by Lori Perkins
And yet if there is a true sadist in Fifty Shades of Grey, it isn’t Christian Grey. It’s Ana, or rather what she refers to as her “subconscious.” Embodied as a pinched-faced, glasses-wearing librarian, Ana’s “subconscious” acts much more as a flogger than a wake-up call to self-preservation.
“Try to be cool, Ana, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee,” Ana says to herself when Christian turns up in the hardware store where she works and coyly purchases cable ties.
Ana’s is the most conscious subconscious of which one can possibly conceive. More properly, it’s her masochistic superego that’s doing double duty to sabotage her relationship with Christian, with any man, from their very first meeting when she nearly does a face plant inside his office doorway. The self-flagellation continues throughout the book with internal monologue such as:
“I still don’t understand what he sees in me … mousey Ana Steele—it makes no sense,” she silently laments, while continuing to covet her roommate Kate’s attributes. “She is irresistible, beautiful, sexy, funny, forward … all the things that I’m not.”
Ah, Ana …
Clearly it’s not Christian’s perennially “twitchy palm” that’s the punisher here, let alone his sophisticated array of BDSM devices, but Ana’s own insecurities and cognitive conflict, more properly the ongoing battle between her killjoy “subconscious” and her pleasure-and power-seeking “inner goddess.”
Posed in direct contradiction to her “subconscious,” Ana’s “inner goddess” is a lush, Venus-like libertine who urges her on in furthering her sexual explorations with Christian, not only for the exquisite fifty shades of pleasure-pain to be had but, above all, for the power. Indeed, Ana’s “inner goddess” grooves and gorges on the increasing servings of feminine sexual power she derives from each subsequent sexual encounter. As the book progresses, it is Christian who loses strength and Ana who gains it. Ana may strike the posture of a submissive within his “playroom” but at the end of each and every encounter, he is driven to his knees, not only sexually sated but emotionally helpless and in her thrall.
“You’ve completely beguiled me,” he admits fairly early in the book, and while Ana still holds onto her doubts, we readers do not.
But then, as he rightly points out in one of their many email exchanges, in a BDSM relationship, the submissive holds the true power. This is news to Ana but not to us who have been watching Christian weaken progressively. Even the initially all-important contract governing their BDSM arrangement, which he sets out to impose but never quite does, isn’t a protection for Ana so much as it is a protection for him, a presumed fail-safe in the face of the fear he feels in entering into a relationship, even a master-slave relationship, with a woman.
Christian may tie up Ana physically with an impressive array of cuffs, ropes, and chains, but he is the one who is bound emotionally and spiritually. He, not Ana, is the one in increasing danger of losing himself in their relationship, as evidenced by their ongoing negotiations over the contract, the terms of which weaken progressively in sync with Christian’s weakening will.
The contract terms, such as the rule against her looking him in the eye and the insistence that she address him as “sir,” are designed to enable him to objectify Ana both within and without his “playroom.” Only Ana isn’t the only one of them who rebels. Increasingly Christian, or rather his heart, rebels as well. By the end of the first novel, he relents on having Ana sign at all, too afraid of losing her to press for more than an informal understanding, a toothless tiger. Screw “hard and soft limits,” not only are the “rules” all negotiable, they’re no longer rules at all.
“Mercurial man” though he may be, as well as “fifty shades of fucked up,” still he is willing to chart the scary, previously unexplored and unimagined path of “more” with her, where “more” presumably means a relationship that extends beyond playrooms and scripted BDSM scenarios and twitchy palms, a future that may as yet embrace darkness but also embraces light. Nor does Christian’s willingness to try at having more come off as any kind of concession. Toward the book’s end, he admits that the rigid power dynamic of their BDSM relationship isn’t entirely satisfying his emotional needs, either. “I’ve never wanted more, until I met you,” he tells Ana after their giddy day of gliding.
