In which a celebratory visit to a bar is paid, and Ana loses it in a parking-lot
Thanks to a passing cyclist, Ana is in Christian’s arms for the first time
Kiss me damn it! I implore him, but I can’t move…He’s breathing harder than usual, and I’ve stopped breathing altogether. (p49)
Oh, if only.
Conflict does not occur when everyone is making the same point
What was I thinking? I scold myself. What would Christian Grey want with you? My subconscious mocks me. (p50)
Ana, the point of empowering your Subconscious with speech is to allow you to explore opposing viewpoints.
Here, both you and your Subconscious are making exactly the same point, i.e. that Christian Grey is a God among insects whose shoes you are not worthy to clean with your tongue. Therefore,
All you’ve achieved is to make the inside of your head sound awfully crowded.
Bizarre over-reaction to mildly disappointing turn of events
I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands…unbidden and unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. Why am I crying? I sink to the ground…drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make myself as small as possible. (p50)
Okay, E L James:
Even in the context of your source material, Bella’s epic four-month sulk when Edward walked out at the start of New Moon was generally considered more than a little bit nuts. Therefore,
When Ana hasn’t even had a relationship for Edward / Christian to bail on, a catatonic collapse in a parking-lot makes everyone reading question her mental state.
Ana’s adolescence was just, like, the hardest, hardest thing
I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay…so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that…
Romantically, though, I’ve never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity – I’m too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, un-coordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would-be admirers. (p51)
Ana, “being rejected” is not a synonym for “not understanding why it happened”.
People who are constantly rebuffing would-be admirers do not get to be insecure about their looks. Please try harder.
Well, at least someone round here’s talking sense
Stop! Stop Now! – My subconscious is metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. (p51)
Dear Ana,
A metaphor requires you to make a comparison between two seemingly unlike things which actually have something in common. There’s no comparison being made here.
From now on, I’m going to start thinking of your “unconscious” as your Common Sense.
The most dispiriting trade-off in the history of romance
“…he’s a little out of my league, Kate,” I say…
”Okay, he’s got more money than you…[but] you’re a total babe,” she interrupts me. (p52)
Oh, Kate. And I thought we were going to be friends.
Since Christian Grey apparently has more money than anyone on the planet, presumably the last thing he’s looking for in a relationship is someone with comparable amounts of money. What on earth would be the point?
Suggesting that the only way a woman can deserve a rich man is to be unbelievably beautiful is reductive and depressing.
In fact, it doesn’t take a whole lot of squinting before that starts to look a lot like prostitution.
But if you’re going to insist - physical beauty inevitably deteriorates over time, whereas Christian’s empire is likely to continue growing. Therefore, if you trade off Ana’s good looks against Christian’s money, Ana will become progressively less and less “worthy”, until eventually Christian decides to trade her in for a younger model.
Anastasia the genius
It’s suddenly, blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking…His words make sense. He’s not the man for me. This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept…almost. I can live with this. I understand. (p53)
Ana, I really wish I could believe you’ve suddenly realised that not being good enough for a man this shallow would actually be something of a lucky escape.
Things that are not dreams (3)
That night, I dream of grey eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and I’m running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t know if I’m running toward something or running away from it…it’s just not clear. (p53)
Look, the barista just wiggles the jug about as they pour the cream in, okay? You can look it up on YouTube if you like.
And if you’re a really special customer, sometimes they pop in a nice juicy grey eyeball for you to find at the bottom.
Photo: KimManleyOrt [flickr]
Novel approach to alcohol poisoning
As I down my fifth [margarita], I know this is not a good idea on top of the champagne…I’d better have a beer. (p56)
Ana, if you want to sober up, drinking more alcohol is rarely a successful strategy.
Ana does drunk-dialling
“Anastasia?” ….how does he know it’s me? (p57)
Christ, I don’t know. How could he possibly guess? I mean, it’s not as if cellphones use technology that lets us programme in people’s names or anything, is it? A total mystery.
The best way to keep one’s word is not to give it
I vow silently that I’ll never ever drink again. (p60)
Just for the record, Ana lasts a whole twenty-four hours before she drinks again.
Photo: Bayhaus [flickr]
And I always ask my hamster for investment advice
Is [Kate] okay? I can see where things are heading for her and [Elliot, Christian’s brother]. I need to do the safe sex lecture. (p64)
Yeah, I get my best sexual-health counselling from clueless virgins who’ve never sustained a relationship and sit rocking in parking-lots when men don’t want to kiss them. They have all the answers.
This is why you should never accept drinks from strangers
…my body [is] no longer able to tolerate the alcohol, and I vomit spectacularly on to the ground… (p60)
…[Christian] hands me a very large glass of iced water.
“Drink,” he shouts his order at me…He’s watching me intently. I take a tentative sip.
“All of it,” he shouts…I drink the entire glass. (p63)
It’s so warm in here, so loud, so colourful – too bright. My head begins to swim, oh no…and I can feel the floor coming up to meet my face. (p64)
Okay, Ana, a quick recap:
You throw up, thus emptying your stomach and presumably ensuring that at least you can’t get any more drunk than you are. At this stage you’re still able to walk, talk and operate your cellphone.
Christian Grey hands you a large glass of what he claims is iced water. He insists you drink it, and stands over you while you do so.
Contrary to all expectations, the “iced water” makes you more drunk, to the point where you lose consciousness.
Call me nasty and suspicious, but I think he spiked your drink.