Grandma's evening routine always concluded with reading in bed. She was particularly fond of the lady mags featuring romantic short stories: True Story, True Romance, & True Confessions were her holy trinity of nighttime perusal. Knowing that I was an avid reader, she saved the monthlies throughout the year & started giving them to me for summer reading beginning when I was 12 or 13. It took a couple of months for my mother to figure out that I'd been reading starter smut all summer & sternly advised her mother that it was inappropriate reading material for a girl my age. Annie apologized & put the magazines away... until my mother went home. "Just don't tell tell your mom," Grandma shrugged.
My paternal grandmother, while very different from Annie, was equally loving. Grandma W was Catholic, conservative, well-educated, & overall a very upright lady. She was very proud of her inquisitive, bookworm granddaughter & earnestly encouraged reading & all manner of learning. Anytime I surprised her with a visit, I'd find her reading a book. Grandma W voraciously consumed paperback novels, always keeping them stowed a royal blue canvas cover that had a rainbow ribbon page marker.
One summer, she & my father took me on a day trip to COSI (Center of Science & Industry) in Columbus. She didn't have the energy to keep up with an excited 10 year old, so she took her book & sat next to the pendulum. We checked in with her after a few hours of exploring the exhibits & she smiled as I ran up to greet her. After breathlessly sharing what we'd seen so far, I looked down at her book & asked why she always used a book cover. Her face immediately became rigid. "Because it's not anyone's business what I'm reading." A few years later, probably right about the time I started thumbing through True Romances, I took a closer look at Grandma W's tall book shelves. Two deep & double stacked were hundreds of Harlequin Romances. Austere & respectable Grandma W was into bodice rippers. I never dared tease her about them, but I've always been amused by my very traditional grandmother's penchant for erotica.
Fast forward 20 (!) years & all I've heard for the past month are ladies murmuring about Fifty Shades of Grey. Eavesdropping in the nail salon last weekend, I listened as a woman boldly asserted that she'd heard so many contrasting reviews about the book that she was just going to read it for herself. "Some people say that it's really good, others say it's garbage. I've heard that it's easy to read, but I've also heard that it's really poorly written. And some of my friends... well, some of them have said that it's dirty," dropping her voice. I bluntly interrupt. "Um, I think that's the one thing that pretty much everyone agrees on: it's super dirty." She quickly nods. At that moment, I decide that I must read this book.
After my pampering, I read reviews on Amazon. As the woman whispering during her pedicure had noted, the color commentary was all over the place, but the general consensus remains that it's chock full of sex. I'm in, but Grandma W's wisdom suddenly resonated with me: I went stealth with my smut via Kindle download. The other commuters don't need to know what I'm reading.
I don't really have a lot to say about the Fifty Shades Trilogy. Yes, trilogy. I've read all 3 in the past week. Are they good? Eh, define good. These books are not great works of literature. The plot is thin & the language is mediocre. One must assume that the editor was, um, distracted by the scenery & rendered unable to provide any constructive criticism. But the pages are littered with gratuitous, hedonistic sex & that's what keeps 'em coming (so to speak) in droves to buy the books.
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