Last week, all the best women writers were writing about 50 Shades of Grey, so I played around with the idea of writing something to join in the discussion. I downloaded the first two books in the series and read 2000 pages of extremely badly written erotica. Really badly written. Embarrassing prose. Cut and paste sex scenes with two profoundly boring individuals. I cannot tell you why this trilogy is popular, except that Kindles, the new brown bag for chick porn, make it easy to secretively read this stuff.
Anyway, everybody was debating what this book means for feminism. (I'm too bored with this topic to even bother hunting down the links.) This book doesn't tell us anything about feminism, anymore than Snooki or Madonna tell us anything about feminism. It is just what it is. Badly written erotica.
The only message about feminism that I got from this collosal time waste is that women writers are still in a ghetto where we feel compelled to write about certain topics. Naughty, witty, snarky, pop culture bits are fine in small doses. But can't we write about something else?
I'm pouting right now. And not in a bite-my-lower-lip sort of pout. Just really annoyed.