the women he’s fucking. Oh, and giving away your things to his ex-girlfriend:

I wonder which clothes he gave her. I hope it wasn’t the plum dress. I liked that.

And that was Kate’s dress, wasn’t it?

I want to be all things to this man, his Alpha and his Omega and everything in between, because he is all things to me.

I hope Flynn will have the answers, and maybe then I can say yes. Christian and I can find our own slice of heaven close to the sun.

Yes. You should get as close to the sun as possible. Christian should invest all his money in space technology and you guys should make the sun your honeymoon destination.

Of course, while Ana is dreaming of her place in the sun in bright, dazzling, saturated color, she’s on her lunch break, which was supposed to be forty-five minutes:

I gaze out at bustling, lunchtime Seattle. Mrs. Christian Grey – who would have thought? I glance at my watch. Shit! I leap up from my seat and dash to the door – a whole hour of just sitting – where did the time go? Jack is going to go ballistic.

So…

1. Fifteen minutes late to work.
2. Checks personal email instead of working.
3. Takes a personal call instead of working.
4. Half-asses a simple typing job.
5. Takes another personal call.
6. Friend stops by the office.
7. Late from lunch.

When Ana gets back, she lies to Jack and says that she was in the basement photocopying. Photocopying what? He’s your boss, if he didn’t tell you to photocopy something, you wouldn’t have been down there. But Jack lets it slide, and tells Ana to print out his itinerary for New York. I’m thinking he had better do that himself, if he wants it done. Ana mentally calls him a bastard, because HOW VERY DARE her boss ask her to do her job! She’s been so busy all day, not doing a damn thing.

Receptionist Claire calls up Ana to tell her that she has a call from Mia:

Mia? I hope she doesn’t want to hang at the mall.

 Because Mia is rich, right? That’s why you’re being such a bitch? I just want to be clear on why you wouldn’t like one of the most likable characters in the Twilight series. I would love for Alice to call me while I was working.

“Ana, hi. How are you?” Her excitement is stifling.

Ugh, don’t you hate it when people call you and they’re all, “How are you?” and express a genuine interest in you?

Mia tells Ana that she’s organizing a birthday party for Christian, and Ana realizes that she doesn’t know when Christian’s birthday is. I think that if there was a checklist called “ways to tell if you know someone well enough to marry them,” “Do you know his or her birthday?” would be fairly up there on the list. That’s basic information that comes out randomly pretty early on in knowing someone.

Ana emails Christian – VIA HER COMPANY EMAIL – about his birthday, and says that the thought of him pouting “does things” to her, to which he responds that she should use her BlackBerry to check email. AGAIN. And Ana thinks:

Why is he so touchy about e-mails?

Everyone else read that chapter where she used the company email and he had to have some kind of cyber bodyguard retrieve it and delete it, right? I didn’t pass out on the toilet, smack my head, and dream all of that up, did I?

So, she emails him on her BlackBerry and they flirt for about two more pages, then we section break to quittin’ time. Everyone has gone home, Ana is just hanging around until Jack leaves for the airport, and that’s when he approaches her like Richard O’Brien in Ever After. In fact, just imagine him as this for the next… rest of the book:

“At last, I have you on your own,” he says, and he slowly licks his lower lip.

And then he ties her to the railroad tracks. Or something. No, actually, he just corners her in the office kitchen and finishs the chapter with an ominous:

“Now… are you going to be a good girl and listen very carefully to what I say?”

Which is supposed to be a cliffhanger, I guess, but we all know that unless he’s about to talk about Christian Grey, she ain’t gonna hear a fucking word.

EDIT ALERT!

After I first posted this recap, I found this infographic via Twitter, and it’s worth taking a look at. My favorite part is where they point out that Ana drinks 365% more alcohol per day than the recommended intake.

EDIT ALERT OVER! RETURN TO YOUR LIVES!

Good morning (or whenever the hell it is that I post this recap. I always shoot for morning and fall desperately short of the mark because the internet is full of distractions and pictures of cute animals)! I want to just say thank you for being so awesomely patient while I slowly punch through these recaps. I promise that once this book I’m working on is finished, I’ll get more recaps per week on the page.

“As much as I’d like to lie here with you all afternoon, he’ll need a hand with the dinghy.”

I know it’s a legit nautical term, but every time I hear the word “dinghy,” all I can think of is Tommy Boy.

I watch him move about the cabin as he dresses. This man who has just made such sweet love to me again. I can hardly believe my good fortune. I can’t quite believe that he’s mine.

Every. Fucking. Time. Seriously, how often do we have to hear about how Ana can’t believe she’s with Chedward?

“You are the master of my heart, Mr. Grey.” And my body… and my soul.

So, that’s healthy.

If you’ve noticed that they haven’t had an alcoholic drink since they got on the boat, and you were getting antsy wondering if they were going to go a full two hours without booze in their hands, Chedward has that covered:

“I’ll be on deck. There’s a shower in the bathroom if you want one. Do you need anything? A drink?” he asks solicitously, and all I can do is grin at him. Is this the same man? Is this the same Fifty?

Since he’s been feeding her alcohol for this entire book and the last one, I don’t know why she thinks this is such a huge change in his personality. Unless she’s a robot powered by alcohol and her programming is severely limited once alcohol levels take a critical dive.

 Ana asks Chedward what happened to the real Christian, and Christian tells her:

“He’s not very far away, baby,” he says softly, and there’s a touch of melancholy in his voice that makes me instantly regret asking the question. But he shakes it off. “You’ll see him soon enough” – he smirks at me – “especially if you don’t get up.” Reaching over, he smacks me hard on my behind so I yelp and laugh at the same time.

Wait, does Christian have fully integrated dissociative identity disorder?

Under Christian’s careful, patient instruction, I have now stowed a mainsail, a headsail, and a spinnaker, as well as learned to tie a reef knot, clove hitch, and sheepshank.

So, she learns about the boat stuff after the chapter where she describes all the boat stuff, and again, this book is written in present tense. Ah, craft. Who needs it, am I right?

