Author: JennyTrout

Before we get into the recap proper, I have to make a PSA about the blog schedule. I try to get two 50 Shades recap posts in during the week. I would do more, except it takes a really long time to write these recaps. Even with a copy of the book chock full of notes and underlines, I spend a few hours working on these. For example, today’s recap clocked in at seven hours. So that’s why they’re not up every day. Well, that and the fact that I have children to care for, a husband to maintain a marriage with, a house that frequently requires at least minimal cleaning, and books of my own to write.

With that in mind, I will be “out of the office” next week, attending the Authors After Dark conference in New Orleans. I will be there speaking on the panels “GLBT Alpha/Beta” and “Erotic Romance,” as well as co-hosting a Steampunk tea party and an epic karaoke blow out. So, I’m gonna be a bit busy. Did I mention the hotel is on Burbon street? Busy.

So, what I’m saying is, next week I’m going to be too busy flashing my tits for cheap beads to do any recapping. I thought I would be able to get a post scheduled ahead of time, but it doesn’t look like it’s in the cards, so if you don’t see anything next week, you know the reason why. I will be back in the saddle on the 12th. I will probably post some short updates from the field, however. And if you’re really, really jonesing to know what’s going on, you can follow me on twitter. @JArmintrout. I post links to the freshest recaps there, and I check in quite often. I’m also quite chatty, so just, you know. Be aware that I’ll be blowing up your feed.

Next up, literally everyone in the world has sent me this link this week: Erica Jong hates 50 Shades  It’s some good reading, you should check it out, then come back here and read this recap.

We last left Ana looking on as Mrs. Robinson put her old, old, impossibly old hands all over Christian.

“Greta, who is Mr. Grey talking to?” My scalp is trying to leave the building.

Greta – who is blonde and therefore a whoore, remember – tells her that Mrs. Robinson is, in fact, Mrs. Lincoln, co-owner of the salon with non-other than Christian Grey. She usually doesn’t work at that location, but she just happens to be there filling in for a technician who got sick. After volunteering all that information, Ana asks Greta what Mrs. Lincoln’s first name is, and this happens:

Greta looks up at me, frowning, and purses her bright pink lips, questioning my curiosity. Shit, perhaps this is a step too far.

Asking what her first name is? Greta just voluntarily spilled all that information and asking her first name is a step too far? Mrs. Lincoln’s first name is Elena, and Ana is glad that her spidey sense was right.

Spidey sense? my subconscious snorts. Pedo sense.

HA! Good one, Ana.

They are still deep in discussion. Christian is talking rapidly to Elena, and she looks worried, nodding, grimacing, and shaking her head. Reaching out, she rubs his arm soothingly while biting her lip.

And then he just bends her over one of those weird chair hair dryers and fucks her in front of everyone. Just kidding. But can you imagine how this conversation is going? “Hey, Elena, this chick I’m with has this weird hang up about statutory rape. I know, I know, she’s so plebeian. If only she were as rich as we are, she could see that love between an old lady and a teenager is perfectly normal, right?”

Elena smiles at Ana, and Ana glares at her, and Elena and Christian continue to have a conversation we don’t know the content of, until he finally comes back to Ana. She asks him why he didn’t want to introduce her, and he’s genuinely shocked that she has a problem with being in the salon he co-owns with his rapist.

“For a bright man, sometimes…” Words fail me. “I’d like to go, please.”

“Why?”

Because you co-own this place with the woman who molested you. Seriously, what part of this is he not getting? Also, why are we laboring under the delusion that Christian is bright? Is this like when people say Ana is bright, and we’re supposed to just believe it because it’s in print? Christian has yet to do a single thing in this series that I would consider “bright.”

Then, we get words that are practically copied out of those domestic violence handouts that I used throughout the last book:

“We won’t need Franco, Greta,” Christian snaps as we head out of the door. I have to suppress the impulse to run. I want to run fast and far away. I have an overwhelming urge to cry.

 “You wish he would go away, you want to cry, and you want to run away from him.” If you are new here, and you haven’t read the recaps of 50 Shades of Grey, consider checking out this post, 50 Shades and Abusive Relationships, which outlines the red flags in Christian and Ana’s relationship. This is a big one. Christian admits he took some of his other subs, including Samara Leila, to that salon, but he thought Elena wouldn’t be there, as she often works at a different location. He tells her that while Mrs. Robinson met all of his subs, they never knew who she was. Which seems incredibly fucked up, to me, but I have no experience being an emotionally crippled billionaire.


At least Ana doesn’t let it go blithely by:

“Can you see how fucked-up this is?” I glare at him, my voice low.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” And he has the grace to look contrite.

“I want to get my hair cut, preferably somewhere where you haven’t fucked either the staff or the clientele.”

Picky picky.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I can have Franco come to the apartment, or your place,” he says quietly.

“She’s very attractive.”

Franco? I thought that was a dude’s name.

Oh, wait, they’re talking about Mrs. Robinson again. Ana asks if Elena is still married, and Christian says she got divorced five years ago.

“Why aren’t you with her?”

Jeez, Ana, are you trying to set them up? Christian tells her that it’s over between him and Elena, and then he gets a call, so he has to stand on the sidewalk snapping at whoever called him while Ana waits patiently beside him. Remember that, for later in this chapter. When Christian Grey has a phone call, time better fucking stop for him.

People bustle past us, lost in their Saturday morning chores, no doubt contemplating their own personal drama. I wonder if they include stalk ex-submissives, stunning ex-Dommes, and a man who has no concept of privacy under US law.

No, Ana. Just you. Because you’re so special. We get it.

I absolutely hate it when Christian is on the phone, because he talks like someone pretending to be on the phone. He talks on the phone like he’s in a poorly written play, and the words he says are exposition to the audience:

“Killed in a car crash? When?” Christian interrupts my reverie.

And then a paragraph later:

“That’s twice that bastard’s not been forthcoming. He must know. Does he have no feelings for her whatsoever?” Christian shakes his head in disgust. “This is beginning to make sense… no… explains why, but not where.”

Christian starts looking around all paranoid, then Ana does, too, but she doesn’t see anything.

“She’s here,” Christian continues. “She’s watching us… Yes… No. Two or four, twenty-four seven… I haven’t broached that yet.” Christian looks at me directly.

At this point, I’m adding “paranoid schizophrenia” to my list of possible mental illnesses for Christian, right next to “borderline personality disorder,” and “reactive attachment disorder.” Christian continues to have his exposition-splosion conversation:

“What?” he whispers and pales, his eyes widening. “I see. When?… That recently? But how?… No background checks?… I see. E-mail me the name, address, and photos if you have them…. twenty-four seven, from this afternoon. Establish liaison with Taylor.” Christian hangs up.

Of course, by now this is all so built up and dramatic that Elena who? Christian tells Ana that he was speaking to his security advisor, who has just discovered that Leila the ex-sub ran out on her husband with some guy who recently died in a car accident.

“The asshole shrink should have found that out,” he says angrily. “Grief, that’s what this is. Come.” He holds out his hand, and I automatically place mine in his before I snatch it away again.

Yeah, um, things haven’t changed with Ana since you took your big, dramatic, elaborate distraction phone call, Christian. Also, why would Leila’s psychologist tell you anything about what was going on in her life? I don’t care what kind of money and power you have, no mental health professional (who wants to keep their license) is going to say, “Oh, you’re her ex? Well, allow me to break HIPAA and tell you all these details about Leila’s life.”

I wish I could say that was the most poorly researched and unbelievable detail in this chapter, but just wait. It’s coming.

So, Ana is still mad and not thrown off the subject by Christian’s phone call:

“Wait a minute. We were in the middle of a discussion about ‘us.’ About her, your Mrs. Robinson.”

Yeah, wait a minute, Christian. I know it’s getting kind of confusing in here. After all, there was practically no plot in the last book, and in this one it’s stacking up, but one crisis at a time. Christian tells Ana they can talk about it at his place, and she’s like, no, I want to get my hair cut, so he calls the salon and says to have Franco at his place in an hour. But she still doesn’t want to go, and Christian is worried that Leila will hunt Ana down and do something to her, so she should really come and stay at his apartment:

“Anastasia, Leila is obviously suffering a psychotic break. I don’t know if it’s you or me she’s after, or what lengths she’s prepared to go to. We’ll go to your place, pick up your things, and you can stay with me until we’ve tracked her down.”

Wait, back up. Christian doesn’t know who Leila is after, himself or Ana. So, the obvious thing to do would be to go to his apartment (that Leila already knows the location of and has tried to commit suicide in) so that they’re both there, together, to… make it more convenient for the stalker? If anything, wouldn’t they be safer staying at Ana’s place? Or, I don’t know, filing PPOs against Leila and involving the police somehow? Like, immediately after she tried to kill herself in Christian’s apartment would have been an IDEAL time to get that stuff done.

