This is the kind of "novel "that plays by its own rules and offers something of obvious value to its mostly female readership. For the uninitiated it can be gloriously instructive and for the more mature it could offer a choice menu of self-help inspiration.
Oh, ladies, and fellas. This IS porn. Of the worst kind! For girls, the fantasy is... the guy calls me back! Flies across the country to see me. Makes me meet his parents. Oh, yeah, did I say... he calls me back! That's hot.
Columnist Mitch Albom read Fifty Shades of Grey, and decided to write a column. In it, he laments the end of modesty in a world where programming like Cathouse and Girls play on television, but stresses that the problem is his alone.
We "chicks" have munched our popcorn while romantic comedies became just comedies. So, ladies, we have a mandate. We each have to buy a ticket to Magic Mike. The movie about the male stripper with that guy from The Vow.
Maybe the boundless intellectual freedom of our country spoils the illicit pleasures of reading something of quality. Maybe the novel is dead. Who is to say that a book is more thought-provoking than a television show?
Women are fantasizing about submission before men, obsessing over a book where a young, liberated female college student signs an agreement to be totally submissive toward a billionaire businessmen who wants to make her into his sex slave. What gives?