Ana warns Christian that she might use her newfound knowledge to tie him up, and he says she’d have to catch him first.

His words bring to mind him chasing me around the apartment, the thrill, and then the hideous aftermath. I frown and shudder. After that, I left him.

No shit, really? Because this entire book so far hasn’t been centered on the fact that you guys had a fight and broke up for five whole days. Which were, of course, the longest and most painful five days any human has ever suffered through. Forget POW camps, forget the Holocaust and the Armenian genocide, no, Anastasia Rose Steele suffered through the most painful human experience possible, a five day breakup from a boyfriend of two weeks. A break up so horrible and painful, we’re describing it as “leaving” someone, because that’s how close they were. It was like they were practically married, guys. They are soul mates.

Would I leave him now that he’s admitted he loves me? I gaze up into his clear gray eyes. Could I ever leave him again – no matter what he did to me? Could I betray him like that? No. I don’t think I could.

NO MATTER WHAT HE DID TO HER. In other words, she feels like she betrayed him when she left him because she wanted a boyfriend and he wanted to just beat the holy fuck out of her all the time even though she didn’t like it. That’s the betrayal she’s talking about. And if he did the exact same thing again, she couldn’t leave him. She’s completely roped into the role of patient victim now, to the point that she’s really enjoying her martyrdom.

Ana thinks about how Christian took her on a tour of the boat and had sex with her. Because if she’s not talking directly to Christian, she should be thinking about him, and especially about sex.

He is an exceptional lover, I’m sure – though, of course, I have no comparison. But Kate would have raved more if it was always like this; it’s not like her to hold back on details.

Note the subtle dig: the sex Ana is having is better than the sex Kate is having. Since we’ve read the first book, we already know that Ana is better than Kate in every way, or at least she must reassure herself that she is, because otherwise, how can she be happy?

But how long will this be enough for him? I just don’t know, and the thought is unnerving.

And repetitive.

And then, oh dear, dear readers. And then I read a line that makes my heart almost explode into millions upon millions of little black, bat-shaped pieces of despair confetti at its inclusion in this book:

 “There is poetry of sailing as old as the world,” he murmurs in my ear.

NO. No, no, no. Fuck you, E.L., no. First of all, the quote is: “There is a poetry of sailing as old as the world,” and no. You are not going to use Le Petit Prince as any kind of metaphor for Christian Grey. I will not stand for it.

“Thank you,” I murmur shyly. “That was a perfect afternoon.”

Enough with the shy murmurs. They’ve fucked a billion times. In his parent’s boat house. In his parent’s house. In his house. In her house. On a boat. Because there was nothing good on tv. Because a butterfly flapped its wings in Singapore. They’ve played sex games. They’ve escaped… I don’t know, some kind of danger, I guess. You can say thank you without being shy about it. Shyness doesn’t make you more desirable.

Christian suggests that Ana take sailing lessons, so they can take the boat out more often:

“I’d love that. We can christen the bedroom again and again.”

That’s not what “christen” means, Ana. Surely you, a bright, bright, brighty-bright-bright English major knows that.

Christian tells Ana that the apartment is safe, so they can go back there (that’s a familiar song). He tells her that Taylor already got their stuff from the hotel, after he did a security check on the boat:

“Does that poor man ever sleep?”

“He sleeps.” Christian quirks an eyebrow at me, puzzled. “He’s just doing his job, Anastasia, which he’s very good at. Jason is a real find.”

“Jason?”

“Jason Taylor.”

I thought Taylor was his first name. Jason. It suits him – solid, reliable. For some reason it makes me smile.

It makes me smile, too, Ana. Because now I have the completed mental picture of Jason Taylor, and it’s this guy:

“I’m not attracted to him, if that’s why you’re frowning. Stop.”

Christian is almost pouting – sulky.

Jeez, he’s such a child sometimes.

I shake his hand shyly. He must know what Christian and I were up to on the boat while he went ashore.

Because Christian has probably done it with all his subs. Yeah, he said you were the first, but how many things has he given to you or done with you that you’ve later found out is par for the course with all his exes? And we have a new drinking game rule. Drink every time Ana does something “shyly.”

Ana asks Christian if Mac is one of his friends. Because apparently Ana believes Christian’s friends would call him “sir” and “Mr. Grey” and that would be totally okay. Christian says he doesn’t have any friends:

He frowns. “Not really. Doing what I do… I don’t cultivate friendships. There’s only-” He stops, his frown deepening, and I know he was going to mention Mrs. Robinson.

I know that when he says, “doing what I do,” he’s talking about his job, but I’m going to think that “doing what I do,” means, “my freaky, controlling behavior.” Oh, but at least he has one friend. You know. His molester.

Ana and Christian discuss the friendship issue at a restaurant called Bee’s, which is described as being located right next to SP’s. So… is this a code? Is there a coded message running through these books? A subliminal signal to make otherwise intelligent people really, really enjoy these books?

Obviously, they can’t just have dinner. They have to have dinner with a side of angst:

“Anastasia, what’s wrong? Tell me.”

I glance up into his concerned face.

“Tell me,” he says more forcefully, and his concern evolves into what? Fear? Anger?

I take a deep breath. “I’m just worried that this isn’t enough for you. You know, to let off steam.”

His jaw tenses and his eyes harden. “Have I given you any indication that this isn’t enough?”

“No.”

“Then why do you think that?”

Because there is no conflict in this relationship at all, so every scene must be fraught with manufactured drama.

The thing that really frustrates me about this book is, there could be conflict. If Ana had a spine or a brain, there could be conflict. After all, she’s just gotten into a relationship with a guy who she is drawn to on some deep level, but who lives a lifestyle that is putting her in danger. The recipe for conflict is there. I mean, it’s actually there, in the background, waiting to be addressed, and it never is. Instead of thinking, “Gosh, I wish I could be Christian’s everything, and I’m falling so pathetically short,” Ana could be thinking, “I love this man, but being around him puts me in danger, can I really do this to myself?” It would be a whole different (and better) book.

