Sit. Listen. Obey. By now you've heard over and over that "Fifty Shades of Grey," the graphic tale of a young woman submitting to the sexual games of a powerful man, crashed the best-seller lists in the spring. The book-the first in a trilogy-has evolved into a full-fledged phenomenon dubbed "mommy porn," complete with a fashion line, a soundtrack and a planned movie adaptation. Since this won't be going away anytime soon, we asked five RedEye contributing columnists-men and women, fans of the book and detractors-to weigh in. Now read what they wrote-or you might be handcuffed.
Too dark to be sexy
Is Christian Grey the new version of Prince Charming? I don't get it. First of all, he calls Ana "baby" way too much. In my eyes, that's a deal-breaker. It conjures up thoughts of bearskin rugs and crackling fires. Gross.
So the guy's kinky. Yeah, he's kinky because of serious abuse. That's not hot. Ana's not even allowed to touch him because he's too "broken." Hysterical.
I stopped dating dark and mysterious guys when I was 15. These days the only mystery I want from my man is the pet names he had for previous girlfriends. I also want my man to forbid me from ever using the phrase "my man," even if it is way better than "baby." -Katie Killacky, @katiekillacky
Offensive to literature
We should all be extremely offended by E.L. James' "Fifty Shades of Grey," and I'd love to head up a Chicago-wide book burning. Not because of the novel's subject matter. Bondage, submission, sadism and masochism are all just fine. Whatever happens between two consenting adults-God bless.
No, we should organize our book-burning to protest crappy writing. Obviously, I have not read "Fifty Shades." I'm working my way through everything else in the canon of Western literature-possibly 2,500 years worth?-before I waste my time on a book that you can "read" on redtube.com.
My entire experience with "Fifty Shades" comes from killing time in an airport bookstore, during which, opening pages at random, I found huge swaths of text that should embarrass the author and any potential readers way more than getting your rocks off by being tied up and whipped with a belt. -Stephen Markley, @stephenmarkley
Sex ed for adults
"Fifty Shades of Grey" is not a literary masterpiece. It makes Stephenie Meyer look like Shakespeare. But let's get real here: E.L. James' best-selling trilogy was never meant to be a work of art. It does one better: It educates. In fact, it downright enlightens us on that mysterious and taboo subject that has forever aroused and gently caressed our pervy imaginations: S-E-X. Not just vanilla sex, but all CAPS-no-holding-back-S&M-inspired-sweaty-sticky-painful-blinding-marathon sex. (Oh yeah, there's anal sex too.)
For those of us who are not well-traveled in the landscape of darker carnal escapades, "Fifty Shades" is a valuable guidebook that explains all the highlights and X-rated regions of the human body that one must experience for maximum thrills.
Want to get spanked? Turn to Page 112. Considering becoming a sex slave? Jump to Page 402. Care to have your brain explode? Read the entire series. -Jen Kim, @thisjenkim
Christian Grey must die
For the past two weeks, my wife has been having an affair. I've walked in on her numerous times: in the living room, on our bedroom-even at the kitchen table, where we eat! I'm sure she's with this guy during her lunch breaks at work, too.
From what she's told me of him, he seems like a real d-bag-one of these tools with his nose in the air. I always thought she preferred us down-to-earth types. I don't know what she sees in him. Apparently this guy gets around, too. He's been with women all across America and Europe, like some libertine Santa Claus. He probably spends a fortune on rubbers.
I don't know how he does it, and frankly, I don't wanna know. Clearly, there's only one thing to do now. If I want my wife back, I have to kill Christian Grey. Where's my lighter? -Hector Luis Alamo Jr., @hectorluisalamo
Book of shame
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. No, I have not read "50 Shades of Smut," and I do not intend to.
The only thing I ever needed to know about sex I learned in a Catholic grammar school, and that is as follows: God makes babies. Babies don't appear until you're old and married and naked (and by naked, I mean covered in leaves). And if you ask more questions you'll make Baby Jesus cry.
No, my Catholic shame won't give me the "balls"-as the heathens put it-to even look at the book cover for too long, lest my eyes burst into flames and my soul be sent somewhere deep beneath the Red Line. Also, I should confess that I may be exaggerating a tad and my church attendance has been poor this summer because the weather is hotter than then H-E-double hockey sticks. -Connie Reyes, @connieoreyes
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