NSFW: I Know Who You Slept With Last Summer

EL James and a new book, Open Wide! Photo credit: Dailymail.co.uk

Recently, I deleted a dating app because the results were lackluster. Like other curiosities I collect on my phone, there was no Christian Grey to be found on the app; and usernames like "Top4U", or "Looking 4 Dom"- ballsy, if you hadn't already googled what "Dom" meant, didn't impress as the enigmatic billionaire's. 

By now, we'd have known 50 Shades of Grey to be the epicenter of every woman's libido, all told from the perspective of protagonist/conquest Anastasia Steele. Whether its to be ferociously provocative, like begging to be slapped and f**ked, or genteel, whereby some form of romance is ought to be inspired from all that slapping and f**king, every woman who has acquainted with its now-familiar plot has a strong opinion about sex. Feminists think that the book is sexist (and that comes as no surprise with all the submissiveness buttressed in it), while others think it's liberating to have a discourse about sex this way today. Regardless, author EL James has opened a can of worms and 50 Shades is to be its conversation piece. That our submissive homegirl Anastasia Steele is that talked about chick every female loves to hate, or hates to admit to be, is a phenomenon that isn't quite yet flaccid, but just getting hard.

Fogging reading glasses worldwide, a new novel titled Grey has hit the shelves on 18 June, retelling the same story, except, through the lens of its namesake anti-hero, Christian Grey. It's sold 1.1 million copies in 4 days and has another 2.1 million ready to rockslide. Despite critical reviews, this novel is also its most intense.

"I have a sudden urge to drag her out of her seat, bend her over my knee, spank her, and then fuck her over my desk with her hands tied behind her back," reads one excerpt from the new book, when Anastasia first popped the question if Christian were gay. And no, to beg a second reading of the same plot, you'll find out that he wasn't even bi.  

Alright, let's come clean with ourselves: It's one thing to watch good sex on your laptop with a box of kleenex beside, and it's completely another to read about it on a public bus. They're two different communications, to be enjoyed separately. "Christian Grey is a complex character and readers have been fascinated by his desires and his motivations, and his troubled past," says EL James on the Dailymail. What Christian Grey has also evoked, for which the visual has yet to expatiate, is the fantasies we can only get from the pleasures of reading. He may be vapidly imagined, but his backstory should slide off your dirty mind like an ice cube. His sex is characterized, whereas there are no characters in pornography, and even if there were, there wouldn't any good acting involved either. Sexual desires, not sexual footages, are what 50 Shades is driving sales home with. "I'm going to make you cum like a freight train, baby," should be read like an afterthought. 

However, if you're going to make a social commentary, you're going to be feeling quite sore. From reading. Fault-finding would be like demanding to be part of the flogging between Ana and Christian, you just won't fit into the pages. Moreover, because book sales aren't as divisive as your opinions, it's most fun to take the backseat and read it as it is, with the same voyeuristic interest as at swiping through your neighbours' Tinder profiles. Trawling through the pages with a passionate scrutiny for potentially sexist scenes is simply a waste of time. At face value, the predictive backlashes aren't anything spectacularly new about 50 Shades of Grey. (What else could you contribute, apart from the I'd-never-let-anyone-clamp-my-nipples protest?) At the raw, reading Grey should be like reminiscing last year's crazy sex from your partner's point of view, all over again. You wouldn't waste precious sexual energy on wondering why you guys never dated afterward. 

Photo credit: Dailymail.co.uk

One common critique that hasn't been agreeable to the books' style of writing is that there are better erotica on the shelves. That's true- the writing's as bad as its scrupulously honest. But comparing, say, Miller's Tropic of Cancer and James's Grey is antagonistic. Tropic of Cancer, published in 1934, is disproportionate to 50 Shades today. While both were (and still is) reflective of its times, the only difference being that the former had only marginal success in contrast to EL James's popular sexualized work is due to the social pressures impressed upon women then. Here's an excerpt of Tropic of Cancer:

Later, when I had taken up with Claude, and I saw her night after night sitting in her accustomed place, her round little buttocks chubbily ensconced in the plush settee, I felt a sort of inexpressible rebellion toward her; a whore, it seemed to me, had no right to be sitting there like a lady, waiting timidly for someone to approach and all the while abstemiously sipping her chocolat. Germaine was a hustler.

And here's one from Grey again:

My cock agrees and stiffens in greeting.

I'll take that as an approving nod. Because back then, women weren't allowed to publicly discuss their sexuality. Salacious literature had to be smuggled behind discreet book jackets, where the only place to let off steam from last night's private reading was in the even private corners of the office cafeteria. Now, sexuality is being celebrated. It's as openly talked about, written about with whim, and whined about, to whoever's willing to lend an ear. This may not justify the stalking, creeping, prowling, pounding that's to appear anywhere in the book, but it has opened up a sensitive area that's been waiting to be prodded.

Therefore, the relevant critique one should consider before purchase isn't why anyone should be reading this; rather, the question of, what does this say about me? 50 Shades isn't the virus that's plaguing literature, in other words, it's literature that's contagion to people to judge a book simply by its cover. Frankly, 50 Shades isn't even really literature. It's cliterature, as the Dailymail accurately names it to the list. It's a genre of readable porn, culturally more relevant than the old fashion likes of Nora Roberts, on your kindle or iPad, or in the pages of its physical copy. It's something to be enjoyed without being afraid of falling prey to judgement- as compared to the stifling past. And if that's distasteful that sex should sell, we should, thus, be reminded of who bought it the first place.