Christian Grey may be “fifty shades of fucked up,” but he is also, perversely, something of a postmodern Prince Charming. Even the Red Room of Pain, as Ana calls his “playroom,” is so lushly opulent and painstakingly well appointed that it seems more a backdrop for a Victoria’s Secret catalog than an actual dungeon room.
Set aside Christian’s proclivities toward dishing out punishment and what emerges is a portrait of a pretty princely boyfriend. Welts and whips and her own moribund insecurities notwithstanding, there were times when I found myself envying Ana. Scratch any “almost,” I did envy her.
A man like Christian Grey is not trying to keep you off-balance or otherwise in suspense. He is not going to not call. Christian Grey will call, all right—as well as email and text message and even show up unannounced and uninvited in your very bedroom if he feels the situation warrants it.
Christian Grey is also not going to cheat on you. Once he chooses you, he is not going to take anyone into that Red Room of Pain but you. You need not doubt that those Ben Wa balls are shiny-new and bought just for you. He may insist on being the Dom to your sub, he does insist, but he is also unapologetically monogamous. And if in the past his monogamy has been of the serial sort, we’re inclined to give the guy a break.
He is all of twenty-seven.
Obsessive and controlling as he is about your food intake and safety, traits rooted in the horrors of his early past, there is also something almost endearingly old-fashioned, even chivalrous, about such unwavering care and concern. When you drunk dial him, he’ll not only come to your rescue but, unlike beta would-be boyfriend José, he’ll also hold back your hair while you vomit. Post spanking, he’ll voluntarily rub baby oil into your blistered bottom. Outside of bed, he’ll shower you with first-class plane seats and first-edition books.
Christian is neither a hypocrite nor a liar. You know he’s going to hurt you. The only issues in question are when, how, and where—all of which you ultimately get to decide.
Christian isn’t afraid to commit. He won’t blink about introducing you as his girlfriend. You will meet his mother on the Morning After, albeit by happenstance, and find yourself dining en famille with his parents, brother, and baby sister before the week is out. Sure, he’ll try to finger you beneath the table linens and pitch a pouty fit later because you snapped closed your thighs, but then again, nothing in life is perfect.
Lastly but in no way least, he works for a living. He’s not some trust fund brat with endless time on his hands to pursue his perverse passions. We’re not precisely certain of the nature of his work but it involves overseeing a great many varied business interests and taking a great many 24/7 phone calls and employing a cadre of A-list lackeys, most of whom, like him, seem to have no need for sleep.
True, Christian may not be the most … emotionally available man, yet neither is he playing hard-to-get. Not only does he admit to being “beguiled,” but later, in chapter 23, he goes much farther. “I don’t want anyone but you. Haven’t you worked that out yet?”
Only apparently Ana hasn’t worked that out yet, certainly not by the end of the first book. Her final flight is not so much a response to the brutality of the belting, which she expressly demands, as it is a rejection of her “inner goddess” in favor of her safely familiar “subconscious.” Above all, her decision to leave is a reaction to her own pervasive anxieties about not measuring up.
But then, whether we’re newly minted college graduates or mega moguls, almost-virgins or sexual sophisticates, “love makes fools of us all,” as Shakespeare pointed out centuries ago. Fortunately, E. L. James has given Ana and Christian—and us—not a single book but a trilogy in which to work out a bett
er balance between dark and light, punishment and reward, vanilla and BDSM—and selfishness and selflessness.
Because while love will always hurt, for Christian and Ana and, indeed, for most of us, it will always be worth it.
HOPE TARR earned a master’s degree in developmental psychology and a PhD in education, both from the Catholic University of America, only to come to terms with the truth: she wasn’t interested in analyzing people or teaching them. What she wanted was to write about them! Today Hope is the author of nearly twenty historical and contemporary romances for multiple publishers, including Penguin, Harlequin, Medallion Press, and, most recently, her Suddenly Cinderella contemporary romance series with Entangled Publishing. Her nonfiction publishing credits span the spectrum from Baltimore Magazine, EuropeUpClose.com, and BootsnAll.com to academic journals such as The Journal of Clinical Psychology. Visit Hope online at www.HopeTarr.com, www.WriterNYC.com, and www.LadyJaneSalonNYC.com, as well as on Facebook and Twitter (@HopeTarr).