Of course, they resolve their difficulty in a few paragraphs, because that’s how life works. Everything gets wrapped up in neat little packages. Oh, except:

“So, you don’t want to take me into your playroom?”

He swallows and pales, all trace of humor gone. “No, I don’t.”

“Why not?” I whisper. This is not the answer I expected.

And yes, there it is – that little pinch of disappointment. My inner goddess stomps off pouting, her arms crossed like an angry toddler’s.

I have had a mind-blowing day: Dr. Greene; our shower; Christian’s admission; making love at the hotel and on the boat; buying the car.

“You are not allowed out of here alone. You understand?” he snaps.

So, she’s a prisoner. Looks like you get your wish, Ana! Chedward is the literary hero of your dreams! It’s just that he’s Mr. Rochester, and you’re the crazy wife in the attic, so… good luck with that!

After being told that she’s basically his prisoner, this is Ana’s totally rational response:

“Okay.” Jeez – keep your hair on. But his attitude makes me smile. I want to hug myself – this man, all domineering and short with me, I know. I marvel that I would have found it so threatening only a week or so ago when he spoke to me this way. But now I understand him so much better. This is his coping mechanism. He’s stressed about Leila, he loves me, and he wants to protect me.

But not enough that he would call the police or do anything that would actually protect you.

Ana tells Christian that his pouting has the same effect on her that her biting her lip has on him.

He pouts again and leans down to give me a swift chaste kiss.

I raise my lips to meet his, and in the nanosecond when our lips touch, the nature of the kiss changes – wildfire spreading through my veins from this intimate point of contact, driving me to him.

So… it wasn’t really a chaste kiss then, was it? It was just the regular kind.

“What you do to me, Ana.”

How many fucking times is he going to say this? Seriously? Is he a robot or something, just repeating the last phrase he was programmed to say in this situation?

“I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday.” I grin at Taylor, who flushes.

“That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele,” Taylor says matter-of-factly.

“I thought so, too.”

Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. “If you two have quite finished, I’d like a debriefing.” He glares at Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringe inwardly. I have overstepped the mark.

Someone, please write a fanfic where Ana ends up with Taylor. And also, she ends up a real, actualized human being, because it’s not going to happen in canon. I mean, really. I agonize over these recaps, and I ask for so little in return. I just want you to write every single plot bunny I’m throwing out there, so that I can read them. I’m the Jareth of fanfic. Fear me, love me, write whatever I say, and I will be your slave.

Christian tells Ana point blank to not be “friendly” with the staff. He feels like she was flirting with Taylor, and he’s super threatened.

“You know how jealous I am,” he whispers.

“You have no reason to be jealous, Christian. You own me body and soul.”

I have to point out here that Christian’s jealousy does make a lot of sense. After all, there is literally nothing that holds this romance together, apart from the sex. But I’m sure that’s not what E.L. is trying to highlight here.

Why on earth would he be jealous of Taylor? I shake my head in disbelief.

Because apparently owning another human being “body and soul” isn’t enough for him.

Ana goes upstairs to her room and finds that all the clothes that she said she didn’t want anymore are missing:

Why did he take me at my word? My mother’s advice comes back to haunt me: “Men are so literal, darling.“

Yeah, stupid men, being all literal and shit, and doing what you tell them you want them to do. How could he have not known that when you said you didn’t want those clothes, you meant the exact opposite. Men are so, so dumb, and women who play coy games are clearly superior. FEMINISM YAY!

Her iPad and her laptop are also missing, so she assumes Leila snuck in and stole them, until she goes to Christian’s bedroom and finds all of her stuff in there, including the clothes she wants/doesn’t want. Because of the threat of Leila, Christian has had all of Ana’s things moved to his room.

“Taylor thinks Leila was getting in through the emergency stairwell. She must have had a key. All the locks have been changed now. Taylor’s team has done a sweep of every room in the apartment. She’s not here.” He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew where she was. She’s evading all our attempts to find her when she needs help.”

What attempts? The sailing? Did you think she was in the ocean? It’s not like you’ve been working tirelessly to find her, despite your insistance that you want to help her. And it’s not like Taylor has been trying to find her. He’s been toting Ana’s belongings from the hotel to the apartment, and checking the boat – which none of the other subs have been on, or so claims Christian- to make sure it was safe. The rest of the team appears to have been moving Ana’s belongings literally from one room to the next, because it’s too dangerous for her to go to her own damn room to get them, apparently. So what, exactly, have you been doing to look for her, Mr. Grey? All what attempts? When you looked around suspiciously as you drove up to the apartment building? You must be fucking exhausted from all the looking around you’ve been doing. Hey, off the top of my head, I was thinking, you know who can sometimes be good at finding people? The police you should have called the moment Leila tried to kill herself in your apartment. Hey, come to think of it, that would have been a great time to change the locks, too, Mr. “I’m so careful about my safety and privacy” Grey. Or hell, maybe you could take the extra, extra cautious step of not giving your girlfriends keys to your apartment, or changing the locks after you’ve broken up with them. This is all just crazy talk, though, because clearly this plot is just filler to make it seem like there is something interesting in this book when it’s really just a lot of shitty writing and allegedly graphic sex.

Christian tells Ana he wants her to sleep in his room, because he doesn’t have nightmares if she’s with him. Except, didn’t he have a nightmare when she was sleeping with him before, in the last book? I honestly can’t remember, because I have a very finite capability for remembering stupid bullshit that glorifies abuse. Ana tells Christian that she has to get her clothes ready for work tomorrow, and then THIS happens:

“Work!” Christian exclaims as if it’s a dirty word, and he releases me, glaring.

“Yes, work,” I reply, confused by his reaction.

He stares at me with complete incomprehension. “But Leila – she’s out there,” he pauses. “I don’t want you to go to work.”

What? “That’s ridiculous, Christian. I have to go to work.” 

“No, you don’t,” he repeats, emphatically.

“Do you think I’m going to stay here twiddling my thumbs while you’re off being Master of the Universe?”

I love it when they work the title of the fanfiction that the book used to be into the actual book.

