Happy Thursday night, Persephoneers! In twenty-four hours, we’ll be starting the weekend. How about we start it off right with some laughs and musings about Chapter Two of E.L. James’s stirring romantic novel Fifty Shades of Grey?So here goes:
I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium.
In other words, she’s doing yoga in the middle of the street in the pouring rain. And I don’t know about you, but after I’ve been caught in the rain like that, I feel pretty skanky.
No man has ever affected me the way Christian Grey has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap–what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again.
[I]’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell–although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad.
Ana’s dad isn’t much of a DIY guy himself either. Her real dad.
“So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something–quick!
“He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant–scary, really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping that this will shut her up once and for all.
Ana just described this guy.
“Would you like a sandwich?”
Yeah, Ana, go make Kate a sammich.
Or is this foreshadowing? Can we expect a threesome?
Once we’ve eaten, I’m able to sit at the dining room table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the d’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century.
OK, back this up. There is a huge recurring Tess of the d’Urbervilles theme all throughout this. Since we’re all bookish and clever women–which Ana is not, by the way–we’re all familiar with the story of Tess: Tess’s parents basically set her up for a horrible situation when they send her to become a servant in the house of some wealthy distant cousins. Tess has no clue she has been put in this situation, and she’s the sacrificial lamb in all of this, and it irreparably fucks up her life in ways she could never imagine, all because her family aspired to have their claim to the d’Urberville title recognized and benefit from it both financially and socially. If this is all Ana can say, then she’s clearly a pretty fucking shitty literature student and shouldn’t even be passing her classes.
I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making–my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish”¦ I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance it.
Why are you ragging on your mom, you judgey bitch? Your mom sounds kind of cool.
I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and gray eyes.
She’s dreaming of the hospital? How much do you want to bet it’s Arkham Asylum?
Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that.
Yeah, Ana, you’ve got really high expectations. So you think. Somehow a guy locking his insane first wife in the attic while putting the moves on the cute young governess is pretty low in my eyes.
And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain–probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells–comes the thought: He’s here to see you.
It’s the village of Underused Brain part, located at the base of the Medulla Oblongata mountains. That is where my subconscious dwells.
For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.
Of course she doesn’t give a shit about the catastrophic loss of human life this earthquake caused. No, she’s more concerned about Christian. Everyone is expendable so long as Ana is happy.
And that’s a wrap for tonight, Persephoneers! Anything you have to share that I’ve missed? Because we all know that there will always be more.
And let’s give a special shout-out to all the other 50 Shades Bloggers who make this book a little more bearable for all of us!