JENNIFER ARMINTROUT
Every Breath You Take
“Please don’t hit me,” I whisper, pleading.
—E. L. James, Fifty Shades of Grey
WHY CAN’T MY HUSBAND BE MORE LIKE CHRISTIAN GREY?
—Jenny Isenman, Huffington Post
ON FEBRUARY 12, 2012, dangerously misguided young women took to their Twitter accounts to praise Chris Brown, the pop star best remembered for beating up his much more famous girlfriend, Rihanna, than for any talent of his own. They expressed such sentiments as “chris brown your sexy you can punch me in the face anyday” [sic] and “I know Rihanna didn’t like it much, but Chris brown you can punch me in the face all you want” [sic]. These tweets were widely copied and reported and decried by internet media, because we’re not living in a world where such talk is acceptable. We don’t encourage women to sit idly by and let men abuse them, or fantasize about abuse.
Something happened between February 12, 2012, and March of 2012, when Fifty Shades of Grey’s stunning momentum dragged it from “that thing readers are talking about on the internet” into an honest-to-goodness media spotlight. Suddenly it was just fine for women to fantasize about an abusive, controlling man and to flood the internet with those fantasies, going so far as to lament the fact that their own husbands weren’t just like the dangerously flawed hero of their dreams.
Surely we’re not describing Christian Grey, the twenty-seven-year-old wunderkind who plays piano like a concert pianist, pilots a helicopter bought with his own vast fortune, and feeds starving children in Africa? Christian Grey is not an abusive boyfriend. He’s gorgeous and kind; he lavishes gifts on the object of his affection, Anastasia Steele. Her Cinderella story culminates in the American dream of prosperity and two beautiful children. That’s not abuse.
But he also stalks her. When Ana goes to a bar to get drunk for the first time, in celebration of completing her final college exam, she remembers his number on her phone and drunk-dials him. Within moments, Christian tracks her cell phone and arrives at the bar—despite her explicit request to the contrary—and spirits her away, unconscious. True, her friend José has gotten drunk and “handsy” in the parking lot, and Christian’s arrival saves her from certain date rape, but still, she had asked him not to come. He admits, without any shame, that he used his considerable wealth and resources to track her cell phone. Christian showing up as the knight in shining armor—when he didn’t know his intervention was needed or welcome in the first place—sends a very clear message to Ana and the reader: “Your personal wishes and boundaries are not important to me. I’m going to do what I want to do with you.”
Later in the book, Christian tells Ana that no matter where she goes, he has the resources to find her. He proves this when she pleads with him for space and leaves Washington for Georgia to visit her mother and think about their relationship. Within two days, Christian shows up in his private jet, ready to be sexually serviced by Ana. Even though Ana’s explicit wish was to be left alone for a few days, Christian cannot abide. If Ana is outside of his sphere of influence, he can’t possibly control her, so he has to fly to Georgia to insinuate himself between Ana and her mother. He goes so far as to follow the two to a bar and watch them for an unspecified amount of time before contacting Ana. A reader can’t help but wonder how many other times Christian Grey is lurking just out of Ana’s sight, watching her every move. Some might call that romantic. Others call that stalking.
Crashing Ana’s visit with her mother serves another purpose. By meeting and charming both of Ana’s parents very early in their relationship, Christian can win them over to his “side,” so that Ana has no neutral observer to whom she is emotionally close. The Georgia incident happens late in the book, but within days of meeting Ana, Christian forces her to introduce him to her father. When both of Ana’s parents are impressed by Christian’s wealth and charm, Ana has been cut off from two very important safe outlets in her life. They’ve met Ana’s “boyfriend,” they like him, and they both advise her, despite her uncertainties, to work out her relationship with him.