He glares at me. “You are coming back to my apartment if I have to drag you there by your hair.”

Oh, you charmer, you.

I gape at him…this is beyond belief. Fifty Shades in Glorious Technicolor.

First of all, the entire reason Technicolor existed was so movies weren’t fifty shades of gray. Also, how is this beyond belief? Has he never threatened you with physical violence before, Ana? Haven’t you read the book?

“No,” I state stubbornly. I have to make a stand.

This is Jen, not holding her breath.

Christian threatens to carry her, and she thinks there’s no way he would do that:

Surely he wouldn’t make a scene on Second Avenue?

He tried to finger you at his parents’ dinner table, just inches from his entire family. But you’re right, he probably wouldn’t do anything crazy.

We glare at each other – and abruptly he sweeps down, clasps me around my thighs, and lifts me. Before I know it, I am over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” I scream. Oh, it feels good to scream.

He starts striding along Second Avenue, ignoring me. Clasping his arm firmly around my thighs, he swats my behind with his free hand.

Careful now, Chedward. It’s hard to stride purposefully with a boner. Why is no one stopping this? If I were on the street, and a woman was screaming and being carried off by a man, and it seemed like she was legit angry and not, you know, giggling, I would call the police. Ana sees that people are staring, but I can’t imagine that anyone would see an angry woman screaming “put me down,” to a man carrying her off and not do anything.

Eventually, he does put her down:

What am I going to do? I am so angry, but I’m not even sure what I am angry about – there’s so much.

No, really?

Ana makes a mental list of the reasons she’s mad, which of course leads her to the conclusion that there is something she doesn’t know about the situation:

Realization dawns. Something’s changed. What could that be? I halt, and Christian halts with me. “What’s happened?” I demand.

Of course he can’t tell her right off the bat, there has to be six or seven lines of dialogue in which he evades the question and pretends not to understand what she’s asking, so I’ll skip to the part where he just gives Ana the damned answer:

“She managed to obtain a concealed weapons permit yesterday.”

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRp_mVi969I]

Wait right there. Let’s check out Christian’s phone call one more time:

“What?” he whispers and pales, his eyes widening. “I see. When?… That recently? But how?… No background checks?… I see. […]”

Leila got a concealed weapons permit without any background checks? BULL. SHIT.

If you follow me on the twitter or the facebook, you are probably already aware that I’m quite fond of guns, and as such, I am aware that laws vary from state-to-state with regards to open and concealed carry. I decided that this was a big enough plot point that I should do a little research (something E.L. James might have tried, if she wasn’t so busy racing to the next sex scene) and Here is what I found. Background checks are mandatory. From the Washington State Department of Licensing website: “The law enforcement agency will fingerprint you and conduct a background check before you can be issued a license. If you’re a Washington State resident, it may take up to 30 days to complete the background check.”

Oh shit. I gaze at him, blinking, and feel the blood drain from my face as I absorb this news. I may faint. Suppose she wants to kill him? No!

She would have to get in line behind me.

“That means she can just buy a gun,” I whisper.

No, it means she can carry a handgun concealed on her person, or carry a loaded gun in her car. That’s all it means. She could buy the gun any time she wants. Washington is an open carry state, so she could carry the unloaded gun with her, so long as it’s in an exposed holster. Also, she could buy a rifle at any time and just pop them off from a distance with no paperwork at all, that’s what they should be worrying about in his all-glass apartment.

“Ana,” he says, his voice full of concern. He places his hands on my shoulders, pulling me close to him. “I don’t think she’ll do anything stupid, but  – I just don’t want to take that risk with you.”

“Not me… what about you?” I whisper.

While they stand on the sidewalk arguing over who loves who more, Leila could just come up behind them and kill them both. Christian said she was there, and she was watching them. He knows she has a gun. So, by all means, let’s stand on the sidewalk and continue with this, “No, I would be more shattered if she did something to you.”

They go to Ana’s apartment and she packs her stuff (including the Charlie Tango balloon. No, I’m not kidding) to leave. She off-handedly mentions that Kate’s brother is coming to town on Tuesday.

Christian gazes at me blankly, but I notice the frostiness creep into his eyes.

“Well, it’s good you’ll be staying with me. Give him more room,” he says quietly.

Why don’t you just buy the building and make a “No Ethan Allowed” policy, Christian?

They get her stuff and go out to the car, where they argue about who’s driving. Seriously, Leila is a shitty assassin, she could have killed them twice now, while they stand out in the open talking to each other. She could have done it with an AR from a distance, and not had to bother with all these pesky licenses.

I know I sound like I’m rooting for Leila here, but with these two, can you blame me?

Once they’re safely in the car (Leila, you’re killing me here, you could murder/suicide into them in your own car, and it would tie in so poetically with the death of your boyfriend!) they start talking about how Christian seems to have a thing for brunettes. He says that Mrs. Robinson is who put him off blondes forever, but he’s just kidding.

So, he only likes brunettes, I wonder why? Did Mrs. Extraordinarily Glamorous in Spite of Being Old Robinson really put him off blondes?

Back up once again. “in Spite of Being Old?” In the last chapter, Ana describes Elena as being in her late thirties or early forties. Christian is twenty-seven. So, let’s say Elena is forty, just for the sake of argument and easy math. That means that when Christian was fifteen, when their relationship started, she would have been either the age Christian is now, or a year older. And since we don’t have the specifics, that number could go either up or down. So… how is she old, exactly? She wasn’t old when she molested Christian, and she isn’t old now. How is this happening? Either Ana is one of those people who believes anything over twenty-five is old and E.L. James is brilliantly portraying this detail (which I find doubtful, given the evidence at hand), or E.L. James herself believes that anyone over twenty-five is old and shouldn’t be having sex because it’s gross, in which case she has created a hellish existence for herself with the readership of these books and the universe is restored to some merciful balance in my favor.

Christian explains to Ana that he’s a silent partner in the salon business, he just invested the money in order to repay at $100k loan that Elena gave him when he dropped out of Harvard after two years to go into business for himself. Remember that thing I said about “bright?” He dropped out of the school people would literally, not figuratively, kill to get into. Unsurprisingly, his parents didn’t approve. He also gives Ana some backstory on Elena:

“She was a bored trophy wife, Anastasia. Her husband was wealthy – big in timber.” He gives me a wolfish grin. “He wouldn’t let her work. You know, he was controlling. Some men are like that.” He gives me a quick sideways smile.

 It’s nice that they can joke about how controlling Christian is, without ever actually doing anything about it.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Christian asks Ana if she’s still mad at him. Gee, one of your exes is totally uprooting Ana’s life on the same day you took her to your rapist’s salon to get her hair done? Why would she be hanging on to a trifle like that?

Christian checks in with Taylor, who we learn has a daughter. Taylor is officially the most interesting character in this book, but there’s no time to dawdle, they have to go wait for the hair dresser. Christian goes to make some phone calls, leaving Ana to her own devices. She goes to her room and finally checks out all the clothes in her closet. This will come as a shock to no one, but they’re all needlessly expensive.

This isn’t me. I put my head in my hands and try to process the last few hours. It’s exhausting. Why, oh why, have I fallen for someone who is plain crazy – beautiful, sexy as fuck, richer than Croesus, and crazy with a capital K?

Because you have no self-esteem and believe that if you’re not with Christian Grey, the next step is dying alone? I thought we covered this in the first book. Also, Christian has his problems, and he’s definitely not mentally healthy, but you’ve got one of his exes planning a gun crime, so in this case, “crazy” might be subjective.

Ana decides to call her mom:

“Ana, honey! It’s been so long. How are you, darling?”

So long? She came home from Georgia and broke up with Christian like, a day or two later, right? And it’s been, what, a week since then, so… it hasn’t been that long at all. But okay. They talk about Christian and how things are complicated, and her mom says things are complicated with Bob, too, and then Ana has this staggeringly self-aware thought:

Oh, someone else has problems. I’m not the only one.

I think that pretty much sums up the entire character of Ana.

Christian appears in the doorway. “There you are. I thought you’d run off.” His relief is obvious.

Wait, he was the one who left to go make phone calls. Did he seriously expect her to just stand there and wait in the same spot until he got back?

I hold my hand up to indicate that I’m on the phone. “Sorry, Mom, I have to go. I’ll call again soon.”

Why does she have to go? Oh, right. It’s not like Christian has ever made her wait while he took a call. It certainly didn’t happen right now or just a little bit ago on the street or over and over and over again.

“Why are you hiding in here?” he asks.

“I’m not hiding. I’m despairing.”

And I am LOLing.

Christian and Ana have one of their trademark conversations in which they seem to believe there is some kind of problem with their relationship, but they won’t articulate it, so they just dance around it and try to be witty rather than actually resolving anything:

“I know, I’m trying,” he murmurs.

