Fifty Shades of Twilight ... Whut?

Hey, lest you guys misconstrue, I am not writing this post positioned as a Book Review. Geesh, I have spent a lot of that crap in the university and I have no plans in reliving that pain.


And speaking of pain, allow me - "heads up"! 


This Trilogy, (yes my sweet Virginia, I happened to have just read all the three Books of the Fifty Shades series by E L James; Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed) promises to be the newest and latest "fan fiction." 


If you have not fully recovered and may still be reeling from the Twilight phenomenon, I dare declare, has been an absolutely mind-boggling pop cult classic, then brace yourself. A new prodigious fan fiction is probably well on its way to hit the screens.

Now look here, you are arching your eyebrows, but trust me, I may have really bad days in terms of motor skills, but my intuit has never failed me, uh-huh, n-e-v-e-r! The series, albeit toying with the same saccharine formulaic ploy of Stephanie Meyer, has nothing to do with vampire romanticism (I may have bitched about it here, some time ago, like maybe a decade ago ... Vampire Romanticism and Tweenies).  


Truth is, it tackles a rather delicate and controversial subject matter that I have serious doubts a screenplay will do the paperback justice if the intention is to make a killing at the box office. The novels delve deeply into the deepest sexual and carnal desires of a young woman thrown into a roller-coaster intimate relationship anchored on BSDM. Hell yeah, now I got your attention! And sugar-coated with your happily-ever-after. If it weren't for the graphic and explicit sex chapters, I have no doubts Pixar and Walt Disney Productions would be the top brass producers killing to own the franchise in the bidding!


But I am straying here. I noticed more importantly, that the fan demographics for Fifty Shades has shifted from the tweeny-something to the thirty something. As a reader, the experience has definitely brought romantic overtones to the "hurt me Master" psyche. I just wished I loved myself a little less so I can completely relate to it. After all, I probably have an inner Dominatrix that still needs to come out of the Narnia closet. Plus, submission is still a concept, or a word to me that I have problems in terms of comprehension.


Honestly though, I loved the humour of the author, and her writing strikes me as definitely female. There is something here in this erotic romance novel and that something scratches the surface of your archaic and most primitive "id". Nope not the ego. (I am talking to my sisters here, y'know) ... that callow, coarse core most of us women seldom interact with, because it's roughness burns.


Oh well, don't say I didn't warn you. To begin with, it has not been labelled as the cult erotic "mommy porn" for nothin'. Until then, "Laters, baby."