I went to Book Con last weekend! No, I didn’t go on the day that E.L. James was there. This was for fun, not for a side hustle. In stark contrast, I went to two back-to-back romance panels – one by historical romance authors and the other by rom com authors – where the authors talked about considerations of power dynamics in romance and making male characters not skeevy. It was very thought-provoking and a lot of fun! I can only imagine what E.L. James’s talk was about. I also went to a panel about the online book community, thinking, “oh, hey, that’s kinda my brand” and walked away thinking “there’s a bookstagram and a booktube?” So I also guess I’m old now.
I’d also never been to a Con before! I was led to believe I’d walk away with a shitton of ARCs and cheap books, but my girlfriend and I kind of didn’t feel like putting effort into getting tons of random shit. Although one of our friends did put in effort and got an ARC of Linda Holmes’ upcoming debut novel, so maybe we just fucked up. To be fair, we just moved and had to face the reality of all the boxes and boxes of books we’ve never opened, so I guess what I’m trying to say is our TBR lists are long enough, none of us are getting any younger, and I don’t know what the kids are doing on bookstagram.
Anyway! Previously in The Mister, Maxim and his new cleaner Alessia are infatuated with each other, and have gone from saying a few sentences to each other to lending the other an umbrella to… touching the other’s lip… to… (checks notes) Maxim pulling Alessia onto the couch to cuddle up with him and kiss her in his sleep. Normal relationship milestones.
Somehow recovering from that awkwardness (how), the shitty weather and delayed trains give Maxim an excuse to offer to drive Alessia home, where they have a cute conversation about mutual interests, which is stunningly a rarity in the romance novels we read on this blog. Alessia invites Maxim in for a cup of tea, which he declines for seemingly no reason whatsoever. It’s honestly the most inscrutable thing that’s happened in this story so far, and Maxim has had a hypnopompic hallucination that resulted in him grabbing and kissing someone he’s said twelve sentences to. Competition is steep is all I’m saying.
The Mister: Chapter 8
I was about to kick things off with a warning that this was another long chapter, and then I double checked and saw it was only twenty pages, so that’s a good sign.
Alessia enters her home and meets Michal, Alessia’s roommate Magda’s 14-year-old son and typical E.L. James secondary male character whose entire role in the story is to be envious of the male lead.
“Who was that?” Michal asks, his voice clipped and frosty, as he glares at the vehicle outside. […]
“My boss,” she answers as she peeks through the front door to watch the car drive away. She shuts the door behind her and, unable to contain her glee, gives Michal a quick, spontaneous hug.
“All right.” Michal shrugs out of her embrace, his face flushed but his brown eyes bright with embarrassed delight. Alessia beams at him, and his answering shy smile hints at his adolescent crush on her. She steps back, careful not to be overly affectionate.
Alessia goes into the kitchen, where she and I both immediately get terrible news from Magda: E.L. James is serious about this illegal immigration subplot.
“Some men from the immigration department were here today looking for you. […] I didn’t speak with them. Mr. Forrester from next door did. […] He did not like the look of them and told them he had never heard of you.” […]
“How did they find me?” […]
[Magda] takes another drag from her cigarette. “I have to write to your mother.”
“No!” Alessia grasps Magda’s hand. “Please.”
“I’ve already written and told her that you arrived safely. That was a lie.”
Alessia flushes. Magda does not know the full story of her journey to Brentford. “Please,” she says. “I don’t want to worry her.”
“Alessia, if they catch you, you’ll be deported to Albania—” Magda stops.
“I know,” Alessia whispers […] “I cannot go back” […]
She cannot be deported. She cannot go back to Albania. […]
Don’t think about Albania.
Don’t think about this journey.
Don’t think about the other girls…about Bleriana. […]
Every night he occupies her thoughts.
Look, as much as I want to be optimistic that this isn’t going to be a trash fire just because it’s E.L. James and think, hey, isn’t it important for mainstream literature to at least normalize immigrant narratives in this era of terrifyingly increasing nationalism… I’m not wildly optimistic when this immediately segues into a masturbation scene.
Think of the Mister. Only the Mister.
Her hand travels down her body.
Think only of him….
And when the chapter switches to Maxim’s perspective, he’s also masturbating! It’s truly like they’re mirror images of each other.
I’ve been reduced to jerking off in the shower…again.
Fuck. What has become of my life?
I regret to inform you that a significant chunk of this chapter is Maxim “going out with the lads”.
“Finally got you out of your lair. Should I address you as ‘Lord Trevethick’ or ‘milord’ now, bro?” Joe says as he holds up his pint of Fuller’s in salute.
Yes, they really talk like this. I honestly would have assumed this was an American trying to write British characters if I didn’t know.
“It is your title, after all, and I know my father is bloody touchy about his!” […]
“You know, now that you’re the earl, you’ll need to provide an heir and a spare,” Tom says.
“Yeah, yeah. Time enough for that yet.”
