{"id":12685,"date":"2019-05-28T15:27:53","date_gmt":"2019-05-28T19:27:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jennytrout.com\/?p=12685"},"modified":"2019-05-28T15:27:53","modified_gmt":"2019-05-28T19:27:53","slug":"jealous-haters-book-club-the-mister-chapter-nineteen-or-nothing-says-i-love-you-like-a-gun","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/?p=12685","title":{"rendered":"Jealous Haters Book Club: The Mister, chapter nineteen or, “Nothing Says I Love You Like A Gun”"},"content":{"rendered":"

Hold the fucking presses. We’ve got news and it’s going to be music to your dick. Which is, incidentally, one of the more maligned phrases from this god awful book. I mean, imagine, writing “music to my dick” in your manuscript. Imagine how totally devoid of literary self-awareness one must have to confidently put that phrase into the world. Imagine it. The hubris. Imagine sitting down and typing that\u00a0on purpose.<\/em><\/p>\n

Now, imagine you did it\u00a0twice<\/em>.<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

In the interest of due diligence, I looked up the phrase “music to my dick” in\u00a0Grey.<\/em><\/p>\n

Her sharp intake of breath is music to my dick.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

We should have started keeping track of the number of copy\/paste phrases and incidents have meandered into\u00a0The Mister<\/em> from the\u00a0Fifty Shades of Grey<\/em> franchise. At this point, I’m assuming we’re a few pages from Maxim exclaiming, “I’m fifty Misters of fucked up, Alessia!”<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

We open the chapter waking up in Demelssia’s POV:<\/p>\n

Alessia wakes listening to the low rumble of Maxim’s voice. She opens her eyes to see him sitting up next to her, on the phone.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Rude! Go somewhere else to make your fucking call. But of course, he can’t, because the call he’s making sounds very impressive and important.<\/p>\n

“I’m glad Miss Chenoweth agreed,” he says. “I think a twenty-bore for the lady. I’ll have my Purdeys.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Demelssia doesn’t know it, but he’s talking about clay pigeon shooting. At least, that’s what we call it in America. A 20-bore is a 20-gauge in America, and while it’s always denoted at 20-bore or 20-gauge in text, I’m legitimately stumped as to whether or not “twenty-bore” is appropriate in dialogue or if it should have stayed “20-bore.” I’m going to ask every copy editor I know because it’s going to drive me bananas.<\/p>\n

But his “Purdeys,” I assume, refers to Purdey brand, who actually make more than one type of gun. I’m not gonna go look it up because I’m like, 90% positive they make a gun specifically for clay shooting, so I’ll assume that’s what he’s using and not like, a .410 or something.<\/p>\n

Now that Moss has woken Alessia up with his rudeness, he tells her she’s beautiful and asks if she’s hungry. She is, but not for food; mercifully, they do not have that exchange. Then, Moss tells her to dress warm and put up her hair, and Demelssia is all pouty because she wants the sex but he’s like, no, you were too sore yesterday. She watches him walk to the bathroom naked and we pop into Moss’s POV after a break.<\/p>\n

Before she woke this morning, I called the Hall and spoke to Michael, the estate manager. It’s a crisp, bright day, perfect for what I’ve arranged. After all our rigorous activity yesterday, we need a break and some fresh air.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Trekking across the countryside to shoot clay pigeons is a “break” from “rigorous activity”? I realize E.L. James is rich and therefore she probably\u00a0has<\/em> had the opportunity to shoot at some point, so she would probably know. But…it’s a physical activity. It’s not running a marathon, sure, but it’s not exactly a relaxing break.<\/p>\n

Also, “rigorous” is the wrong word to use. It means strict, harsh, thorough, demanding, that kind of thing. Not “physically active.” She’s looking for “vigorous,” involving physical exertion, speed, or intensity of motion.<\/p>\n

Rosperran Farm has been part of the Trevethick estate since Georgian times. The Chenoweth family has been tenant farmers there for more than a hundred years.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

No, the Chenoweth family *have* been tenant farmers there for more than a hundred years. Now, some of you might argue that “family” is a singular noun and therefore “has” is correct. I will furiously disagree; “farmers,” the thing that they have been, is plural. As a result, “The Chenoweth family have been tenant farmers,” flows a lot better and reads as less clunky. Sentences that would have worked better:<\/p>\n

The Chenoweth family\u00a0has farmed\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>there for more than a hundred years.<\/p>\n

The Chenoweths\u00a0have been<\/strong> tenant farmers there for more than a hundred years.<\/p>\n

The Chenoweth family\u00a0has been farming\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>there for more than a hundred years.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Again, you can argue all day that “has” is correct due to “family” being singular but I will continue to argue that the sentence is clunky enough to stop or slow down a reader.<\/p>\n

