OK so I admit that the 50 Shades stuff has me thinking too much about possibly more than I should be thinking these days but I just can’t help it. I have just shared my Goodreads reviews of the three books because I didn’t actually share them on here after I read them and because they’ve been getting a bit of attention lately so I re-read them and they sort of made me laugh. It takes quite a lot for me to be that nasty in a review. I know a lot of people are happy to leave exceptionally nasty reviews for every second book that they read, but I don’t do that. Perhaps I am too aware of just how much goes into writing a book. It feels like absolutely bad karma to be unnecessarily hard on someone’s life’s work and I try to find the up side in everything I read. In fact it is almost impossible to get absolutely nothing out of anything you read, so there should always be something good to say. The 2 (3?) years that have passed since I read the Fifty Shades series made me forget just how much I genuinely loathed that story, though. I definitely hated it more than I remember. There was nothing good to say. With the exception of Mr. Grey’s refreshing indifference to menstrual blood, I clearly could not find anything redeeming. Although I guess if I think about it now, it did teach me a lot about my own thoughts on this particular subject. My reviews may not have reflected that particular silver lining…
Anyway – I was thinking yesterday that the absolute worst part about the Fifty Shades nonsense is that the books sales surpassed those of Harry Potter. This strikes me as exceptionally ridiculous. The absolute work of art versus the barely edited Twilight fan fiction. What the hell, world? Have you all gone mad?!
I think us Potter fans need to do something about this. I think we should all go out and buy new sets of Harry Potter. Why? Because they keep bringing out new sets and we all need those pretty new sets to put on display. Or maybe we could make a pact to start giving Harry Potter books to all the 11 year olds in our lives. Then when they’re 12 they can get book 2. And so on. Or something!
Really. We need to reverse that thing where E.L James outsold our queen.
Please. Let’s do this.