Previously, E.L. James wrote a new book, which I honestly never thought she’d bother to do.
Of course, “new” is surprisingly up for debate. As has been pointed out by others by now, 1) the characters and plot are pretty similar to Fifty Shades of Grey, and 2) the characters and plot are pretty similar to, uh, Winston Graham’s Poldark, of all things. I’ve only read the first book in that series and seen slightly more than the first season of the sexified television adaptation, so while I’ll probably notice any real broad strokes the two have in common, Jenny Trout’s already written up a very helpful list of just how much E.L. James has ripped off from Poldark for The Mister, like Twilight for Fifty Shades before it.
Anywho, actually previously, Ross Poldark Maxim Trevelyan’s older brother was the Master of Trenwith Earl of Trevethick and married to Ross’s Maxim’s first love Elizabeth Caroline (whom he married because everyone thought Ross had died fighting in the American War of Independence for reasons, I guess). Also sometimes the book takes place in Cornwall Cornwall. But the older brother has suddenly died, leaving Maxim to unexpectedly assume his title, responsibilities, and surprisingly-if-not-worryingly horny wife (no, seriously, her husband, like, just died, and the entire first chapter is her fucking or trying to fuck her brother-in-law; should we be more concerned about this?). Maxim angsts and uses Tinder. Is there nothing that can save this tortured man from himself?
Spoiler. It’s an E.L. James novel. The answer is a virgin who doesn’t have an email address a virgin who can’t drive a virgin who’s probably got something not going on.
The Mister: Chapter 2
Time to meet Alessia! A working-class immigrant new to London, which I’m sure is going to be portrayed tactfully.
Huddled in her scarf, she trudges through the freezing winter drizzle toward the apartment block on Chelsea Embankment. Today is Wednesday, her second day here without Krystyna, and she is heading back to the big apartment with the piano.
Ohhhhh do you think that’s Maxim’s apartment? Wow, nothing’s happened and I’m already mad. Just imagine how much better this novel would be if her hidden talent that inevitably enamored Maxim to her wasn’t his piano but his DJ equipment. But no, sure, let’s go with a woman playing piano. I’m sure that’ll be thrilling.
She’s beginning to understand that this is what London is like. There are too many people, too much noise, and too much traffic. […] She misses home. She misses the peace and quiet. She misses her mother, and she misses her piano. […] How long has it been since she played? Her excitement builds as she thinks of the piano waiting for her in the apartment.
Just imagine: “Her excitement builds as she thinks of the iMac and vinyl collection waiting for her in the apartment. How long has it been since she dropped some sick bass?”
Alessia arrives but notices the alarm hasn’t gone off, and realizes the owner must still be home, which means she can’t give us a fresh beat play the piano. She doesn’t hear anything, so she hopefully tells herself maybe he just forgot to set the alarm, which gets shot down once again by A NAKED MAN.
she grabs the laundry basket and heads straight to his bedroom. If she hurries, she can finish the apartment before it’s time to leave and the piano will be hers for a short while.
She opens the door but freezes on the threshold of the room.
He’s here.
The man!
Fast asleep facedown and sprawled naked across the large bed. She stands, shocked and fascinated at once, her feet rooted to the wooden floor as she stares. He’s stretched across the length of the bed, tangled in his duvet but naked…very naked.
He stirs and their eyes meet, but he immediately goes back to sleep. Alessia is relieved. As am I, honestly, because given what I remember of E.L. James’s flirty banter, I really want to put this off as long as possible.
E.L. James Virginal Leading Lady status confirmed:
She glances at the piano, feeling cheated. […] In her head she hears
Skrillex’s BangarangBach’s Prelude in C Minor. […]Why does he have to be here?
She knows that her disappointment is irrational. This is his home. But focusing on her disappointment distracts her from thinking about him. He’s the first naked man she’s ever seen
Emphasis mine. Disappointment that she can’t be a woman in 2019 into electronic music also mine.
But yes, dear reader, her first naked man ever.
[She] hurries back to the safety of the laundry room wondering why her heart is pounding.
She takes a deep, calming breath. It was a surprise finding him here asleep. Yes. That’s it. That’s all. It has nothing to do with the fact that she has seen him naked. It has nothing to do with a fine face, a straight nose, full lips, broad shoulders…muscular arms. […]
Yes. He’s handsome.