“Yeah. There’s no way you’re ready to settle down, mate. You’re as much of a serial shagger as I am. And I need a wingman,” Joe says with a broad grin.
“Come on, Trevelyan, you’ve shagged your way through most of London,” Tom taunts
I’m sorry.
Generously, at least I can say that there’s an actual effort here to make Joe and Thomas into actual characters. And one of them is black! And has a personality! Good for E.L. James! There’s finally a person of color in her books who isn’t a sexual predator. What an achievement.
I mean, that said, you did read the excerpts above, right? It’s like the Logan years of Gilmore Girls up in here. They’re not exactly my cup of tea. At least not yet. Joe’s main thing is that he has a crush on Maxim’s sister, so he’s boring enough, but Tom is a black vet with PTSD, which decidedly makes him E.L. James’s least interchangeable character. I almost want to see where his story goes, but this isn’t my first E.L. James novel. Although she did rewrite the first one like five times, so it sort of is only my second. And I guess she lowkey plagiarized that other one anyway, so… wait, is this my first E.L. James novel? What was I talking about?
OK LOTS TO GET THROUGH AND THIS IS TAKING FOREVER. MIDDLE OF THE CHAPTER LIGHTNING ROUND. SORRY I SPENT SO LONG ON THAT BOY’S NIGHT OUT.
- The next morning, a grinning Alessia skips up to Maxim’s house and discovers the apartment is littered with empty beer bottles, pizza boxes,… and a partially dressed man. Alessia runs away into the laundry room of solitude, and overhears Joe asking Maxim if he’s “tapped that yet? She’s hot.” Alessia has no reaction to this, as one does when their crush is asked outright if they have that kind of relationship with you.
- Maxim feels “uneasy” and “proprietary” about his friends’ lascivious reactions towards Alessia, as is decreed of all male characters in BBGT rule #31-b
- Maxim catches Alessia sniffing one of his dirty shirts on the floor of his closet, lending credence to Ariel’s theory that actually Alessia is the creepy one.
- They end up in Maxim’s dark room. I didn’t really follow how. I skimmed a lot. Tell me it’s important, motherfuckers.
- THIS IS WHEN IT HAPPENS. YOU KNOW, WHILE THEY’RE BOTH AWAKE THIS TIME.
Holding the camera up to my eye, I study Alessia through the lens. She is all dark eyes, long lashes, high cheekbones, and full, parted lips. My groin tightens.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, and press the shutter.
Alessia’s mouth drops open, but she shakes her head and covers her face with her hands, though they don’t conceal her smile. […]
Reaching forward, I tip up her chin and, leaning down, inching closer and closer so she has a chance to move away, I brush my lips against hers. She gasps, and as I pull back, she touches her fingers to her mouth, her eyes growing rounder.
“That’s how I feel,” I whisper, my heart pounding. […]
She stares at me. […] she tentatively raises her hand and traces my lips with her fingertips.
They start making out. Again, to reiterate, neither one of them is asleep and sleepwalking this time, which is the wildest disclaimer to have to put on their first kiss.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue teasing her lips, and she opens her mouth.
Fuck.
She tastes of warmth and grace and sweet seduction.
None of these are tastes. Why does E.L. James constantly write sentences like “Character tastes/smells like X and Y and Z” with things that do not correspond to the sense she picked?
Suddenly, the immigration subplot!
“Open the door, Mr. Trev…an!” a disembodied voice bellows from outside. “Immigration!”
“Oh, no,” Alessia whispers, and she clutches her throat, her eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Maxim goes to deal with them, but immediately notices something is fishy and that these men are absolutely not with the government. He gives them a hard time, asking them for ID and a warrant with “the authority that comes from a life of privilege and several years at one of the best public schools in Britain.” I guess at least he’s using it to help underprivileged people. Who he wants to bang. So nevermind, I guess.
They give up, promising to return with a warrant. Maxim wonders who the men are, why they’re after Alessia, and how they tracked Alessia to his home. Alessia has fled the premises out of fear. I wonder what bookstagram is I still don’t get it and I went to a panel is it pictures of books when did I get old
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“you’ll need to provide an heir and a spare,” Alessia just met Maxim few days ago but EL James think it’s important to confirm Alessia need to have his babies.
EL James also has no idea how talk about serious subjects.
“Bro! Mad weird that your brother died a week (??) ago! You’re a member of the peerage now, broski! Brosephus, have you exploited the power dynamic between you and your employee yet? So glad we’re friends, Brohemian Rhapsody! Let’s go bang some chicks! Wicked!” -totally real, actual human being and definitely not the figment of a middle-aged woman’s imagination.
Wait, this timeline has been a week so far? With the jarring timeline and bewilderingly inappropriate behavior, we are back in House of Night territory! I never thought those books would be so influential!
Man, I don’t know, those lads sound a lot like lads I’ve met. You’re forgetting that every British man in his early twenties talks like a complete dickhead, much as I am loath to praise EL James.