Christian tells Ana that she doesn’t have to work for a living – basically, that to fulfill his own pathological need to be safe, she should quit her job. He petulantly agrees that she can go to work, as long as she brings one of his guards with her. Not Taylor, though. Sawyer. The one she hasn’t allegedly flirted with.

“Either he comes with you, or I will be really irrational and keep you here.”

He wouldn’t, would he? “How, exactly?”

“Oh, I’d find a way, Anastasia. Don’t push me.”

Seriously, he has an entire room devoted to tying, shackling, and zip-typing women up, plus a staff of beefy security guards with guns. He’s also a sociopath, so kidnapping you would seem ethically cool, so long as it benefited him.

Like, the second their argument is settled, Christian says:

“Shall I give you a tour?”

A tour? Are you kidding me?

Yeah, are you kidding me? He’s given you a tour of his apartment before. There’s really no need for another one, especially since the next time E.L. wants to add another room, Chedward will just say that it’s a big place and Ana hasn’t seen it all yet.

He gives me a tour of the apartment, showing me the various rooms. Along with the playroom and three spare bedrooms upstairs, I’m intrigued to find that Taylor and Mrs. Jones have a wing to themselves – a kitchen, spacious living area, and a bedroom each.

So, wait, are you saying there are two kitchens and two living areas? Or that each person has their own bedroom? I’m beginning to think that the lack of editing on this book smacks of blatant exploitation of a poor writer who has never learned the ropes, and will now never learn them because she’s being spoon fed the lie that the amount of money you make is a testament to how good a writer you are. That is going to be a monumentally hard fall, and I actually feel bad for E.L. at this point.

But let’s explore the idea that Taylor and Mrs. Jones live together. Speaking of which, is she Ms. or Mrs.? Because if she’s Mrs., where the fuck is her husband and why does she live at work?

He also shows her a room with a huge tv and game consoles, thus solving the case of the twenty-something millionaire who doesn’t have an Xbox.

During some random chit-chat, Christian lets it drop that he doesn’t have a middle name. Ana thought “Trevelyan” was his middle name, and he’s like, no, that’s my last name, “Trevelyan-Grey,” which he doesn’t use because:

“It’s too long. […]”

If there is any word that could describe a man who names his company Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc., it’s “succinct”.

Christian also takes Ana to Taylor’s office, which surprises me, since I figured he wouldn’t want her to know where it was in case she accidentally showed up there and fucked him. By the way, Taylor has a conference table and CCTV in his office, so you could work those into your fic. I eagerly await a link. There is also a wine “cellar” in the apartment, which makes absolutely no fucking sense. How do you have a “cellar” in an apartment on an upper floor? You can definitely have a climate controlled room for wine storage, but not a “cellar”.

The tour ends in the billiards room, where Ana challenges Christian to a game.

“You’re that confident, Miss Steele?” He smirks, amused and incredulous at once. “What would you like to wager?”

“If I win, you’ll take me back into the playroom.”

Oh, that’s probably a great idea, Ana. Since you broke up with him because you couldn’t handle the BDSM aspect of your relationship, you should definitely reintroduce that element so we can hear all about how you can’t love him the way he needs you to. This is going to be super. Especially since Ana turns out to be a pretty good pool player.

She also understands the time honored tradition of playing pool as a way to let a man ogle you. Remember that article about pedophilia hiding in this book? Here’s another argument I make against it:

I stalk around the table, bending low at every available opportunity – giving Christian an eyeful of my behind and my cleavage whenever I can.

and later:

I tilt my head coquettishly to one side, gently fondling my cue, running my hand up and down it slowly. “Oh. I am just deciding where to take my next shot,” I murmur distractedly.

So, clearly, this is not a case of a child-like heroine who has no idea what sexual power she possesses.

It’s down to the eight ball, and Christian still hasn’t chosen what he gets if he wins. Ana misses her shot, and then this happens:

“If I win…”

Oh yes?

“I am going to spank you, then fuck you over this billiard table.”

It’s like E.L. James has a list of all the lines from my James May sex fantasies, damnit. *mumbles incoherently, stalks off*

Holy shit. Every single muscle south of my navel clenches hard.

Just for fun, when I read that, I clenched every single muscle south of my navel. And you know what I found? It would be really hard to make a shot playing pool if that kind of debilitating spasm was happening to you.

Then the chapter ends on a cliffhanger, as Christian bends down to make his shot.

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?

For the past five or so weeks, I have received one question, over and over, from friends and family members, from facebook people I don’t know, even from major media outlets:

“Are you watching The Walking Dead?”

Or, if you’re my Grandma, “Are you watching that show on that channel that has people turning into some kind of creature? I think it’s vampires? That doesn’t look like anything I’d want to watch. They put the damndest things on tv these days, it’s no wonder that kids are being violent.”

Up until three days ago, I was wondering where all of this was coming from. At first I thought, “What the hell, guys? Do you even know me at all? I don’t watch stuff like that. I watch Family Guy and reruns of Buffy The Vampire Slayer. I like dumb, goofy stuff that is easy to understand while high. I don’t watch “serious drama”.

(Yes, that’s kind of a lie, I have been watching and enjoying Boardwalk Empire this season, but my point stands)

I thought people were recommending The Walking Dead because I write about vampires and ghoulish stuff. Also, since 2006 I’ve been telling everyone that will listen about this awesome idea for a zombie book that no publisher wants to buy and that’s too bad for them because it will go down in history as the best zombie book ever written. Everyone just wants funny zombie books, and this one is going to be scary beyond all belief, but maybe the tides are starting to turn, what with this new show and Romero getting back in the game. Did you guys know that Mister Rogers and George A. Romero were friends, and that Mister Rogers thought Night of The Living Dead was “a lot of fun”?