“You’re very trying.”

“As are you, Miss Steele.”

“Why are you doing this?”

His eyes widen and his wary look returns. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “You are one frustrating female.”

JUST TALK TO EACH OTHER.

But if they did that, there wouldn’t be anything to space out the time between sex scenes, and we’d be left with just blank pages. Christian tells Ana that he likes that she’s not into him for his money, and she gives him “hope.” For what, you ask?

He shrugs. “More.” His voice is low and quiet. “And you’re right. I am used to women doing exactly what I say, when I say, doing exactly what I want. It gets old quickly. There’s something about you, Anastasia, which calls to me on some deep level I don’t understand. It’s a siren’s call. I can’t resist you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Sirens kill people. Just saying. And how infuriating is it to hear this douche, he of the “sign this sex contract,” complain that it’s boring when women do what he says? He’s the one who makes them sign contracts to do that in the first place! It’s not their fault he’s bored with what he asked for.

He looks so vulnerable… It’s disturbing.

Oh, NOW you’re disturbed. She tells Christian she can be patient, and then the hairdresser shows up:

Franco is small, dark, and gay. I love him.

Of course you do. You seem incapable of liking any person who isn’t a part of some marginalized group.

“Such beautiful hair!” he gushes with an outrageous, probably fake Italian accent. I bet he’s from Baltimore or somewhere, but his enthusiasm is infectious.

Gay people. They’re just so over the top, all the time, amiright? No, I’m not. Because we don’t live in Stereotopia, land where stereotypes are reality.

When they get done with her hair cut, Franco presents her to Christian:

“See! I tell you he like it,” Franco enthuses.

Good news, he talks like the prostitute in Full Metal Jacket for the rest of his scene.

“Over lunch, then. I’m hungry, and not just for food,” he gives me a salacious smile.

Oh stop.

“I am not going to let you dazzle me with your sexpertise.”

“What’s bothering me? Well, there’s your gross invasion of my privacy, the fact that you took me to some place where your ex-mistress works and you used to take all your lovers to have their bits waxed, you manhandled me in the street like I was six years old – and to cap it all, you let your Mrs. Robinson touch you!” My voice has risen to a crescendo.

I think you forgot, “Your ex is trying to kill me, and you weren’t even going to let me know.” Because if Ana hadn’t asked, Chedward wasn’t going to tell her about the CCW.

Christian wants to clarify that Elena isn’t his Mrs. Robinson, and Ana points out that, hey, Elena can touch him, and she can’t. Christian says it’s because Elena knows where she can touch him, and it’s apparently impossible to teach that to another living human being.

“You and I don’t have any rules. I have never had a relationship without rules, and I never know where you’re going to touch me. It makes me nervous. Your touch completely – ” He stops, searching for the words. “It just means more… so much more.”

Wait, they don’t have any rules? Did I black out and start reading a different series? Because they had a whole bunch of rules, a contract, actually. And even though he said the contract has been thrown out, he’s still manipulating her into following those rules.

Ana tries to touch him, and he’s all panicked about it. Ana points out that he would feel pretty bad if he couldn’t touch her, and he agrees.

“You’ll have to tell me why this is a hard limit, one day, please.”

“One day,” he murmurs, and seems to snap out of his vulnerability in a nanosecond.

How can he switch so quickly?

Mental illness?

“So, the rest of your list. Invading your privacy.” His mouth twists as he contemplates this. “Because I know your bank account number?”

“Yes, that’s outrageous.”

“I do background checks on all my submissives. I’ll show you.” He turns and heads for his study.

It doesn’t make it better that he’s done this to other women. It just makes it more shady, because he now has a lot of women’s banking information. There was nothing in the contract allowing him to do such a thing, and he never asked Ana if it was okay to run this check or find this information out.

From a locked filing cabinet, he pulls a manila folder. Typed on the tab: ANASTASIA ROSE STEELE.

Why is it in a filing cabinet? Surely someone with his finger on the pulse of developing technologies would have, you know, a computerized database for this stuff. It would be more secure than just a locked filing cabinet.

“So, you knew I worked at Clayton’s?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t a coincidence. You didn’t just drop by?”

No, Ana. I’ve been trying to tell you this. He did not “just drop by” to pick up his kidnapping supplies, he went there on purpose. EVERYONE WITH HALF A BRAIN KNEW THIS ALREADY IT IS NOT A REVELATION.

Ana tells him that the whole background check thing is fucked up, and he says he doesn’t “see it that way,” so obviously that makes it okay.

“I don’t misuse the information. Anyone can get ahold of it if they have half a mind to, Anastasia. To have control – I need information. It’s how I’ve always operated.”

 The thought of just, you know, NOT CONTROLLING WOMEN has never entered into his mind. Christian Grey is a person who should not be in a relationship, in any relationship, because he has no clue how to respect other people and have boundaries. Keep in mind, somewhere, right now, a woman is schlicking to a fantasy of having this man treat her like garbage. GO FEMINISM! And let’s examine the ways Christian Grey does misuse the information:

• He goes to Ana’s workplace to “bump into” her.
• He deposits money into her bank account without her permission.
• He follows her to her mother’s house in Georgia against her wishes.

I’m sure there are more, but I’m too enraged by this normalization of abuse to remember them. At least Ana calls him on the deposit, but when she does, he asks her how much money she thinks he makes. She says it doesn’t matter, because she doesn’t care, and he says:

“I know. That’s one of the things I love about you.”

I gaze at him, shocked. Love about me?

So, yeah, now she’s going to focus on that to the exclusion of all common sense. Oh, and he tells her his unrealistic salary:

“Anastasia, I earn roughly one hundred thousand dollars an hour.”

Break it down now:

• $100,000.00 per hour
• $2,400,000.00 per day
• $16,800,000.00 per week
• $67,200,000.00 per month
• $806,400,000.00 annually

This is it, the crux of his Fifty Shades, surely. He can’t put himself in my shoes.

Can’t, or won’t, Ana? He continues to argue that it’s okay for him to lavish gifts upon her, because he wants to. That’s what makes it okay, reader. He wants it, and he’s not willing to stop.

Oh, this is going nowhere.

Ana thought, echoing my own frustration.

They go to have lunch, and since Mrs. Jones has the day off, Ana will cook. Christian informs her that his subs usually cook for him on the weekend, so I guess that’s not like, slavery or anything. Christian goes to his study and leaves Ana to it.

Christian is still in his study, no doubt invading some poor, unsuspecting fool’s privacy and compiling information. The thought is unpleasant and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

As it should. But not for long, of course, because to cook, Ana must also dance! Facing the fact that Leila might have put more music on Christian’s iPod, she bravely looks through it to find a song:

I scroll through the extensive list. I want something upbeat. Hmm, Beyonce – that doesn’t sound like Christian’s taste. “Crazy in Love.” Oh yes! How apt. I hit the “repeat” button and put it on loud.

I sashay back to the kitchen and find a bowl, open the fridge, and take out the eggs. I crack them open and begin to whisk, dancing the whole time.

In case you’re keeping score at home, this is the second time Ana has whisk-danced in Christian’s kitchen.

No empathy, I muse. Is this unique to Christian? Maybe all men are like this, baffled by women.

No, Ana. All men are not like this. You’re just willing to believe that they are, rather than realize that you are in an abusive, controlling relationship that is only getting worse instead of better.

I wish Kate were home; she would know. She’s been in Barbados far too long. She should be back at the end of the week after her additional vacation with Elliot. I wonder if it’s still lust at first sight with them.

One of the things I love about you.

Notice the juxtaposition there? Kate and Elliot are only in lust, Ana and Christian are in love. That’s not an accident, as all along Ana has looked down on Kate and Elliot for being too sexual and too expressive of their love. They can’t possibly feel what Ana feels for Christian. Also, note that the reason Ana has given for missing Kate is, once again, because Kate could do something for her. First, she missed Kate because she needed someone to nurse her through her breakup, now she misses Kate because she’s not available to work through Ana’s relationship problems.

Christian comes back to the kitchen and asks Ana how long she’s going to stay mad at him for a piddly little thing like invading her privacy. Ana asks him if he put “Crazy In Love” on his iPod (even though she already knows the answer), and asks if Leila was trying to tell him something with the song choice. I’m guessing she was trying to tell him, “I’m going to go crazy and try to kill your next girlfriend if you break up with me.”

Why can’t anyone just use words to communicate their feelings in this series? Why must it always be some cryptic method through music? Oh, that’s right. Because they’re seventh graders.

Because writing something new and original for book two would be difficult, this happens:

He heads over to the iPod dock while I go back to my whisking.

Moments later the heavenly sweet, soulful voice of Nina Simone fills the room. It’s one of Ray’s favorites: “I Put A Spell On You.”

