I’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey, and unfortunately, rather than bad and hilarious it was mostly bad and dull. The one guaranteed source of chuckles in the book was Anastasia’s inner goddess, i.e. her wanton part who ignores the red flags and just wants Christian Grey, now. For some reason, her more sensible counterpoint is Anastasia’s subconscious, who constantly tut-tuts and berates Anastasia; call it nitpicking but why on earth would it be the subconscious who plays this role? Isn’t it a part of the mind a person is not fully aware of?
Anyway here are my favourite cringeworthy extracts:
His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something.
I feel the colour in my cheeks rising again. I must be the colour of the Communist Manifesto.
Quickly, he clambers out of the bath, giving me my first full glimpse of the Adonis, divinely formed, that is Christian Grey. My inner goddess has stopped dancing and is staring, too, open-mouthed and drooling slightly.
My inner goddess sits in the lotus position looking serene except for the sly, self-congratulatory smile on her face.
My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.
This beautiful man wants me. My inner goddess glows so bright she could light up Portland.
Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.
I don’t remember reading about nipple clamps in the Bible.
The finale to Ferrante’s four-part Neapolitan Novels chronicling the lives and complicated friendship between Elena and Lila didn’t disappoint and it’s hard to think of a series equally as rewarding and consistently fantastic. It’s impossible to convey, in a review, what makes Ferrante’s writing so extraordinary. On the surface, if you tried to describe the story, it sounds just like any domestic drama – lives of two women as they mature from girlhood into adulthood, going through various highs and lows, grappling with motherhood, making ends meet, becoming successful, growing old. But their experiences and everyday lives are just so incredibly well-drawn, with such degree of richness, texture and psychological insight, in prose that’s so crystal and powerful.
I’ve always loved short stories and this collection certainly has a unique premise. Each of the ten short stories is narrated by a soul of a different animal caught up in the human conflicts of the last century, and ends with the tale of their deaths. Among them is a female cat surviving in the trenches of World War I, who reminisces about her life with her bohemian actress owner; a bear slowly starving to death in the zoo of the war-torn Sarajevo; a tortoise who crosses paths with several literary geniuses and dreams of travelling to space; a young mussel who goes on a road trip Kerouac-style.
I love me a good dystopia and I enjoyed this futuristic satire despite the slightly jarring shifts in tone, especially towards the end when it seemingly abandons all restraint and dives into (still very entertaining) surreal silliness.
yggdrasille.com 