I got off track somewhere. Oh, The Walking Dead. Right. So, At first I was pretty sure that people were just assuming I would love The Walking Dead because I write gross-out stuff. The same way all my friends assumed I would like Firefly because I liked Buffy, and they were all wrong. I became resistant to the idea of watching it, just because people were hyping it up so much. I went to my friend Scott’s house, and he convinced me to watch just the opening scene of the series (extremely graphic, so be warned):

Yes, that’s the opening. There’s no wading in to see how the water is. This is where you dive right into the show. I was intrigued. More so when Scott explained that the show is adapted from a comic. So, at least I knew it was written by someone passionate about telling a good story, because let’s face it, comic writers are the best storytellers we have in our culture right now. I promptly went home and obtained episodes of the show through entirely legal means that do not in any way involve a word that rhymes with “warrant”, and started watching. I thought, “I’ll [totally not download] the whole series, in case it hooks me, and I’ll give the pilot a chance.” I watched all five episodes in one day, only to learn that the season finale would air the next day. Once I got the chance to watch the finale, I thought to myself, “Okay. Great. Now what?”

That’s the state I have been operating in for the past twenty-four hours. “Okay. Great. Now what?” Because this was a pilot season, AMC only produced six episodes. They’ve already renewed the show for another season, but rumor has it that one won’t release until Halloween of 2011. That’s a long time for me. I need to know what happens next. It’s bad enough that Harry Dresden left me hanging this year, I can’t take another cliffhanger.

If you, like myself, are working through this strangely grief-like state, I recommend the following:

1. Stay calm and put a cold washcloth over your eyes.
2. Take up smoking. I don’t care what. Cigarettes, grass, insulation. You gotta do something to take the edge off.
3. Write fan fiction, but only good stuff. I’m not kidding, I really don’t need to stumble across any The Walking Dead MPREG or “Everyone is in high school and also Twilight is there”.
4. Oh my god, what happened to Merle? They let the whole season finish and they never wrapped that up? I’m going to go shake and cry in a corner.
5. Shake and cry in a corner.
6. Panic. Just blindly panic.

I have no answers. We’re all in this together, people who watched The Walking Dead. People who didn’t watch it, I’m not going to tell you to watch it. Because then you’d be in this same predicament. What I’m going to suggest is that you wait. You wait until the new season starts. Then, you start watching season 1, one episode a week, until you are are always six weeks behind and your viewing pleasure can last longer, cutting your withdrawal time down by six weeks. You’re welcome.

I have cut Joss Whedon a lot of slack over the years. When he allowed the atrocity that was Buffy/Spike. When he couldn’t stop whining about networks not giving him a chance while he had two successful cult franchises in his wake. When he mentioned Firefly‘s cancellation in every interview for two years. When I realized that no matter what show he wrote, he would always be leaving out non-white characters and making women into his ultimate strong-woman-helpless-emotionally jack off fantasy in which Eliza Dushku looks slightly shocked and saddened as she punches him in the throat while begging him for help in learning the ways of love.

Okay, that last one is admittedly me losing patience with him. But his latest transgression is far and away a hundred times worse than any dickbag move he’s made so far. Buffy fans be warned, there will be comic spoilers from here out.

Joss Whedon killed Giles.

For reasons that I can only chalk up to just not giving a shit, in the January Buffy comic, Angel, who is evil again, kills Giles by breaking his neck. I remember something like that happening before. In season two. When killing a character actually meant something in the Buffy verse and before everyone expected Joyce to be back any minute.

Joss recycled Giles’s girlfriend’s death to kill Giles.

I can see what he was going for. For Giles to die by the hand of the vampire who killed the woman he loved, in the same manner as she died, years after reconciling with the man who killed her and coming to trust him enough to fight beside him, should have packed an emotional wallop. It would have been perfect, if he hadn’t waited for the series to end before he did it. You can’t do a “call-back” to an episode that aired over ten years ago and expect it to have the effect you intended. Instead, it looks like you’ve run out of ideas. And when that lack of creativity extends to a beloved character, fans are going to be pissed.

I know the Buffy comics are supposed to be canon, but as a fan, I cannot and will not accept any of the trainwreck that is the Buffy comics. No “Dawn loses her virginity and becomes a giant,” no “Buffy is lesbian now because Joss can’t function without the thought of girl parts touching and straight women who have bad enough luck with men will naturally become gay,” no “Giles is dead, aren’t I awesome at making you feeeeeel things?” The Buffy comics bear no resemblance at all to the show the I remember, and I can add that to my list of reasons why Joss Whedon is an overrated jackass.

As promised, your week of VD pain starts now. And it’s going to burn when you pee. But first, you may ask, “Jen, why the long gap between snarks? What were you doing? Fabulous, authory things?” No. I forgot to pay my cable bill and my service was turned off, and then I was like, “Hey, that’s a lot of money for tv… I bet I can live without it,” and then about a week ago I was like, “NO I CAN’T I WANT MY TV.” So, that’s why. I’m bad at paying bills and fell off the no-TV wagon.

So, when we last left Fells Church Mystic Falls, Damon had been thrown into the time-out dungeon by Stefan, because Damon is the no-fun kind of vampire who doesn’t think it’s cool for other vampires to terrorize cheerleaders. Duh, that’s kind of the point of vampires, Stefan. Well, when episode five begins, Damon is still in the naughty corner and, according to Stefan, has been there for three days. He doesn’t have his magic ring to protect him from the sun, and he hasn’t had a drop of blood since giving Caroline the old nibble hickey. Stefan informs Damon that in the middle ages, if a vampire went rogue, they were rehabilitated rather than destroyed. Which sounds to me like the middle ages were a whole lot different for vampires than humans, but whatever. Stefan plans to let Damon cure like a piece of vampire jerky, and then he’ll throw him in the family crypt to think about what he’s done. For fifty years. Oh, that’s real humane, Stefan. I’m sure after fifty years of living death, your sociopath brother is going to be all better. After fifty years, Stefan will “reevaluate” the situation. What the hell is this, the vampire version of Demolition Man? I’m guessing Stefan never saw that movie, because if he had he would know that he’s setting himself up for one hell of a Wesley Snipes problem in fifty years. Damon warns Stefan that he’s stronger than he thinks, and Stefan is all, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Which can only end well in this show.

