No offense to Stephenie Meyer, Suzanne Collins or E.L. James, but I really wish someone would come along and create a literary phenomenon that was so big, it simply wiped them from the map of literary discussions. I am getting sick and tired of hearing about the repressed sexual anxieties of Bella Swan, the emotionally wishy-washy, child-slaughtering Katniss, and the sadistic woman-beater Christian Grey and his brain-dead punching bag of a wife Anastasia. Just listing the characters I feel like I need to scrub my brain with bleach. I feel dumber now than I did five minutes ago just for realizing that I’ve spent enough time with the material to actually know such details. (In the interest of full disclosure, I have read the Meyer books, the Collins books, and the first James book. I will not be reading the second and third – my brain can only handle so much abuse.)
I mean, Harry Potter may not be the most exquisitely written works of English literature, but at least they are infinitely more readable and enduring than 50 Shades of Hungry Eclipse Games. I considered using this entry to actually explain how far the world of literary excitement seems to have fallen, but a fellow blogger, Alice, has already spent many, many pages on demonstrating just how bad things have gotten. For those who love witty snark, you should really get over there and check it out. She does a much better job of deconstructing the insanity than I ever could.
Anyway, I’m off to go find some more vintage Bradbury or early King (whose novellas are incredible). Maybe reading enough well-written literature will help to sooth the scars inflicted upon my brain from all the scrubbing I had to do after reading E.L. James.