They meet up with someone who has a Land Rover, and Moss tells Demelssia:<\/p>\n

“We’re going to shoot clays.”<\/p>\n

Alessia looks bemused. “Clays?”<\/p>\n

“Clay pigeons?”<\/p>\n

She appears to be none the wiser.<\/p>\n

I’m now less certain that this is a good idea.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I’m starting to notice this pattern in their interactions where Moss will say something, she won’t understand, and he repeats it back to her as if just saying it again will make the meaning clearer. Then he remarks on how she doesn’t know what the thing he just referenced is and has a moment of dismay that maybe she won’t grasp the concept at all. Like, all he really would have to say is, “We’re going to target shoot for fun,” and she would probably get it. It’s not like, oh, this was a terrible idea because there may be no way to make her understand what the activity entails. I’m having a difficult time finding the right words to explain it. I guess I have to just leave it as, “I feel like there is a pattern to their interactions that make it seem like Moss views Demelssia’s grasp on the English language as a mark of her overall level of cognition and that’s really gross.”<\/p>\n

So, Moss notes that Demelssia looks worried. IDK why she would. She’s only spent a few days with a man who has spoiled her and carefully tried to earn her trust and now he’s driven her to a remote location where they’re meeting a strange man who has guns and big fuck-off SUV. I wonder if there’s something in her past that would make her suspicious of the situation.<\/p>\n

But that is never a point that is made, ever. Instead, we move on to Moss’s panic when the driver calls him “my lord.”<\/p>\n

“Hi.” I check to see if Alessia has overheard, but she’s climbing out on her side of the car. “‘Sir’ will do, Jenkins,” I mutter as she approaches us.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Remember how the back cover copy promised “a roller-coaster ride of danger and desire that leaves the reader breathless to the very last page?” Have you had enough of this thrilling roller-coaster ride yet? Demelssia\u00a0might<\/em> find out that Moss is an earl, which she will find out, eventually, and which isn’t a bad thing.<\/p>\n

By the way, the same snake oil sales pitch they slapped on the dust jacket hypes up “wild, rural Cornwall” as if something happens there that’s more interesting than several meals and a shopping spree.<\/p>\n

It also describes “the bleak, forbidding beauty of the Balkans,” so they can’t even keep the disdain out of the false advertising.<\/p>\n

Back on the roller-coaster, we learn about Jenkins’s family history and how great a shot he is. Also, that he’s a surfer. Which we definitely needed to know about him because he’s a minor character who will appear in only this scene and there will be no surfing involved.<\/p>\n

You probably forgot a touching memory from your childhood to store that new information. Aren’t you glad you’re here?<\/p>\n

So, Demelssia is like, are we shooting birds and Moss finally takes the time to explain they’re shooting clay discs. Jenkins gives them an itemized list of the guns, equipment, and food he’s brought.<\/p>\n

“Good surprise?” I ask her, feeling doubtful.<\/p>\n

“Yes,” she says, but she doesn’t sound certain.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Again, it’s almost like there’s something in her past that might make her not want to be alone with men who have guns. She’s never shot one, either, though her father has guns.<\/p>\n

“Well, he will go out with his gun. he will go out overnight. To shoot wolves.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

So, yeah. Meanwhile, back on Mypos, I guess. We shoot wolves and do the Dance of Joy or what the fuck ever. Seriously, though, I fully agree with the commenter who said Alessia is like a time traveler. It’s like she just sort of wandered out of 17th century Albania, where her father defends their village from the encroaching wolves with his blunderbuss.<\/p>\n

Demelssia notes that though there are wolves in Albania, she hasn’t ever seen one and she suspects her father hasn’t, either. So, what was this passage even about? Is her dad a serial killer? Is that what she’s saying?<\/p>\n

Anyway, she wants to learn to shoot, so Jenkins gives her a safety lesson. And you guys? You’re not going to believe this, but E.L. James actually wrote something she apparently knows. She directly references a Purdey 12-gauge over-under, which is absolutely a gun you would use for trap shooting. 12-gauge is standard for trap shooting. Now, Moss has Demelssia shooting a 20-gauge, which is also perfect. 20-gauge is a good first-time gun because they’re not gonna kick the hell out of you like a 12-gauge will. But I have a bone as fuck to pick with the world at large here:<\/p>\n

The pair of guns were handed down to my father on my grandfather’s death, and when Kit turned eighteen, my father gave him one of the guns as a birthday gift. When my father died, Kit gave me this one\u2013the one that belonged to my dad.<\/p>\n

And now, wwith Kit gone, I own both of them.<\/p>\n

I’m hit by a sudden wave of sadness. A vision of the three of us in the gun room, my father cleaning this gun, my brother cleaning his then twenty-bore, and me looking on, as an excited eight-year-old finally allowed in the gun room.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

So, okay. I need to know two things:<\/p>\n

    \n
  1. Does this gun culture still actually exist among the titled class?<\/li>\n
  2. If so, how the fuck is this any different than when my grandpa died and we divvied up his guns?<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

    Like, seriously, this is some white trash behavior. If earls and viscounts and shit are doing this, they better just own up to being no better than Jim Bob Jithers, Sr. in Dogfart, Nebraska. This is some flyover state inheritance shit.<\/p>\n

    I guess what I’m saying is, holy shit, these people think they’re better than me?<\/p>\n

    \n