The Mister Chapter 32: Everyone Is Forced To Do Exactly What They Wanted To Do

WE’RE HERE. THE LAST WEEK OF THE MISTER. WE DID IT. YOU DID IT. There are just two chapters left, and now it is time we ask ourselves: what the fuck was that?

My girlfriend has a concept she calls “the squish”. She reads a lot of romance novels “because they make me happy”. Discussing how “squishy” a romance is has become a regular thing for us, despite my own romance novel intake being the not exactly glowing representations of the genre through this blog. In her own words:

“The Squish” makes it really easy to identify the good romance novels from the bad. Bad, in this case, isn’t just plot or whatever; it’s also total lack of chemistry between the characters, flat dialogue, and disinterest in what they’re doing, the obstacles they have to overcome, etc. When you find a book with good squish, it’s a visceral feeling of secondhand butterflies in your stomach, or a little heart squeeze, a particularly good scene of banter, or the moment where they finally get together, confess their love, or have really good sex. It can be in YA romance, where the squish is innocent and you feel excited for these 16-year-olds to experience what-might-be-love for the first time (Anna and the French Kiss), or Real Adult Romance where the hero is swoon-y and says the right things at the right time (The Chocolate Kiss). When there’s no squish, it’s like watching a bad Hallmark movie, when there is, it’s To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before.

I bring this up because I’ve been thinking a lot about “the squish” as we’ve read The Mister, although this has little to do with any particular strengths of The Mister itself. When thinking about The Mister in terms of squish, the mood conjured up is more so that of grabbing every rock-hard avocado in the supermarket, trying to find just one that’s ripe in increasing desperation as you realize not this batch, and not today.

The Mister has a lot to live up to in the footsteps of Fifty Shades of Grey, something of a Bad Books, Good Times urtext. The Mister fails to measure up in a very peculiar way. It’s not worse because it’s somehow even worse than the notoriously batshit Fifty Shades. Batshit as it was, Fifty Shades at least had some semblance of chemistry between its two leads. The Mister, neither good nor batshit, is the worst, middle of the road outcome: it’s boring.

And it has no squish.

The Mister: Chapter 32

The love story reaches its dramatic end as Maxim saves Alessia from sex traffickers who kidnapped her immigration systemic cultural sexism her abusive betrothed who kidnapped her by flying to Albania to hang out in a museum hang out in a hotel bar tell her family that she doesn’t want to marry her betrothed. But fear not, feminists! The ever-resourceful Alessia has also saved herself by waiting for her abusive ex to drunkenly pass out and steal his car and run steal his money and run steal his gun and run steal the bullets from his gun and stay with him as he takes her back to her family where Maxim happens to already be and then lie to her family that she’s pregnant with Maxim’s child.

The last chapter then ended with Alessia’s dad turning his shotgun towards Maxim and telling him that he has dishonored his family and now must marry his daughter. Somehow, this outcome comes as a total surprise to Alessia.

Alessia realizes that she hadn’t thought through her lie about the pregnancy.

Don’t worry, it’s a happy ending.

In a panic she whirls away from her shotgun-wielding father, desperate to explain the truth to Maxim. She doesn’t want to force him into marriage!
But Maxim is sporting the biggest grin.
Joy shines in his eyes, evident for all to see.
His expression takes her breath away.
Slowly he sinks onto one knee, and from the inside pocket of his jacket he produces…a ring. A beautiful diamond ring. Alessia gasps, and her hands fly to her face in utter amazement.

Because somehow, up until this exact moment, Alessia still wasn’t totally convinced that Maxim’s love for her was real.

He brought a ring.
This is what he came here to do.
To marry her.
She’s breathless with shock.
And then it hits her. Like a freight train. Her elation. He really does love her. He wants to be with her. Not Caroline.

Which really seems like a significant trust issue that the book could probably have spent some time on before rushing these two into marriage, but I suppose the book just couldn’t spare any pages from Maxim saving Alessia from being kidnapped. Twice.

Given this emotional climax, it’s impossible to engage with The Mister without thinking of Jame’s sole other work, the embarrassing zeitgeist of early/mid 2010s culture that is Fifty Shades. I pulled out my copy of Roxane Gay’s Bad Feminist and revisited her chapter on Fifty Shades (and Twilight), titled “The Trouble With Prince Charming, or He Who Has Trespassed Against Us” and reread her critique of Fifty Shades, of the fairy tale it promises. It’s easy to speculate that her financial success has made James wealthy beyond any need to care about critical reception of her work or thoughtful reflection on her themes. Seeing how much of Gay’s critique could apply to either work of James’s makes it easier:

I enjoy fairy tales because I need to believe, despite my cynicism, that there is a happy ending for everyone, especially me. The older I get, though, the more I realize how fairy tales demand a great deal from the woman. […] After all the trials this couple faces, and after all the hot sex, we’re supposed to think this [story] is about a young woman and her happily-ever-after. It’s not. [Her] sexual awakening is a convenient vehicle for the awakening of [his] humanity. […] about a man finding peace and happiness because he finally finds a woman willing to tolerate his bullshit for long enough.

[The story] also relies heavily on the trope of the imperiled woman [as she] faces some kind of danger, either innocuous or quite serious, that reminds us she is a woman, and therefore in need of rescue by her Prince Charming. After each crisis, [he] clutches [her] desperately and says he doesn’t know what he would do if anything happened to her. If you look up the word “codependent” in the dictionary, this couple’s picture will be featured prominently.

I think there’s an argument to be made that Maxim is less abusive than Christian Grey, although where Maxim has fewer controlling behaviors, it’s made up for in an even worse power dynamic as the employer of an illegal immigrant victim of sex trafficking. In lieu of a BDSM fantasy safe and palatable enough for anyone, James instead offers an immigrant fantasy safe and palatable enough for anyone, like an opposite Dances With Wolves/Pocahontas/Avatar where the native happens into the highest echelon of the society with its proud imperialist tradition and systemic inequality, and also both of them are white.

But anyway, love!

“Alessia Demachi,” Maxim says, “please do me the honor of becoming my countess. I love you. I want to be with you always. Spend your life with me. At my side. Always. Marry me.” […]
“Konteshë?” her father, his brow creased, asks Thanas. Thanas looks to me, but I have no idea what Demachi said.

Do you, though?

“Countess?” Thanas clarifies.
“Oh. Yes. Countess. Alessia will be Lady Trevethick, Countess of Trevethick.” […]
Three Albanians turn to stare at me and Alessia as if we’ve each grown an extra head.
“Like Lord Byron?” Thanas asks.

How is that the context that helped this all fall into place?

Tom nudges his way in to congratulate Maxim on proposing, because Tom is here too. I have no idea if Thanas’s girlfriend who was introduced for a single scene is even in the room right now, because she hasn’t said a word since then. It’s entirely possible she’s just waiting in the car while all this is happening. I honestly don’t know which seems more plausible.

Mr. Demachi has his wife fetch a bottle from the kitchen. The men take a shot of “the fieriest, most lethal liquid that I’ve ever poured into my throat”, which is funny because even though Mr. Demachi only offered a shot to the men in the room, E.L. James still managed to take one last shot at how wacky and shitty Albania must be.

While the penultimate chapter is mercifully short, it distressingly hints at more story than could possibly be resolved in the last chapter…

Alessia’s father raises his raki once more. “Bija ime tani është problem yt dhe do të martoheni, këtu, brenda javës.” He downs his shot and brandishes his gun with a look of glee.
Thanas quietly translates. “My daughter is your problem now. And you’ll be married, here, within a week.”
What?
Fuck.

So… two years from now, we’re reading a book called The Missus, aren’t we.

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