All of him. His hair, his hands, his legs, his backside…
Well, it pains me to say that I immediately find Alessia boring and unrelatable because, upon seeing her first naked man ever, we get more adjectives about his nose than we do about his butt.
Alessia thinks of the man’s green eyes, which prompts “a darker memory” from home about “ice-blue eyes flinty with anger”. Alessia quells her panic:
She fled. She’s here. She’s in London. She’s safe. She will never see him again.
I had to remind myself that this sounds familiar because the abuse backstory is actually a Crossfire thing, not a Fifty Shades thing. I guess if E.L. James is going to unimaginatively lift some trope to pass off as an original novel, fair enough it’s from the Fifty Shades imitator Crossfire. Remember how those books canonically ended with the main character’s dead mom revealing secret family history from beyond the grave as a ghost? Good times… good times…
She goes through the pockets of his black jeans and pulls out the loose change and the customary condom that he seems to carry in all his pants.
It’s honestly unfair how many hints of a much more entertaining novel we’re getting in this chapter, because I’d much rather be reading this book where E.L. James’s standard playboy billionaire is just a minor character whose off-camera exploits appear as minor annoyances in someone else’s story. REWRITE FIFTY SHADES FROM TAYLOR’S POINT OF VIEW, YOU COWARD.
Alessia starts planning her day around the chores she can do out of the man’s way until he leaves, and then wonders why she feels the need to hide from him and if she should maybe introduce herself to her new employer? I take back what I said about butts earlier. Alessia’s awkwardness is actually very relatable content. As soon as she has this thought, however, she hears the man call “Bye, Krystyna!” and leave. She wonders if the man doesn’t even know that his staff has been changed.
We get a mention to one off-limits room she’s been told never to enter. Every review of The Mister has been legally obligated to mention that there’s none of Fifty Shades‘ not-BDSM in here, so what do you think? Shrine to his love for Caroline?
Too obvious? What else could it be?
Alessia finishes the day’s work with time to spare and behaves realistically.
She clutches the piano in an effort to fight off her heartache and her homesickness
She takes note of a half-finished composition that’s been sitting on the piano since she first game to the apartment. Turns out Christian Grey is a moody piano boy. I mean, Ross Poldark. I mean – ok, what’s this guy’s name again?
She stretches her fingers and strokes the keys.
White. Black.
This reminds me of the multiple times E.L. James described a sex scene with “In. Out.”
As Alessia starts to play, the chapter shifts over for a brief scene from Maxim’s perspective as he arrives as Trevelyan House, which was his brother Kit’s home until his death, and where Caroline lives now. We meet the family butler, Blake, who is not interesting. Maxim sees Caroline for the first time in two days, who continues her one and only character trait of being distressingly horny for her brother-in-law considering her husband just died.
“Hi,” I say as I stride in. Caroline turns a tearstained face toward me, her eyes red and puffy.
Shit.
“Where the fuck have you been?” she snaps.
“Caro,” I begin, ready to placate her.
“Don’t Caro me, you wanker,” she snarls as she stands up, fists clenched. […]
“I needed time to think.”
“Alone?”
I don’t answer. I don’t want to lie. […]
“I thought as much. I know you too well, Maxim. What was she like?”
ASDFJKL HER HUSBAND JUST DIED. Former lovers or not, am I alone in thinking she seems weirdly entitled to her dead husband’s brother’s dick?
“Why haven’t you answered my calls? It’s been two days!”
“I’ve had a lot to think about, and I’ve been busy.”
“You? Busy? Maxim, you wouldn’t know busy if you tripped and stuck your dick in it.”
You wouldn’t know busy if you tripped and stuck your dick in it??????? Wow, this has got to be the most ham-fisted way of bringing up someone’s dick in conversation I’ve seen in a while.
The conversation turns to serious matters. Maxim confirms that Kit left her nothing in his will, but assures her they’ll work something out.
“You’re not going to evict me?” I take the handkerchief from her hand and wipe each of her eyes.
“No, of course not. You’re my brother’s widow and my best friend.”
“But that’s all?” She gives me a watery but bitter smile
HE JUST DIED.
Out of nowhere, Maxim remembers having a totally weird dream about seeing a young woman or maybe an angel in his bedroom doorway watching him sleep. He stops thinking about it. Good share.
