Had the displeasure of reading a few paragraphs of the much talked about 50 Shades of Gray. It was hardly anything to speak of. In other words it was paper bound rubbish, Literature in its worst state. What ever happened to writing of the calibre or Thomas Hardy, Oscar Wilde, Harper Lee, J.D. Salinger, The Brontë Sisters, Victor Hugo, Voltaire and countless others? It shows the state our minds have fallen into when numerous authorities are pushing crap down our throats and calling it "The Arts". Music and movies have also fallen victim to this insult, rubbish is being released and forced through our eyes and ears into our minds and we are led to believe that if for some reason we do not take kindly to this insult there is something wrong with us. There still are in existence people with a yearning for the Arts in its truest form, good movies, music and literature, yet it seems to be an unprofitable venture to try to fill that need. It is my belief that there needs to be no more books written, movies, made and music produced subsequent to 2002, that was when something went wrong in entertainment, for we are no longer entertained, well at least those of us who know the use of our brains aren't in any way entertained by the garbage that people are passing off as Art. I did do a piece on movies here, so there is no need for me to go on about that.
It seems to be the trend nowadays for persons to not think for themselves, to go whichever way the corrupt winds of our morally, and artistically depraved society blow. It is no longer cool to like things because we like the way it makes us feel or because we like it or want things because we want it or feel feelings because we feel it.Everything has been since of late all about what everybody else does, wants, likes or feels. Who is everybody? Nobody! Nobody seems to have the nerve to think, feel or like for themselves it is always what somebody else thinks, feels or likes. Our children are growing up in a world totally devoid of any intellectually stimulating activities and I would hate to see the world 40 years hence.
If you want a summary of the book, pick up any $2.00 romance novel with Fabio on the cover and thats it. It is merely "Hardcore" Soft Porn, like a $2.00 romance novel with a fresh coat of the most God-awful golden-brown paint and a set of 24 inch chrome "spinner" rims. It is not worth the few million brain cells you will no doubt kill reading it. My suggestion: get yourself a bottle of cheap vodka/rum/whiskey and take a few swigs until you pass out and that would be a better read (yes read) than this book.