You know how Evil Dead and Evil Dead 2 are basically the same movie, with some minor changes? That. Right down to reminding us that it’s one of Ray’s favorite songs.

I flush, turning to gape at Christian. What is he trying to tell me?

WHY CAN’T YOU JUST SPEAK TO EACH OTHER LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE?!

I watch him, enthralled as slowly, like the predator he is, he stalks me in time to the slow, sultry beat of the music.

It’s way sexier than the way he stalks her the rest of the time. And “like the predator he is?” If the word you’re using to describe the man you date is “predator,” and you are not the heroine of a paranormal romance, maybe you might need to reevaluate your situation.

Christian tries to sex her out of being mad at him, but she rejects his advances. You know, a little.

I don’t want this – I do want this – badly. He’s so frustrating, so hot and desirable. I tear my gaze away from his spellbinding look.

“I want you, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “I love and I hate, and I love arguing with you. It’s very new. I need to know that we’re okay. It’s the only way I know how.”

“To manipulate you into forgetting that I’m a dick,” is how that sentence should have ended.

“I’m not going to touch you until you say yes,” he says softly. “But right now, after a really shitty morning, I want to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us.”

Oh my… Us. A magical combination, a small, potent pronoun that clinches the deal.

Luckily, Taylor comes in and interrupts them making out. You know, for now, because Ana doesn’t have the self-respect required to not have sex with Christian Grey when she’s legitimately angry with him.

Christian and Taylor stare at each other, some unspoken communication passing between them.

Taylor and Christian go into the study, and Ana goes back to making lunch and thinking about what is wrong with Christian and how she can fix it, because if there is one thing women are known for it’s their high success rate with fixing broken men. Christian comes back and they eat. They actually don’t fight about it for once, but Ana does mention that she’s eating despite not being hungry. They talk about how Christian knows French and stuff, and Ana says his parents must be very proud of him, which is apparently not an okay thing to say, because he gets really surly. Christian goes to brief the security team about recent developments, and Ana goes to fire up the google on the old internet machine. No, I’m not kidding, she says this:

I set about transferring Christian’s playlist from my iPad to the Mac, then fire up Google to surf the net.

Ana is one hundred years old.

I’m lying across the bed looking at my Mac as Christian enters.

“What are you doing?” he inquires softly.

I panic briefly, wondering if I should let him see the Web site I’m on – Multiple Personality Disorder: The Symptoms.

Here’s another nit to pick: any up-to-date website would refer to it as “Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

Christian and Ana banter wittily about how fucked up he is, then he suggests that she take a tube of lipstick and draw on his body so that she has a map of where she can touch him:

“I could get a tatto.” His eyes are alight with humor.

Christian Grey with a tat? Marring his lovely body, when it’s marked in so many ways already? No way!

Fuck you, Ana. First of all, don’t say “tat” because it sounds skeezy and like something you get in prison, and second, tattoos don’t “mar” a body, they decorate it.

For a page and a half, Ana draws on Christian with lipstick.

“Finished,” I murmur, and it looks like he’s wearing a bizarre skin-colored vest with harlot red trim.

I may have already told you all this story before. If I have, just nod and smile, as if I’m a forgetful old grandpa telling you the same story every year at Christmas time.

Once upon a time, I had this dream that I was going to be a big time Broadway star. But I could never commit to leaving Michigan, due to its awesomeness. Instead, I had this weird idea that I could live in Michigan and worry about relocating to the Big Apple if I ever actually got a job. In industries that are not “acting in a play in New York,” that’s a smart strategy. But I’ve already mentioned what industry I was interested in, so my plan bleeeeeeeeeeeeew.

So, anyway, I would fly into New York, audition for shit, then fly home either the same night or the next morning. On one such occasion, I was walking around and saw the marquee for a revival of The Iceman Cometh. I had heard that Tony Danza was in that. I thought it would be funny to wait at the stage door and meet him, and get his autograph on one of the brochures you get out of the back of taxis. Because he was on Taxi, get it? I’m hilarious.

I go over to a cab, I get one of the brochures from the guy, I go back and wait at the stage door. People start coming out, but nobody I really want to see. Then the dude next to me starts talking about how he’s the big Kevin Spacey fan, and he’s so into Kevin Spacey, and I’m like, “That’s nice, me too,” and thinking, “Wow, it’s weird that this guy just keeps talking about Kevin Spacey,” and then I realize, oh, Kevin Spacey is in this show, and just then, bam, out the stage door comes Kevin Spacey.

So, I got Kevin Spacey’s autograph on an index card, and it was pretty awesome. Except, I’m not really good at meeting celebrities (ask me about the time I puked in front of Tori Amos!) so I ended up pointing at his face when he was like, a foot away from me, and saying, “Hey! You’re Keyser Soze!”

Then I started pretty actively hardcore trolling on Kevin Spacey fan email lists, but that… is a story for another time.

Oh, also, Tony Danza never came out, otherwise this story would have been way cooler.

And lo, Jen said it was link times, and it was, and she looked upon it and saw that it was good. Aaaaallll good:

Product Review: Masturbation to 50 Shades of Grey: “WANKING TO THIS BOOK IS EVIDENCE OF A DISEASE.”

OMG! That 51 Tints of Granite thing is hilarious! More to read. I love it! I have never been into fanfic before, but suddenly I’m seeking it out all over the place. Jenn, you have introduced me to a world I never knew existed. I think I love you.

This got me thinking. A lot of the criticism coming at the entire 50 Shades phenomenon has been that it’s fanfic. And I think along the way a lot of people, myself included, have used “It’s fanfic” to make fun of the horrible writing. But there are some really good fanfics out there, with absolutely stellar writing, and I think I would be remiss if I didn’t point them out to y’all. So, expect an upcoming post with fanfic recs. Because fanfic is magic and the more people who participate, the better!

But for now, let’s bust right through this chapter like it’s Ana’s problematic hymen.

As sanity returns,

You realize you’re in an abusive relationship and leave him?

I open my eyes and gaze up into the face of the man I love.

Damn.


Christian tells Ana how much he’s missed her (in the five days they were broken up) and how much he missed having sex with her, and he tells her not to leave him again. Then she’s all, “Thanks for the iPad,” and then he says:

“Come cook me some food, wench. I’m famished.”

Because this is Westeros or something. Or…

Oh my gosh. Does anyone else remember Covington Cross, that show that was on (and got immediately canceled) in 1992? I have been obsessed with that show for so long, I’m almost embarrassed that this is the first time I’m thinking of this in this context… the family name of the main characters was “Grey.” I could write a 50 Shades of Grey fanfic… and it could be about one of the Greys from that show. My mind is spinning. What deadline?

Wait, what was I doing? Right, reading this book. Bummer.

As I scramble out of bed, I dislodge my pillow, revealing the deflated helicopter balloon underneath.

How does someone sleep with a deflated mylar balloon under their pillow? Isn’t that all kinds of crinkly? Why didn’t he notice the strange crunchy noise when they were fucking? They have a little conversation about the balloon, and then they get something to eat:

Christian and I sit on Kate’s Persian rug, eating stir-fry chicken and noodles from white china bowls with chopsticks and sipping chilled white Pinot Grigio.

Try to read that sentence out loud without taking a breath. I hope that’s not a real Persian rug, because who does that? “My roommate isn’t here, so let’s sit on what is possibly the most expensive thing in the apartment and eat with chopsticks.” Also, thanks for the heads up, Ana, I would have never known Pinot Grigio was white unless you’d told me, because where I come from Pinot Grigio is bright green.

He’s wearing his jeans and his shirt, and that’s all.

That sounds… fully dressed.

Christian says the food is good, and Ana actually eats without them arguing about it, and she also says:

“I usually do all the cooking. Kate isn’t a great cook.”

Poor Kate, she probably never gets to eat, then, if she waits for Ana to make dinner.

They talk about Ana’s upbringing a little, namely how her mother’s third husband didn’t like her, so she had to go back to live in Forks with Ray. Christian observes:

“Sounds like you looked after him,”

Sounds like you read Twilight, Christian.

Christian doesn’t like the fact that Ana has taken care of people her whole life. I’m amazed that Ana has actually taken care of anything, because she’s so utterly inept at taking care of herself. This woman can’t remember to eat for four days. I would assume even houseplants wouldn’t be safe with her. Christian tells Ana that he wants to take care of her, and she says that’s nice, but he does it in weird ways, and he says it’s the only way he knows how. So, that makes it okay that he bought your job, I guess.

“I’m still mad at you for buying SIP.”

He smiles. “I know, but you being mad, baby, wouldn’t stop me.”

He might as well just pat her on the head and tell her that her feelings don’t matter. Because they don’t.


Take a deep breath. In and out. Because it’s just going to get worse.

I scowl. “If I leave and find another job, will you buy that company, too?”

“You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?” His expression alters, wary once more.

“Possibly. I’m not sure you’ve given me a great deal of choice.”