Caroline has news.
“Well, I might be pregnant,” she says.
What? I blanch.
“Kit. Not you. You’re too bloody careful.”
Damn right. The ground seems to shift beneath my feet.
Kit’s heir!
Could this be any more complicated? […]
feeling at once a moment of relief that all this responsibility might pass to Kit’s child, but also a sudden and overwhelming sense of loss.
The earldom is mine. For now.
Shit. Could this be any more confusing?
If you enjoyed today’s post, please consider buying the BBGT writers a cup of coffee? That’d be swell of you!
From actual experience, you can be in a really bad place with your husband when he dies, but two days is still not long enough for the shock to wear off if it’s a sudden death. And shock makes it really hard to function normally, even to feel bodily urges or needs. Caroline could have hated her dead husband or been abused by him or whatever, but if she ever loved him at all, she wouldn’t be horny two days after he died. EL James is co-opting loss, without any demonstrable experience of her own, just to make an “interesting” plot…but idk what else we could have expected. Certainly not a deep introspection of what it is to lose a brother, etc. Lol.
well, this is a deeper comment than I was anticipating today. it’s early in the novel for sure, but you’re asking so many good questions about caroline and kit’s relationship that we don’t have answers to, it’s definitely wildly underdeveloped for how much drama is being wrung out of it
This is the woman who wrote about a college student with no computer, thought BlackBerry was the height of 2012 technological advancement, and had her two main characters constantly email each other instead of texting or IM.
I’m not sure the world is ready for an E.L. James character to drop the bass.
Don’t forget an ipod with whole 12 songs.
gosh, izzy, it’s like you have no faith in E.L. James’s ability to develop as a writer over the years
You’re absolutely right, I’m being too cynical. In 8 years time, when James publishes her Modern Day AU Pamela fanfic I’ll return with an open mind and upbeat attitude. I’m sure I’ll be pleasantly surprised to find the blonde is the heroine instead of the slutty slut bad guy for all of two pages, the hero will walk into a restraunt without the female staff throwing their panties at him and word repetition is saved for when it might have an effect on the story.
You know, if Caroline was this callous towards her husband when he was alive, I can see why the guy didn’t leave her anything in his will.
I love the way James really gets into a pianist’s head by having her note the fact that the piano has black and white keys — something that would completely escape the notice of a non-musician like me.
So, fun fact: Kits unborn child actually can theoretically inherit titles and stuff – at a time when inheritance of thrones and crowns mostly went to male heirs and female heirs were only considered if there really was no other option, it was custom that female heirs got the title (“The king is dead, long live the king” – it was assumed that a title ALWAYS was held by someone and instantly transferred to a new holder when the old one kicked the bucket) but if there was a chance that the dead title-holders widow might be pregnant right now and have a male heir in some months, the female heir would have to give the title back. This idea, that someone could keep someone elses title warm for some time, sometimes also got extended from the sisters of the “real heir” to anyone who wasn’t the direct son of the former title-holder.
Long story short: the baby could take all the titles and money and whatever from Max and most likely Caroline would have to be the “regent” until the child comes of age. At least if the child is a boy, I’m not exactly sure what would happen if it’s a girl (well, in fact I am sure that a girl could inherit nowadays because UK parliament changed the male primogeniture thing … uh … a century ago, I think … but James stole a regency era novel so I’m not sure if she decided that cough truthful plagiarism is more important than modern changes to stuff).
Anyway, I’m really curious if James is going to make Caroline – an unemployed, widowed (soon-to-be)mother who apparently didn’t inherit anything from her dead husband (is that even possible? At least here in Germany we have laws preventing the complete removal of spouse and children from your will so you have to give them a certain minimum) and is now homeless and broke (?) – the big bad of the book.
“sprawled naked across the large bed”
“naked…very naked” ok but he is naked? please make it sure
We need more precision, what does “very naked” entail as opposed to regular naked? I want to see some percentages, E.L.
I went down this train of thought and now I can’t get the words “passably naked” out of my head, thanks
Just one of the many services I provide
I feel like the difference between “naked” and “very naked” HAS to be related to the line between “crap” and “double crap”
That was a thing, right?
The parody of this book is pretty much writing itself.
She stretches her fingers and strokes the keys.
White. Black. Purple.
Wait … WTF?!