Meanwhile, Elena wakes to an Imogene Heap song and tries to write in her diary. She gives up, apparently because there isn’t anything interesting to write about besides the whole domestic abuse situation going on with Caroline and her boyfriend. She goes to the bathroom and runs into Vicki, who plays it off all nonchalant. “Morning! Fucked your brother!” Elena runs to tell Aunt Jenna about her Jeremy’s carnal transgressions, but AJ doesn’t care. She’s got a date with Newsman. Elena tells Jenna that she hasn’t heard from Stefan in three days. Wait a minute, has Vicki been living at their house for three days? She came over at the end of episode four. Has no one noticed her presence in their house for three days? Elena tells Jenna that everything is fine with Stefan disappearing off the face of the planet, but it’s pretty obvious that things aren’t fine, because Elena is never fine with anything.

At Salvatore Castle, Stefan is planning to go back to school after his three day, unexcused absence. You’re going to have a lot of homework to make up, buddy. Zach doesn’t think it’s such a good idea, leaving Damon alone with him in the house, but Stefan just warns him to keep out of the basement. Right, Zach, you’re the only member of the regular cast over age thirty, I’m sure you’ll be totally safe alone in the house with a dangerous killer.

Caroline and Bonnie are hanging out in Caroline’s room, and Caroline expresses concern that she can’t remember if Damon kissed her, or bit her, or if she wanted him to bite her, or what, because she has holes in her memory. Bonnie, who is becoming ever more pyromaniacal, is playing with a candle and not really listening, and the crystal Damon stole from the mayor’s party is hanging in direct sunlight. This is important, and I know this because they linger on it. That’s a trick of the trade, kiddos. It’s just usually not done so artlessly.

At school, any worries Elena might have had about Caroline’s well-being are squashed when Caroline strolls through the halls, instructing all the cheerleaders to be sure and slut it up hardcore at the bikini car wash they’re having on the weekend. Stefan shows up and reassures Elena that Damon has been, “taken care of,” or “dealt with,” or some other kind of mob talk, and apologizes for his absence. He tells Elena that he’ll meet her at the restaurant in town to explain everything. That’s really the best place to do it. If there’s one thing I learned from Jerry Maguire, it’s that if you’re going to fire someone or tell your girlfriend that you’re a vampire, you want to do it in a crowded restaurant to avoid a big scene. Elena is going to come to school the next day and say, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to do what you all think I’m going to do, which is just flip out!” right before she steals the well-mannered fish from the biology lab. Caroline sidles up to ask Stefan what happened to Damon, and he informs her that Damon won’t be coming back, ever. Why Elena doesn’t immediately assume, from the earlier comments about having dealt with Damon and now this little tidbit about him never coming back, that Stefan has murdered his brother, I don’t know. Because that would be the first thing I would think.

Later that day, at the Mystic Grill, Matt is playing pool and waiting around to fulfill his sole purpose on the show, which is to have Elena walk up to him and ask if he’s seen Stefan.

Back at Casa Dracula, Zach thinks, “I’m going to completely disregard my uncle’s warning about staying away from the vampire. In fact, I’m going to go taunt him.” This doesn’t go over well, despite the warning he gives to Damon that he’s “full of Vervain.” Luckily, Stefan shows up just in time to save his nephew from certain dismemberment. The entire point of the scene, I guess, is to show us that Damon still has some strength, and that there is some serious shit going on in the Salvatore family. Thanksgiving is probably… tense.

Back at the grill, Elena decides to rachet up the awkward between her and Matt by talking about how his sister is boning her brother. Then, she asks Matt if he thinks Stefan is a good guy. This is Matt’s chance to be like, “I saw him curb stomp a puppy!” but Matt isn’t that kind of person, so he tells the truth. Stefan is good at football, so that makes him a-okay in his book. Just then, Stefan shows up– an hour late– and Elena decides that rather than let him do that explaining she just waited an hour for, she’s going to storm out. An old guy (not really old, just super ancient to kids watching the show… this guy is probably fifty) thinks he recognizes Stefan, but Stefan insists he must be mistaken. The guy argues that it has to be him, and “you haven’t aged.” Elena knows there’s something up, and Stefan knows she knows, but he lets her storm off in a huff, anyway. Interestingly enough, Elena goes home to write in her diary about instinct… which is awfully rich coming from the girl who doesn’t realize her boyfriend is a vampire.

The Newsman and Caroline’s sheriff mom are at the grill, trading notes on their plan to eradicate the vampires, when Jenna shows up for her date. You know, if this whole, “kill the vampires” thing is so super secret, to the point of having to form a cabal to deal with it, maybe you shouldn’t be discussing this shit while waiting for a date, Newsman. You would not last a day in The Da Vinci Code.

Jeremy takes a time out from his anti-teen-abstinence protest to check on his sister. Elena tells him that she’s miserable, but Jeremy has something up his sleeve. He knows that Stefan is downstairs cooking dinner for Elena. Elena isn’t as impressed by this orchestrated assault on her dating life as Stefan though she would be, I’m guessing, but he keeps cooking anyway and informs her that if she’s going to dump him, she’s at least going to know who she’s dumping. Then, he starts telling her about Catherine. So, is she dumping Catherine? He tells her that Catherine was the most beautiful, sexy girl ever, but she was with Damon first. He and Damon fought over her like mongrel dogs, and Stefan’s biggest regret is that he didn’t tell her what she truly meant to him before she died.

While Stefan pours out this heartwarming tale of the girl Elena will never measure up to, Vicki goes through the upstairs medicine cabinet and finds the left over Vicodin prescription Elena got after the car accident that killed her parents. While most people would be like, “Yurgh, what a very creepy reminder that this poor girl watched her parents die in front of her very eyes. I need to reevaluate my life,” Vicki takes a “waste not; want not,” approach to life and decides that crushing them up and snorting them is a better idea. Jeremy laments that all they ever do is get high, and Vicki accuses him of wanting her to change. I have to side with Vicki on this one. Jeremy, you used to be her dealer, and you used to get high with her all the time. You think your awesome skills with your wang are going to just snap her out of the prescription narcotic habit you helped her build?