“Yes, I will buy that company, too.” He is adamant.

You know how you solve this one, Ana? Go get a job at McDonald’s. I’d love to see Christian try to buy THAT company. Go work for Disney, or Time Warner. Good luck, Stalky McFuckhead, trying to buy THOSE.

Because Ana doesn’t want to fight (yeah, if you fight over little, unimportant things like your boyfriend buying every company you ever work for in an attempt to exert total control over your life, what kind of a relationship do you have?), they decide to have dessert instead:

“Would you like dessert?”

“Now you’re talking!” he says, giving me a lascivious grin.

“Not me.” Why not me? My inner goddess wakes from her doze and sits upright, all ears. “We have ice cream. Vanilla.” I snicker.

Because she’s into vanilla relationships and vanilla sex, get it? By the way, we’re only on page 74 and I’ve already lost count of the number of times Chedward and Anabella joke about being hungry, but not for food. It’s one thing to use a cliche… it’s another to overuse a cliche.

Christian asks Ana where the ice cream is, and she tells him it’s in the oven, to which he responds:

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Miss Steele.”

Oh yeah, I’m soooo sure it is. Seriously, though, despite Ana telling the reader that Christian has a great sense of humor and he’s so witty and funny, I’ve yet to see evidence that he actually is. Most of the time he’s just stomping around, yelling, “I must protect you, helpless Ana!” I think he cracked a couple jokes in the last book. But pardon me if I’m not taking lessons in comedy from a dude whose go-to line is to act like he’s confusing an offer of food for an offer of sex.

I will give Christian credit for the pun that comes next, after he exhibits sarcasm himself and Ana calls him out on it:

“Well, Anastasia, my new motto is, ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.'”

It’s funny, because he beat the shit out of her with a belt while she cried and screamed, get it?

Christian decides that vanilla ice cream is perfect for the sexy times, so he ties Ana up to the bed and drizzles ice cream on her:

Oh… it’s cold. Each nipple peaks and hardens beneath the cool of the vanilla.

No shit, it’s cold? Is it? Is ice cream cold? I’m glad Ana shared that detail. I’m also glad she pauses to tell us how hot everything is once the sex scene gets going. Then he drips ice cream onto her pubes and clit, and starts fingering her while he licks it up. I hope there are whole chapters devoted to the yeast infection she gets from someone pushing ice cream up her cooch.

“Hush now,” Christian says softly as his magical tongue sets to work lapping up the vanilla, and now I’m keening quietly.

How does one keen quietly? Keening means wailing or screaming. If you’re screaming quietly, you’re doing it wrong. Or Chedward is doing it wrong. OH SNAP!

“Oh… please… Christian.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he breathes as his tongue works its magic.

I groan as he picks up speed.

“You are mine, Anastasia.”

“Yes, yours,” I pant.

“I take care of what’s mine,” he hisses and bites my ear.

“Come on, baby,” he growls through gritted teeth and on cue, like the sorcerer’s apprentice I am, I let go, and we find our release together.

It’s a good thing he tells her to orgasm, otherwise she might not at this point. And still with the “Come on,” to get her to orgasm and “come,” to get her to go somewhere. The fact that the confusion is so consistent is only more maddening, because it means he’s saying the same thing in every single sex scene.

“What I feel for you frightens me,” I whisper.

He stills. “Me too, baby,” he says quietly.

Me three.

Christian tells Ana that he doesn’t think he’ll ever leave her, because he can’t imagine getting tired of her. How romantic.

“I’ve never felt the way I felt when you left, Anastasia. I would move heaven and earth to avoid feeling like that again.” He sounds so sad, dazed even.

Um. Didn’t your mom kill herself in front of you when you were four, and you spent a bunch of days with her dead body? And you’ve never felt so bad as when your girlfriend dumped you? Okay.

Ana has a nightmare about the girl who confronted her outside of SIP, and I suppose the whole thing is supposed to be moody and cryptic, but it’s terribly obvious and very short. Why is it that E.L. James can reserve ten pages every chapter for fucking, but glimpses into Ana’s actual subconscious only get five paragraphs? Christian shakes her awake from her nightmare, and she finally thinks, “Gee, maybe I should bring up the weird girl I saw outside of work today and instantly forgot until it was more convenient for the author to address the subject.”

Turns out the girl is Leila, the ex-sub who put “Toxic” by Britney Spears on Christian’s iPod. This is an important detail that Ana remarks on, because as a reader, I care deeply about who does what with Christian’s iPod.

My scalp prickles as adrenaline spikes through my body. What if she means a lot to him? Perhaps he misses her? I know so little about his past… um, relationships. She must have had a contract, and she would have done what he wanted, given him what he needed gladly.

Oh no – when I can’t. The thought makes me nauseous.

The thought makes you “nauseated,” Ana. What makes you “nauseous” is the fact that a girl who looks like the ghost from The Ring came up to you after an obvious suicide attempt and you’re jealous of her. This woman clearly tried to kill herself at some recent point in time, she still had the bandage on her wrist. She was haggard and thin, and obviously not having a great time of things, and you’re worried that she’s going to steal your boyfriend.

Christian gets on the phone and, in a long, ellipses filled block of dialogue, implores someone named Welch to find Samara Leila. He’s obviously stressed out, so Ana offers him tea:

“Do you want some tea?” I ask. Tea, Ray’s answer to every crisis and the only thing he does well in the kitchen.

Isn’t Ray supposed to be Charlie? Look, I read Twilight, and I guarantee you that Charlie hasn’t so much as purchased a single tea bag in the entire time he’s been alive. I know some of you have complained about people pointing out so-called Britishisms that aren’t really Britishisms, but come on. The obsession with tea in these books? I’m not saying there’s no tea in America, or that no one in America has a fondness for the stuff, or that everyone in the UK is always drinking tea all the time, because that would be patently false, but in America we usually associate tea with England. Because of that whole taxation without representation thing that happened a little while ago in the 18th century that turned us all into coffee drinkers. And because years of cultural conditioning starting with that whole “Fuck your tea, we’ll throw it in the harbor and drink coffee instead,” thing, a manly man’s man like Charlie Swan would not be an old hand at making tea in times when consolation is needed, ergo, Ray would not, either. I think Ray and Charlie would both say that beer is the answer to everything.

I put the kettle on the stove and busy myself with teacups and the teapot. My anxiety level has shot to DEFCON 1. Is he going to tell me the problem? Or am I going to have to dig?

What do you think, Ana? Do you think he’s going to tell you all about it, since he’s so open and forthcoming?

She asks him if he’s going to tell her what’s going on, and of course he’s not:

“Because it shouldn’t concern you. I don’t want you tangled up in this.”

I’m surprised he doesn’t just pat her on the head here, too. This fucking guy.

Ana gets him to tell her the truth, with surprisingly little pressure, actually. He admits that Leila is messed up, and that while he was busy stalking Ana in Georgia, Leila got into his apartment and tried to kill herself in front of the housekeeper. So, that was the “situation” that made him leave Georgia.

“Let me get this straight. She hasn’t been your submissive for three years?”

“About two and a half years.”

“And she wanted more.”

“Yes.”

Okay, it’s story time, dear readers. I once hooked up with a guy friend I’d been hanging out with for the summer. It was totally hot. However, what followed was not hot. See, he had an ex-girlfriend who was craaaaaaaaazy. They had been broken up for three years, and he hadn’t been with anyone since her, so he broke a long, long streak by hooking up with me. Two days after the hook up, which was never intended to be anything more than just a little fun, the ex came into my place of business, grabbed me by the front of my uniform polo shirt and said, “If you ever sleep with [poor guy] again,  I will fucking kill you. He’s mine.” It was so utterly bizarre. Reading this part of the book, I actually got creeped out. Like, looking around to see if the freak was lurking around a corner somewhere. So let me tell you, I do not doubt that someone could go that nuts after a breakup that they would stalk the next girlfriend or boyfriend or casual hook up after several years. This is one place where this horrible book is rooted in fact.

I stare at Fifty, magnificently naked from the waist up. I have him; he’s mine. That’s what I have, and yet she looked like me: same dark hair and pale skin. I frown at the thought. Yes… what do I have that she doesn’t?

This is a great excerpt to display how shallow Ana truly is. While a normal person would go, “Wow, that chick is messed up, I bet she wasn’t able to hide that level of crazy and that’s why they broke up,” Ana can’t figure out why it’s her with Christian and not Leila, because they look the same. To Ana’s thinking, two human beings with distinct personalities and quirks and thoughts are completely interchangeable, so long as they look exactly alike. Her self-obsession also keeps her from accepting the truth of the situation, that it has nothing at all to do with her. Christian could have started fucking Taylor, and Leila would still have shown up. It’s not an Ana problem, and it’s not even a Christian problem, it’s a Leila problem.

