Friends and readers,

I read Fifty Shades of Grey.

And I enjoyed it.

Don’t get me wrong; the writing was deplorable. I’m sure there are better sexy-books out there, for sure. There was rampant phrase repetition, sentences that made no grammatical sense, and the description was simply over the top. Basically, the book was a case in point for the questionable nature of self-publishing and the power of a decent editor.

But I liked it. During last week’s bad mood, I put the second one on hold to cheer me up.

This is a blog about children’s and YA lit, mostly, so am I allowed to talk about this? Is it okay if a book exists for reasons that are not “literary”? Are people who champion “great” literature, literature for children, also allowed to admit to liking books that are poorly written and exist for uh… non-literary reasons?

I have no idea, but I do know that right now, I have an insatiable taste for books that are heavy on the tension, light on the complex-sentence-structure. I like my pages to fly by like there aren’t any words there at all. Plots that are so unsubstantial, the only reason you keep reading is because you’ve already read 200+ pages (because they flew by) and the subject matter is so sensational that you feel like you have no idea what will happen, so you have to finish, even though it doesn’t really matter what happens.

If you catch me reading Eclipse on the subway, have mercy on me. It’s been a hell of a year – my brain needs a break.

If you catch me reading Fifty Shades Darker  on the subway, kick me in the face. I retain the tiniest bit of modesty, thankssomuch.