You may notice that this post is up kind of late today. Basically, I had two final papers due today and while I started both of them ahead of time, the last 1/3 or so of both of them were written more painfully than I expected over the course of the past twenty-four hours. So I figured it would be better to get some sleep and get refreshed and give you a quality blog post a day late rather than pass off a half-assed, nonsensical blog post in my increasingly sleep deprived stupor.
Wait, that actually sounds pretty awesome. Let’s do this.
Okay, I’m too tired to bother looking up what happened at the end of the last chapter, but I’m pretty sure sex-type stuff happened, so I’m just gonna try to figure it out from context.
“Hey, Dad. I caught you.”
Nope. That’s not going to work.
Eva catches up with her dad over the phone about her first week in New York, where he alternates between “Go out, be young, have fun” and “Some nights I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about you in New York”, so, yeah, this guy already has some pretty consistent characterization…
Then things get DARK but it’s still only implied that they’re DARK but it’s not doing a great job of it, so it’s more like things get (DARK).
I thought my dad might still love my mom. He’d never married. That was one of the reasons I never told him about what happened to me. As a cop, he would’ve insisted on pressing charges and the scandal would have destroyed my mother. I also worried that he’d lose respect for her or even blame her, and it hadn’t been her fault. As soon as she’d found out what her stepson was doing to me, she’d left a husband she was happy with and filed for divorce.
And wow there is a lot of trouble in this paragraph. Let’s go through it all because I don’t want to get to sleep or anything.
- From a narrative point of view, this “saying but not really saying” what the incident is gives it this weird, schizophrenic vibe. It’s fine if a narrator wants to keep a secret from the reader for a little while. It makes a little less sense when they’re pretty flippant about sharing all the details our of nowhere except for what the incident actually was.
- This is kinda spoiler territory, but it really deserves being said now because this seriously bothers me how this novel is handling this already. Eva is a rape victim, which we don’t know yet. Now look at the reasons she gives against reporting rape. Because her dad would have made her report it? And only because it’s his job? And the main reason why she doesn’t want this to happen is that it wouldn’t look good for her mom? These are all really shitty reasons to let a rapist get away with rape. I do not have particularly high hopes for how the rest of the novel handles this, and we don’t even know it happened yet.
Anyway, hopefully you’re good with how badly mishandled that was, because now’s apparently a good time for an Angry Birds joke.
“Hmm . . . Don’t put [getting a replacement phone] off. They’re good for safety as well as playing Angry Birds.”
“I’m over that game!” I laughed
Pop culture references: when you can’t think of a joke, just try to remind the reader of something that happened in the past five years instead.
Anyway, Eva and Cary are getting dressed up all sexy for their sexy evening at uh I think a ball or something? I have no idea. I’m really tired. Anyway, here’s sexy Eva!
The dress my mom had sent was fire engine red and styled for a Grecian goddess. […] the back was bared to just above the crack of my buttocks in a racy V-cut.
Okay, I think reading the phrase “crack of my buttocks” has effectively killed my sex drive for the next month or so.
Anyway, here’s sexy Cary!
In his own way, Cary could give Gideon a run for his money . . . er, looks.
We… we know what an expression is, Sylvia Day. I wouldn’t write “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch … er, things you expect to happen until they actually happen”. I also wouldn’t write “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch”, but that’s not important. Things get depressing again.
Cary hadn’t been quite so perfect when I met him. […] But I’d been drawn to him, going out of my way to sit next to him in group therapy. He’d finally propositioned me crudely, having come to believe the only reason people associated with him was because they wanted to fuck him.
They kill some time before Gideon Cross comes back to read up on his backstory a little bit. We learn that his dad committed suicide when he was five, and he usually dates brunettes. That’s a pretty well-rounded backstory! Eva certainly thinks about it analytically.
How had Gideon’s father—or more specifically, his father’s suicide—influenced his life?
I really hope there’s no scene where Eva interviews Gideon, because it has the potential to be stupider than Ana interviewing Christian Grey. Eva meets up with Gideon and, well, the book continues to alternate between trying too hard to be depressing and trying to hard to be sexy, but never trying particularly hard to not be stupid.
- He looked remote and removed, a man who was inherently alone.
- He sensed my presence, or maybe he felt my yearning.
They get in his limo and Eva immediately starts… licking him…
I licked into his mouth, nibbled on his lower lip, stroked my tongue along his . . .
They argue about whether to have right then and there or not, and Eva’s very much in the “then and there” category, and you know what this means! It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for: Gideon Cross’s penis! I did not fall asleep at this part!
Wait, that’s it? Come on, we got way more cheesy description when we first saw the Christian Grey flavored popsicle! What the hell is this crap?
“You’re so tight.” His gasped words were threaded with a hint of delicious agony.
I took more of him, letting him slide deeper. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling exquisitely stretched. “You’re so big.”
Oh my God, this is worse than Fifty Shades.
I lost my mind somewhere along the way, primitive instinct taking over until my body was completely in charge. I could focus on nothing but the driving urge to fuck, the ferocious need to ride his cock until the tension burst and set me free of this grinding hunger.
“It’s so good,” I sobbed, lost to him. “You feel . . . Ah, God, it’s too good.”
But Is It Better Than Fifty Shades of Grey?
I didn’t laugh anywhere near as hard as I did when I read the description of Christian Grey’s penis. Ha, hard. See? How hard can that be? Ha! Hard!
Oh God I’m so tired.
The Winner This Round: Fifty Shades of Grey