Christian asks Ana why she didn’t mention Leila yesterday, and Ana’s excuse was that she just forgot. How do you just forget something that bizarre? Especially when she made reference to it in her internal monologue a couple times after the fact? That’s not forgetting. That’s the author wanting to have more sex scenes before the plot happens. Speaking of which:

“Forget about her. Come.” He holds out his hand.

My inner goddess does three back flips over the gym floor as I grasp his hand.

Ana, you’re being stalked by two people now! Let’s fuck to celebrate!

Luckily, it’s a section break instead of a ten page long sex scene full of “It’s so freaking hot,” and “jeez!” Ana wakes up beside Christian and tries to touch him, and he’s all, “LOL, no,” and then asks her if she wants sex or breakfast. Get it, they’re HUNGRY, but not for FOOD. For SEX instead. Tee hee.

There’s another section break, and Ana tries to fix her horrible, no good, very bad hair while watching Christian get dressed. She asks him how often he works out, and he says he does every week day. He runs, lifts weights, and kickboxes, which leads me to my biggest nit pick of the chapter:

“Yes, I have a personal trainer, an ex-Olympic contender who teaches me. His name is Claude. He’s very good. You’d like him.”

Kickboxing isn’t an Olympic sport! It never has been! Claude is either a fraud, or Christian is talking a big game about his kickboxing trainer because he needs to sound FANCY.

Despite the fact that they allegedly threw the contract out and are having a vanilla relationship, Christian tells Ana she needs a personal trainer:

“But I want you fit, baby, for what I have in mind. I’ll need you to keep up.”

So, in other words, “We’re not doing that whole contract thing, but you still need to follow the rules in it.”

I flush as memories of the playroom flood my mind. Yes… the Red Room of Pain is exhausting. Is he going to let me back in there? Do I want to go back in?

Now, in the three times they’ve actually been in the Red Room, Ana has stood up, shackled to the ceiling, fucked against a bed post, been blindfolded while Christian fucks her, and then the last time, beaten with a belt. I’m not going to deny that these things would be somewhat physically taxing, but I can’t think of a single exercise you could do with a personal trainer that would make you more physically capable of the psychological exhaustion involved in heavy BDSM. Ana hasn’t been tired from the complicated acrobatics of sex with Christian Grey (because the sex being described just isn’t that physically demanding), but from the emotional aspect of submission.

I flush, and the undesirable thought that Leila could probably keep up slithers invidious and unwelcome into my mind.

For real, Ana? Yes, fine. Leila is perfect, way more perfect than you. That’s why Christian is still with her, and not with you, right? Get over yourself and your little pity party.

Ana tells Christian she needs to get a haircut and put a check in the bank so she can buy a car, because she’s still without wheels. Christian responds by giving her the key to the Audi he bought her as a graduation present.

He’s giving me back the car. Double crap. Why didn’t I foresee this?

Because you have no short term memory? Because you’re just too dumb and trusting? I don’t know, Ana, help me out, why didn’t you see this coming? Because we all did.

Ana tries to give Christian his check back, that way he’s not giving her the car and the money for the car he sold for her. I’m not quite understanding this, because the original plan was that she would keep the Audi and he would reimburse her for her Beetle. However, that doesn’t justify Christian’s reaction to the suggestion that she would like to return the money. He gets super angry – the word “fury” is used twice – and they argue, ending with:

“End of discussion, Anastasia. Don’t push me.”

Why? Because you’ll hit her? We already know that you won’t leave her, because it was just too hard to not be attached to her for five days.

Ana rips up the check.

Christian gazes at me impassively, but I know I’ve just lit the fuse and should stand well back.

Christian leaves the room, and Ana messes with her hair a little before going to see what he’s up to. He’s been on the phone, and he’s just hanging up when she finds him.

“Deposited in your bank account, Monday. Don’t play games with me.” He’s boiling mad, but I don’t care.

“Twenty-four thousand dollars!” I’m almost screaming. “And how do you know my account number?”

My ire takes Christian by surprise.

“I know everything about you, Anastasia,” he says quietly.

Ana does not interpret this as the creepy, creepy red flag that it is, and instead argues that her car wasn’t worth twenty-four thousand dollars. Christian says a collector bought it, and she can ask Taylor if she doesn’t believe him. Because the dude Christian pays would be a totally impartial source.

So, how about him knowing your bank account number? Aren’t you concerned with that, Ana?

And I feel it, the pull – the electricity between us – tangible, drawing us together. Suddenly he grabs me and pushes me up against the door, his mouth on mine, claiming me hungrily, one hand on my behind pressing me to his groin and the other in the nape of my hair, tugging my head back.

So, that would be a “no,” I take it?

“Why do you defy me?” he mumbles between his heated kisses.

All this line made me think of was Jareth.

“Okay,” I acquiesce and just like that, our fight is over.

Just like that, she forgets that he’s somehow dug up her bank account number and dumped a huge amount of money into it, despite her wishes to the contrary. BECAUSE ROMANCE, DUH!

They go out for breakfast, and Christian gets grumpy because Ana pays the bill. Nothing is sexier than a man who clings to outdated gender stereotypes, let me tell you. He reminds Ana about a black tie benefit thing they’re going to at his parents’ house. It’s a fundraiser for a drug rehab program for parents and their children, called “Coping Together.” I did a search to see if this charity exists, and it does. Only, the real life “Coping Together” organization is for parents grieving miscarriage. Since these stupid books are inducing people to buy sex toys and trips to Seattle, I hope this organization gets some of the blow-back in the form of monetary donations.

Ana and Christian explore her neighborhood for the first time, and Christian takes her to a salon a couple blocks from her apartment:

Christian stops outside a large, slick-looking beauty salon and opens the door for me. It’s called Esclava.

The door is called Esclava? That is one FANCY door.

The interior is all white and leather. At the stark white reception desk sits a young blonde woman in a crisp white uniform.

Always with the blondes. I bet she flirts evilly with Christian.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey,” she says brightly, color rising in her cheeks as she bats her eyelashes at him. It’s the Grey effect, but she knows him! How?

Yeah, how does she know him? The nerve of this bitch, being blonde and knowing Ana’s boyfriend! But hold up, I thought the Grey Effect caused women to attempt suicide in front of housekeepers?

This evil!blonde is “Greta” (well, that’s European if I’ve ever heard-). All you need to know about how Ana feels about her is right here:

“The usual, sir?” she asks politely. She’s wearing very pink lipstick.

It’s like Ana cannot meet a woman without critiquing her hair and lipstick color. Ana think it’s weird that Christian has a “usual,” until she has a stunning lightbulb moment that you guys have probably all figured out already:

Holy fuck! It’s Rule Number Six, the damned beauty salon. All the waxing nonsense… shit!

For someone who is supposedly so super intelligent that everyone around her instantly notices how stunningly bright she is, Ana can be super dumb a lot of the time.

I glare at him. He’s introducing the Rules by stealth. I’ve agreed to the personal trainer – now this?

Okay, it’s not “stealth.” He’s not being particularly artful about this. It’s open manipulation. He brought Ana to the same salon all the other subs went to because he knows she’s insecure and will just do whatever he asks her to once she’s started comparing herself to his past conquests.

Ana asks why he brought her to this particular salon, and Christian tells her it’s no big, he owns this one and three more. Because he owns everything, I guess. Christian tells her all the things this salon does, and she says she just wants a haircut. Then, there’s more anti-blonde, anti-European sentiment:

Greta is all pink lipstick and bustling Germanic efficiency as she checks her computer screen.

I bet she and European pigtails from the last book double up on Christian all. the. time.

But before Ana can get her haircut, enter another evil!blonde:

I peek up at him, and suddenly he blanches – something, or someone, has caught his eye. I turn to see where he’s looking, and right at the back of the salon a sleek platinum blonde has appeared, closing a door behind her and speaking to one of the hair stylists.

Do you know who this evil!blonde is yet?

Platinum Blonde is tall, tanned, lovely, and in her late thirties or early forties – it’s difficult to tell. She’s wearing the same uniform as Greta, but in black. She looks stunning. Her hair shines like a halo, cut in a sharp bob. As she turns, she catches sight of Christian and smiles at him, a dazzling smile of warm recognition.

Seriously, are you getting a sense of build up here?

Christian looks upset about something. He’s reasoning with her, and she’s acquiescing, holding her hands up and smiling at him. He’s smiling at her – clearly they know each other well. Perhaps they’ve worked together for a long time? Maybe she runs the place; after all, she has a certain look of authority.

ANA HOW ARE YOU NOT PICKING UP ON THIS?

Then it hits me like a wrecking ball, and I know, deep down in my gut on a visceral level, I know who she is. It’s her. Stunning, older, beautiful.

Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline.

It’s Mrs. Robinson.

That is the end of the chapter, and the first effective chapter hook E.L. has managed to execute in the series so far.