Back in the kitchen, Stefan is still talking about himself. I mean, really, really talking about himself, and Elena makes the obligatory comment about him eating garlic that people always make to vampires when they don’t know they’re talking to a vampire. I think she was trying to change a subject, just so he’d stop talking about his musical preferences. Or, she’s figured out he’s a vampire and wants to stuff his mouth full of garlic to shut him up forever. I’m good with either one. Elena decides to help cut stuff up and, like people always do when they don’t realize they’re in the kitchen with a vampire, and you’ll never, ever guess what happens next. No, seriously. You’ll never guess. She cuts everything up in uniform pieces without cutting herself. JUST KIDDING! She totally cuts herself. She rushes to the sink to rinse off the blood, and Stefan just stands there, vamping out with crazy eyes and bulging veins. Unlike the Buffy vampires, Stefan has a reflection, and Elena sees him getting all monster-like in the window above the sink. He turns around to hide his face and get under control (why didn’t he do that to begin with?), but it’s too late. In the single most charming act ever performed by a male on this show, Stefan lets Elena think that she was hallucinating rather than fessing up to being a vampire. Taking lessons from a certain sparkly young cad I know, aren’t you, Stefan?

Back in timeout, Damon tries to mentally communicate with Caroline, and a giant crow shows up on her windowsill. Caroline proceeds to beat the fuck out of it, and Stefan decides that Damon is ripe for more taunting, so he goes to do that.

Next up, Elena wears a sweater to the bikini car wash. And another shirt underneath that. What this is basically telling the audience is that, unlike all the other whores at this school, Elena is pure and good, because she is unwilling to shake it for the athletic boosters. It’s like whoever is writing the teleplay for this read Twilight and thought, “You know, the strong feminist message in this is really turning me off.” Bonnie is standing by when a cheerleader calls a nerdy kid’s car a piece of crap, and she uses her witchy powers to make suds explode from the bucket and drench the mean girl. Yeah, that will show her! You got her all wet! At the car wash! She was never expecting that!

Because nothing news-worthy has happened in Mystic Falls, you know, aside from several people dying horrible in the last four episodes, Newsman is there covering the car wash. Aunt Jenna comes to reminisce with him about the time they had sex in the back of a minivan (no, I’m not kidding), which Newsman thinks is the definition of a good date. Elena notices that Stefan is wearing his ring and suggests he take it off while dunking his hand in suds and potentially scratching the shit out of a paying customer’s paint job, but Stefan isn’t hip to burning alive, so he doesn’t. Caroline goes into the school to get “more shimmy things,” and encounters Damon’s ghostly image, which freaks her right out. The “old” man from the grill shows up and Elena grills him (ha! a pun!) about how he used to know Stefan. When the old man first moved to Mystic Falls, he stayed at the Salvatore boarding house, and was staying there when the owner, Joseph, was mauled to death in a mysterious animal attack. The rude cheerleader strolls up and informs Elena that this is her grandfather, and he has Alzheimer’s disease. Which would explain why he thought he knew Stefan. But then he goes on to tell Elena about the ring that Stefan wore, and how he knew him and his brother Damon in 1953.

Elena confronts Stefan about this information in a sneaky kind of way, and pretends that she didn’t know he was Italian. Yeah, he’s not buying that, either.

Vicki decides that since she and Jeremy are a couple now, he needs to meet the important people in her life. And those people are the burnouts in the cemetery.

Elena busts AJ macking on Newsman and asks if things are going well enough that she can ask a favor. She wants to look at all the news clips from the past century or so. Newsman is happy to complain, so they pile into the newsmobile and take off.

Meanwhile, Caroline has abandoned the bikini car wash, as well. The cheerleaders are fleeing this thing like rats from a sinking ship, let me tell you. Guided by Damon’s ghostly commands, she goes to the basement and finds him in vampire jail. Then, she snaps out of his spell and says she won’t open the door, because, “you bit me.” Damon counters with, “you liked it,” and gets her to open the door. Zach tries to stop her just in time, but Damon is too strong. He busts out and takes off after Caroline, who has the good sense to run. Upstairs? Downstairs? What’s happening in this chase scene? She makes it to the door, and Damon charges after her, straight into the sunlight without his ring. The results are… not favorable. While he fries like Hayden Christiansen at the end of Revenge of The Sith, Caroline runs away like her life depends on it. Which it does.

Back at bikini car wash, the rude cheerleader hands Bonnie a squeegee mop and tells her to get to work drying off the pavement. Bonnie Potter has other ideas, though, and uses her mind powers to dry off the pavement with witchcraft. Somehow, she sets the water on fire, which sets a car on fire. Stefan, recognizing another freak, realizes that it’s Bonnie doing it, and stops her before she goes full Firestarter on the entire car wash.

At the station, Newsman gets called away, presumably to cover the fire at the bikini car wash (Fire at The Bikini Car Wash, wasn’t that a movie? Like, on USA Up All Night?), leaving Elena to investigate the newly digitized archive footage. In a clip that looks stunningly like a modern day newscast, Elena sees Stefan standing at the door of his house, in 1953. Or, 2009 with a grainy black and white filter on it. Six of one, half dozen of another, right?

Back at the cemetery, Vicki produces the bottle of pills she took from the Gilbert house and offers them to her friends. Jeremy is understandably pissed that Vicki would steal prescription drugs from his house, and tells her it’s not cool. Vicki gets all self-righteous, like Jeremy has done something wrong, and threatens to go back to Tyler. Which is right on schedule, really.

Back at the car wash, Matt decides to give Stefan some friendly advice about Elena. She’s apparently “big on trust.” Yes, the girl who is using her connections in the news media to investigate her boyfriend is “big on trust.” He goes on to warn that if Stefan is hiding something, Elena will ferret it out somehow. Big on trust. Trust.

