The people who know me personally surely are convinced that I am not one to remain silent on highly contentious issues; in fact, while I may refrain from writing about certain issues in order to protect my brain from the subsequent explosion that would most certainly destroy what little intelligence remains post-argument, I never fail to scream at the nearest person without haste about what is wrong with the world today, oh my god?!
Currently, my ire is focused with laser intensity upon E.L. James and her bile-spew of the English language that someone, somewhere saw fit to call a ‘romantic story’ and actually publish, therefore turning everything that I hold sacred, from Reading is FUNdamental to the smell of books to unlikely romance to the art of writing, into a farce so much worse even than Stephanie Meyer could produce. The term ‘mommy porn’ makes me want to simultaneously vomit and tear my out my ovaries (to her credit, E.L. James herself hates the term). I literally sit here now, head in hand, mouth agape, unable to adequately wrangle my thoughts into proper written form, so hindered am I by sheer hatred for this woman. I am not even 1/10th joking; if there is anyone that deserves a message in the form of a dead rat on her porch, it is this woman. With her intolerable trilogy, James has managed to set back feminism – and knowledge of sex, kink and otherwise – at least 30 years. I fear for the younger generation of women growing up on this sludge, assuming that the descriptions of sex and male behavior in this book are true to form; it truly sickens me to imagine the depths of delusion into which this woman will manage to throw these poor girls.