Thanks everyone for your nice comments on my depression post. I always feel weird writing about stuff like that, like it’s going to seem like I’m fishing for compliments or something, but to have so many people share their stories really reinforced how important it is for people with depression to be open and honest and talk about this stuff.


Before we dive right in to your ass the recap, I’ve got links! Oh, how I have links!


First of all, some jackass decided he should replace the the bibles in his hotel with copies of 50 Shades. Now, I’m not one of those ultra-religious people who think that every hotel room needs a bible or else some sinning might go down there, but seriously? This guy sounds like a douche canoe. I mean, he had first planned to replace the bibles with Atlas Shrugged. Sounds like someone just has a problem not showing off how irreverent he can be. Oh, you. But seriously, this article makes me furious. Not because he swapped out the bibles, but because the press keeps referring to this as an “erotic” novel with “graphic” sex scenes. How graphic is “down there,” really?


Then, from Pastor Douglas Wilson, comes this op-ed piece, 50 Shades of Prey, at HuffPo. Now, I almost didn’t link this, because I’m so fucking angry at HuffPo for giving those StalkTheGoodReadsUsersWhoseOpinionsIDon’tAgreeWith nutjobs a platform, but this is a guy who called out Twilight for training women to be in bad relationships, and now he’s talking about 50 Shades, so I thought it was worth posting.


Okay, onto the recap. We last left Ana curled up in her bed, hugging a deflated mylar balloon and dreaming of her abusive boyfriend. It is now the next day:

The good thing about being carless is that on the bus on my way to work, I can plug my headphones into my iPad while it’s in my purse and listen to all the wonderful tunes Christian has given me.

But Mo-Om, Taylor the bodyguard gets to listen to his iPod while driving!


Ana goes into work, where her boss has the audacity to compliment her:

“Good morning, Ana. You look… radiant.” His remark flusters me. How inappropriate.

Why, because he’s not a billionaire? I’m not going to lie, I have a real issue with guys who give creepy compliments. But Christian Grey gives them all the time. “I’m in awe of you,” is much, much more disturbing than, “You look… radiant.” The difference is, Jack is probably old, like in his thirties or forties (remember, in the first book Ana believes thirty to be impossibly old), and he doesn’t fly a helicopter. So, he’s totally inappropriate.

Jack finishes sexually harassing her and gives her four manuscripts to look over by lunchtime. She’s supposed to read the first chapters and give him a report. I bet every “report” is going to compare the book in question to classic literature. But first, she has to email back and forth with Christian, about nothing at all that furthers the plot. In fact, one email is an almost direct rehash of one she sent him in the last chapter. Then we find out she eats a pastrami sandwich at lunch while listening to more of the music Christian put on the iPad, and then it’s right back to the emails. In one of his replies, Christian writes:

Your e-mails at SIP are monitored.

Well, her emails at home are probably also monitored, stalker.

Ana is astounded by this news:

 Oh shit. I had no idea. How the hell does he know?

Because that’s pretty much par for the course at any job, Ana. Now, I’m not saying that it’s right, but lots and lots of companies monitor the content of their employees’ email accounts. This shouldn’t be news, and if you’re going to send email to your boyfriend, why not use your personal email account? How on Earth did Ana get through four years of college and, hell, just being a teenager in America, without learning stuff about the internet and how it works?


At the end of the work day, Jack stops by Ana’s desk to invite her out for drinks with him and the rest of the staff. Seems Ana might have been feeling a little full of herself, hmmm? She thought the boss wanted to get into her pants, and he was just inviting her out on the weekly staff outing. They’re going to a bar called “Fifty’s.” Dollars to donuts, Christian owns it. Ana emails Christian the details and tells him:

The rich seam of humor that I could mine from this is endless.

Not really. So please don’t. I rolled my eyes hard enough the first time the name of the bar was mentioned, I had to spank myself.

Ana invites Christian to come to drinks with her work colleagues, because she’s never had a job before and doesn’t realize how fucking awkward that is.

I check myself in the mirror. What a difference a day can make. I have more color in my cheeks, and my eyes are shining. It’s the Christian Grey effect.

Huh. I would have thought the Christian Grey effect would involve having color in entirely different cheeks.

I turn expectantly, and an ashen young woman approaches me cautiously. She looks like a ghost – so pale and strangely blank.

This woman knows Ana’s full name, and just stares at her until Ana says the polite version of “What the fuck do you want and why are you staring at me and also are you that girl from The Ring?” which translates into nice people speak as, “‘Can I help you?'”

“No… I just wanted to look at you.” Her voice is eerily soft. Like me, she has dark hair that starkly contrasts with her fair skin. Her eyes are brown, like bourbon, but flat. There’s no life in them at all. Her beautiful face is pale, and etched with sorrow.

The ghost from The Ring is wearing designer clothes that are too big, and she’s got a dirty bandage around her wrist. The ghost from The Ring asks Ana:

“What do you have that I don’t?”

What was that about?

Gosh, I wonder, Ana. What was that about? Some strange woman who looks just like you in expensive clothes and a suicide attempt wanders up and is all, “What do you have that I don’t?” and you can’t connect even one teeny tiny little dot here?

Confused, I cross the street to the bar, trying to assimilate what has just happened, while my subconscious rears her ugly head and hisses at me – She has something to do with Christian.

No. You don’t say.

Ana uses her coworkers as a distraction to forget that she’s going to die in seven days. She actually does have a conversation with the receptionist who has been the pinpoint focus of her white guilt every time she’s mentioned, and then Ana remembers that Kate exists:

Absently, I wonder how Kate is… and Elliot.

I like how in the first chapter Ana couldn’t live without Kate and missed her soooooo much, then she gets back together with Christian and it’s like, “Oh, yeah… Kate. And that other guy. What’s his name?” In literally the same paragraph, her thoughts go straight to Christian:

Oh, and Ethan, Kate’s brother, will be back next Tuesday, and he’ll be staying in our apartment. I can’t imagine Christian is going to be happy about that.

It’s Kate’s apartment. It doesn’t matter how Christian feels about it. It’s something he can’t control, so nanananabooboo and neenerneenerneener and all that.

When Elizabeth and Courtney leave, Jack joins Claire and me. Where is Christian?

Probably watching you from a corner somewhere.


Claire starts talking to someone else, and we find out that Jack is a close talker:

“Ana, think you made the right decision coming here?” Jack’s voice is soft, and he’s standing a bit too close. But I’ve noticed that he has a tendency to do this with everyone, even at the office.

I hate people who do that. They always make me really self-conscious about my breath, even if I’ve just brushed my teeth.

Jack tells Ana that she’s a bright girl, makes some chit-chat about where she lives and if she has any weekend plans. He leans on the bar and Ana feels trapped, and then our knight in shining armor shows up at just the right time:

I feel him before I see him. It’s as if my whole body is highly attuned to his presence. It relaxes and ignites me at the same time – a weird, internal duality – and I sense that strange pulsing electricity.

That’s how connected they are, guys. She can sense his presence. Shit, my eyes are rolling again. Time for another spanking, I guess. But what do you want to bet he was there the whole time, watching, like he was doing in Georgia when she was at the bar with her mom.

Christian drapes his arm around my shoulder in a seemingly casual display of affection – but I know differently. He is staking a claim, and on this occasion, it’s very welcome. Softly he kisses my hair.

Ever notice, reader, how Christian only displays affection toward Ana in public when he’s trying to impress a point on someone else? Ana finds it flattering, but doesn’t it just reinforce that he isn’t capable of feeling for her as a person, that he only views her as an object or a contest? Just throwing that out there, I don’t mean to destroy the “romance” of Christian Grey.

I feel relieved, safe, and excited with his arm around me.

This is a really sneaky thing that Christian does with all the men Ana comes into contact with. He acts possessive, which in turn tells Ana that there is something to fear from all men – except him. He does it with Jose, he did it with Paul at the hardware store, and now he’s doing it with Jack. If you’ve read the entire series, then you know that Jack really isn’t a nice guy, but Christian doesn’t know that at this point. What he’s doing is setting up a false sense of safety and reliance, so Ana believes she needs his protection from all the men of the world. It’s pretty gross.

Ana introduces the two:

“I’m the boyfriend,” Christian says with a small, cool smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he shakes Jack’s hand. I glance up at Jack who is mentally assessing the fine specimen of manhood in front of him.

I rarely actually LOL, but I LOLed heartily at that line. Seriously, I’m pretty sure that Jack isn’t thinking of Christian as a “fine specimen of manhood.” In fact, I’m pretty convinced that Ana sees Christian like this:

And everyone else sees him like this:

I glance at Claire, who is, of course staring, openmouthed and with frankly carnal appreciation, at Christian.

Someone fix those fucking commas, I beg of you.