Ana has only one close friend, her roommate, Kate. From the beginning of Ana’s association with Christian, Kate doesn’t trust him or like him. She teases Ana at first about having a crush on Christian, but once she begins to see the toll their relationship takes on Ana, she encourages Ana to see Christian Grey for the control freak that he is. She also tries to get Ana to confide in her, but Ana can’t. Christian Grey has already seen to that, with legal threats.
Paperwork is a huge object of manipulation in this series. Before Christian will even consider a romantic entanglement with Ana, he asks her to sign a nondisclosure agreement, prohibiting her from sharing details of their sex life with anyone. When Ana asks him for permission to talk to Kate and ask her questions, he refuses. While it is doubtful that this type of nondisclosure agreement would be legally binding (the BDSM contract he wants her to sign would not be legally enforceable, either), presenting these documents as though there will be severe consequences should Ana break their agreement is just another way Christian Grey manipulates Ana into behaving the way he wants her to behave. Later, in Fifty Shades Freed, Christian balks at the idea of a prenuptial agreement, while Ana is willing to sign one. Though Christian has more to lose from a failed marriage, Ana would also be protected by a well-executed prenup, and Christian’s stern refusal robs her of the opportunity. He turns it into a question of love, rather than a question of fairness; if he deserved the protection of a nondisclosure agreement and a contract, in an equal partnership Ana should be given the same.
Though emotional manipulation and threats of physical punishment are the tools most often used by Christian Grey, he isn’t above using alcohol to make Ana more malleable. In Fifty Shades of Grey he openly admits to purposely getting Ana drunk as they discuss her “hard limits” and other aspects of the contract. His motive is clear: if Ana’s inhibitions are artificially lowered, she’ll agree to more items on his list of desires, and when she does sober up, she’ll be trapped into doing things she wouldn’t normally want to do. That this behavior doesn’t strike Christian as particularly unethical—and that he can rationalize that it’s actually good for her—should be a concern for any woman wishing for a Christian Grey of her own.
In the middle of the Fifty Shades of Grey media furor, Dr. Drew Pinsky appeared on the Today Show and called the book “violence against women” due to the BDSM content. He suggested that men and women only become involved in a BDSM lifestyle as a consequence of a troubled upbringing, without addressing the emotional abuse in the story. Conflating consensual BDSM with domestic violence only served to muddy the waters of the very valid discussion of the relationship portrayed in the novel. Ana’s consent is uninformed due to her sexual inexperience, and when you examine the words she uses to describe Christian’s spankings, they’re not sex-positive words. “Hit,” “assault,” and “beat” are all used by Ana to describe the way Christian treats her, and the first time he ph
ysically punishes her, she spends the night crying hysterically.
Christian doesn’t appear to enjoy spanking Ana as part of a sexy game. He frequently threatens to spank her when he becomes frustrated with her, when her questions about his past become too personal, when she won’t behave as he wants her to behave outside of the confines of the Red Room. And what does he want her to do? During a scene in which Ana is meeting Christian’s parents for dinner—without any panties on under her dress—Christian tries to slide his hand between Ana’s thighs, and she closes her legs. He feels provoked to physical violence because Ana won’t let him finger bang her five feet from his mother.
Even if we remove the BDSM (and Ana’s physical aversion to it, which Christian ignores), there is still the matter of his control. When Christian Grey buys Ana a gift, it is always for his own benefit. He buys her expensive books to warn her away from him because he’s a dangerous man, thus building an aura of mystique around himself to draw her in further. He buys her a computer and a BlackBerry so that she can remain in contact with him at all times. He buys her a new car and a new wardrobe so that she fits in with his glamorous lifestyle, despite Ana’s objections.