Sheriff mom finally checks on her daughter, after how many episodes of violence and sex happening right in her very own house. Caroline informs her mother that if she’s having boy trouble, she’ll talk to her dad about it, since he’s successfully landed a boyfriend. Zing! Top score, Caroline!

Night has fallen. While Elena’s voice over insists that she doesn’t believe in the paranormal, Stefan finds Damon missing and Zach all knocked out on the ground. Caroline sleeps in beams of light filtering through the super important crystal. Bonnie’s grandma is Mimi from Rent. Newsman paws through Jeremy’s stuff and steals the Gilbert family pocket watch. And, in the moment we have been waiting for through four episodes of screaming, “He’s a vampire, dummy, why don’t you get it?” at the TV, Elena finally realizes that her boyfriend is not human.

Vicki is drowning her sorrows in pills, booze, and the company of her burnout friends in the cemetery, when she finds Damon doubled over in pain. She tries to aid him and… I would assume this is the end of Vicki, because they show her her hand clinging to something and then limply letting go. That’s the universal visual sign for death, right?

Stefan is about to head out the door, stake in hand, only to find Elena on his doorstep. She demands to know, “What are you?” and the audience collectively facepalms, because HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW AT THIS POINT? EVEN BELLA SWAN FIGURED THIS ONE OUT.

From http://community.livejournal.com/care_faith_hope/:

care_faith_hope is a fandom auction to benefit faithhopetricks. Bidding begins on September 28, 2009, Monday, 10 a.m. Pacific time, and closes on October 10, 2009, Saturday, 11:59 p.m. Pacific time. Please do not bid until bidding opens.

This auction is to raise money for their combined medical and medical-related expenses. (Medical-related includes things like taxi fare to get her husband to his cardiac rehab appointments.)

Folks, there are some great things in this auction. There are hand-made items, rare books, custom written fanfiction stories, all up for grabs for you to buy and help out this person, who is obviously a Buffy fan, judging from her LJ name. You get something, she and her husband get their medical problems treated. Follow the link above for more information, and look for an autographed copy of Queene of Light that’s up for grabs in the auction.

Okay, I know that authors, especially female authors in genre fiction, are supposed to be this supportive little cluster of hens who never say anything bad about each other because viewing other women as competition is wrong and we’re above that and also we’re really creative and creative people need to stick together because we’re so misunderstood blah blah bullshit bullshit bullshit let’s pretend like this isn’t a business and we’re a big sorority instead.

That’s why I’m not going to name names here. I’m just going to give a little constructive criticism, okay? And it can be about whoever you want to make it about, or maybe you could just take it to heart, in case you start spouting off incredible bullshit one day.

If your first novel came out in the early nineties, you did not “pioneer” vampire fiction. You did not create the Urban Fantasy genre. Buffy did not steal anything from you. Twilight owes nothing to you.

You are still relevant. You are still special. You are still selling more books than anyone else in your genre.

You do not need to wave the banner of “I was first.” Because you weren’t. Vampire myths, even vampire fiction, was around a lot longer than your books. Unless you wrote that first vampire novel while in the Tardis visiting Queen Nefertiti, you didn’t start the vampire trend.

A lot of people have been first. Marie Curie was the first person to discover radium. She died from radiation poisoning. Being first isn’t always the best.

Buck up, buttercup. There are literally hundreds of us out here, our noses to the keyboards, trying to make a living with our writing. You did it. You succeeded. You’re good enough. Stop with the ridiculous claims that no one is buying. You didn’t pioneer the vampire genre anymore than Al Gore pioneered the fucking internet. Be happy with what you’ve done and the success you’ve got, and stop acting like your readers are fucking idiots who never heard of Anne Rice, especially when you’ve got a carbon-copy of her main character swishing around your books, okay?

Okay, first of all, who do you have to blow to get to write one of those licensed Doctor Who novels? Seriously?

Anyway, instead of lamenting about my lack of licensed properties I’m allowed to write about and still get paid, rather than just posting it to fanfiction.net and waiting breathlessly for comments, here’s a versus battle for y’all.

Battle Of The Sci-Fi Monsters, Round One: Daleks vs. Borg

What They Are
Daleks Tentacled creatures resembling octopodes who motor around in heavily armored salt-and-pepper shakers whilst seeking to remove anything not Dalek from the universe.
Borg A cyborg race on a massive, intergalactic scavenger hunt to collect as many species as possible and “assimilate” them into their hive.
Advantage: Borg

Home Planet
Daleks Skaro, a planet devastated by nuclear war and inhabited by failed mutation experiments. Also, they have like a hundred Starbucks.
Borg Anywhere they feel like it; someplace in the Delta quadrant.
Advantage: Dalek

School Motto
Daleks “EXTERMINATE!”
Borg “Resistance is futile.”
Advantage: Borg

Multipurpose attachments and tools
Daleks An egg beater that can kill basically anything; plunger.
Borg Laser goggle that will never heal if you don’t stop picking at it; bionic arm.
Advantage: Daleks

Cool Club Name (No Girls Allowed)
Daleks Cult of Skaro, which sounds mysterious and cool.
Borg The Collective, which sounds like an art school project.
Advantage: Daleks

Arch enemy
Daleks The Doctor.
Borg The whole effing Federation.
Advantage: Borg

Double Dare Physical Challenge they would soooo fail
Daleks Stairs, but they totally fixed that problem.
Borg Running, because they’re in no particular hurry.
Advantage: Daleks

Holiday
Daleks International Talk Like A Dalek Day, November 24.
Borg None.
Advantage: Daleks

Round One goes to: Daleks

The Borg put up a good fight, but let’s be honest… it’s not like they’re ever going to get you… they’re in the future, in space, and you can easily outrun them if you’re in modest shape. The Daleks, on the other hand, have come to Earth, can vaporize you with their egg beaters, and are basically unstoppable, now that they’ve overcome that pesky stairs situation.

On the other hand, the Borg are communists, so I suppose they’re enemies to our freedom or some similar empty rhetoric.

Tune in later for Round Two, Daleks vs. The Gentlemen (Buffy The Vampire Slayer).