They leave and Ana points out that she knows the whole “meeting my boss” thing was a pissing contest, and they get into the Audi, where Taylor is behind the wheel.

My cheeks turn pink, knowing that Taylor can hear us, grateful that he can’t see the scorching, panty-combusting look that Christian is giving me.

I’m sure Taylor is grateful that his panties aren’t going to combust, too. That would be awkward. And look, I know that “My cheeks turn pink” was probably swapped for “I flush” by a copy editor who later committed Seppuku with a letter opener, but seriously, Ana, you can’t see your cheeks turn pink, and you just skewed your POV.

There is a lot of uninteresting and juvenile hinting about how they’re going to have sex later, and they decide to go to Ana’s apartment, for a change. Then Christian is all:

“Your boss, Jack Hyde, is he good at his job?”

Ana can’t fathom why he would ask, since she’s not interested in Jack beyond a professional capacity, and I’m already getting a real, real bad feeling about where this is going…

“That’s the point… he wants what’s mine. I need to know if he’s good at his job.” 

Ana tells him that she thinks Jack is pretty good at his job, and then Christian says:

“Well, he’d better leave you alone, or he’ll find himself on his ass on the sidewalk.”

“You don’t have that kind of power.” Honestly! And before I roll my eyes at him, the realization hits me with the force of a speeding freight truck. “Do you, Christian?”

Christian gives me his enigmatic smile.

“You’re buying the company,” I whisper in horror.

E.L. James has a crazy idea of how business works, and here’s why. Christian is supposedly this uber-successful entrepreneur… who makes business decisions based entirely around controlling his girlfriend? Doesn’t this company have a board of directors, or stock holders, or anyone who might say, “Um… what the fuck are you doing?”

So, why did he buy the company?

“Because I can, Anastasia. I need you safe.”

Well, that’s a good reason, right? Until he realizes that she’s apocalyptically furious with him and asks him, “‘I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who he is currently fucking?'” At that point, his tune changes to:

“First, I haven’t fucked you for a while – a long while, it feels – and second, I wanted to get into publishing. Of the four companies in Seattle, SIP is the most profitable, but it’s on the cusp and it’s going to stagnate – it needs to branch out.”

Let’s examine the absolutely infuriating facts here:

• Christian wanted Ana to come work for him.
• She refused.
• She then got a job at SIP
• And broke up with Christian.
• So, Christian bought the company she works for.
• Now, they’re back together AND she’s working for Christian.
• Christian has everything he wants

So, pardon the fuck out of me if I don’t believe that he really wanted to get into publishing.


Ana’s anger is, predictably, short lived, because Christian makes her laugh, and he smiles at her:

And he smiles, a dazzling, full-toothed, all-American-boy smiles, and I can’t help it. I am grinning and laughing, too How could I not be affected by the joy I see in his smile?

If you had a brain, or self-respect. Just those two, off the top of my head.

“Just because I have a stupid damn grin on my face doesn’t mean I’m not mad as hell at you,” I mutter breathlessly, trying to suppress my high-school-cheerleader giggling. Though I was never cheerleader – the bitter thought crosses my mind.

Seriously, Ana? Are you fucking serious? A man has just used his wealth and power as a weapon and blasted his way into your career against your express wishes, and you’re bitter because you were never a cheerleader?!

Go back up and look at the baby monkey picture. I’ll wait, and you probably need it.

Of course, they go inside together, and Ana has some inner thoughts about how shitty it is that Christian bought the company, but there isn’t anything she can do about it. Because breaking up clearly doesn’t stick. Then they start talking about how they’re totally going to do it, tee hee, but Christian needs to make sure she eats because clearly, she hasn’t been able to feed herself for the twenty-one years before she met this asshole. He tells her she’s going to have to tell him everywhere on her body she wants to be touched, and they talk about mapping out areas on his body that she’s allowed to touch. Then, it’s birth control times:

“Have you been taking your pill?”

No, of course she hasn’t. If you remember, Christian, she was only taking those pills because she was dating you, and then you broke up. And in the first book she makes it really clear that it’s either you or a house full of cats, and none of them are going to get her pregnant, unless this turns into a real weird fucking book.

“You need to eat and so do I,” he murmurs, burning eyes gazing down at me. “Besides… anticipation is the key to seduction, and right now, I’m really into delayed gratification.”

Says the guy who impulsively bought his girlfriend’s job.

He tells her she’s too skinny, because a chapter can’t go by without that happening YOU GUYS ANA IS SKINNY DO YOU GET IT YET SHE IS SUPERMODEL SKINNY YOU GUYS DANGEROUSLY SKINNY SHE IS SO SKINNY DO YOU GET IT THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT and he tells her that she’ll be less mad over that whole, “I bought your job” thing when she’s had something to eat. Because Ana is a cranky toddler. But Ana is so incredibly skinny that she has no food in the house, so they have to go grocery shopping.

“Does Mrs. Jones do all the shopping?”

“I think Taylor helps her. I’m not sure.”

I bet Taylor and Mrs. Jones are boning. I feel a fanfic coming on.


While they shop, Ana asks Christian how long Taylor and Mrs. Jones have worked for him:

“Taylor, four years, I think. Mrs. Jones, about the same. Why didn’t you have any food in the apartment?”

Because she has an eating disorder.

The wine in the supermarket isn’t FANCY enough to satisfying Christian Grey, classist dick, and then Ana sees some women looking at him and mentally remarks on it “despondently” and then they leave the grocery store trip where literally nothing happened to move the plot along.

They go back to the apartment, and Christian asks if he can help with dinner, but then says he can’t cook. So I don’t know how he thinks he’s going to help. There is a lot of “Oh, it’s so sexy that he’s carrying groceries and chopping vegetables like a real person and not the God of Lust that he is,” stuff, and this:

I wash my hands and hunt for the wok, the oil, and the other ingredients I need, repeatedly brushing against him – my hip, my arm, my back, my hands. Small, seemingly innocent touches.

So, Ana is a geisha now, I guess, with all these little touches. She keeps goading Christian into having sex with her while they cook dinner, and I can’t help but get the feeling that she’s doing it to avoid eating. Either the whole “Ana/Mia” thing is a coincidence that is messing with my head, or this chick really does have an eating disorder. They don’t wind up actually eating the stir fry they make, because Christian is so overcome with his desire for her that he must have her at once!

He smiles and hooks his index finger into my open shirt, pulling me toward him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and without taking his blazing eyes off mine, slowly starts to unbutton my shirt.

How can he unbutton her shirt if it’s already open? Theres is some more foreplay, and then:

“Kiss me,” I whisper

“Where?”

“You know where.”

“Where?”

Oh, he’s taking no prisoners. Embarrassed, I quickly point at the apex of my thighs, and he grins wickedly.

This is the reason that every time someone says, “the sex scenes are so hot,” I want to be able to just pull out a random samurai sword and chop the damn book in half. How is it hot that the heroine can’t say what she wants in bed? Why is this an ideal we’re striving toward? So. Much. Bullshit.

Here’s more of this sex scene bullshit:

He stands and gazes down at me, and his lips glisten with the evidence of my arousal.

It’s so hot…

Well, thanks for telling us. Seriously, I don’t mind reading, “He did this and it was hot,” once or twice in a book, but it’s thoroughly annoying how often Ana has to inform the reader that what is happening is supposed to be sexy. It happens constantly throughout all the books. And it’s not needed. The first sentence in that excerpt gets across that it’s sexual and exciting. It’s totally superflous to add, “It’s so hot.”

I peek up at him through my lashes,

Try that. Try it right now. Try to look up at something and still see your eyelashes.

They have sex, and all the usual culprits are there, like “he really starts to move,” and him telling her to “come on” to get her to have an orgasm on command, and then the chapter ends and I realize that I have referenced Japanese culture three times in this recap and I can’t figure out why, because it’s not a particular interest of mine, but I did watch Memoirs of A Geisha the other day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When did I say I’d never leave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

“Did you deliberately ask him to do that?”

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

Christian gets right down to business with the proposition:

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

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

“I like your kinky fuckery,” I whisper.

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

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

Oh, and the eating part, lest we forget.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you can deal with some pain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stand back ladies! He’s all hers!


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


[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucdnm8iU-5c]

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

So, congratulations, guys! You made a difference.


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reread that. I’ll wait.


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


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

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

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

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

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


In his email Christian writes:

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

He hopes that his intrusion is going well?

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

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

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

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

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


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


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


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


Ana wonders if Christian has missed her:

Probably not like I’ve missed him.

It’s not a competition, Ana! Jeez!

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

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

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

What?

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

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

So, she’s settling for “artfully.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s that?” Christian snaps.

I’m so glad he’s back with us.

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

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

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

Remember what I said before, about meeting old friends?

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

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

Aaaaand we’re back.

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

“I should give you back your handkerchief.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he counters with:

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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