Fifty Writers on Fifty Shades of Grey by Lori Perkins

of their many email exchanges, in a BDSM relationship, the submissive holds the true power. This is news to Ana but not to us who have been watching Christian weaken progressively. Even the initially all-important contract governing their BDSM arrangement, which he sets out to impose but never quite does, isn’t a protection for Ana so much as it is a protection for him, a presumed fail-safe in the face of the fear he feels in entering into a relationship, even a master-slave relationship, with a woman.
    Christian may tie up Ana physically with an impressive array of cuffs, ropes, and chains, but he is the one who is bound emotionally and spiritually. He, not Ana, is the one in increasing danger of losing himself in their relationship, as evidenced by their ongoing negotiations over the contract, the terms of which weaken progressively in sync with Christian’s weakening will.
    The contract terms, such as the rule against her looking him in the eye and the insistence that she address him as “sir,” are designed to enable him to objectify Ana both within and without his “playroom.” Only Ana isn’t the only one of them who rebels. Increasingly Christian, or rather his heart, rebels as well. By the end of the first novel, he relents on having Ana sign at all, too afraid of losing her to press for more than an informal understanding, a toothless tiger. Screw “hard and soft limits,” not only are the “rules” all negotiable, they’re no longer rules at all.
    “Mercurial man” though he may be, as well as “fifty shades of fucked up,” still he is willing to chart the scary, previously unexplored and unimagined path of “more” with her, where “more” presumably means a relationship that extends beyond playrooms and scripted BDSM scenarios and twitchy palms, a future that may as yet embrace darkness but also embraces light. Nor does Christian’s willingness to try at having more come off as any kind of concession. Toward the book’s end, he admits that the rigid power dynamic of their BDSM relationship isn’t entirely satisfying his emotional needs, either. “I’ve never wanted more, until I met you,” he tells Ana after their giddy day of gliding.
    Christian Grey may be “fifty shades of fucked up,” but he is also, perversely, something of a postmodern Prince Charming. Even the Red Room of Pain, as Ana calls his “playroom,” is so lushly opulent and painstakingly well appointed that it seems more a backdrop for a Victoria’s Secret catalog than an actual dungeon room.
    Set aside Christian’s proclivities toward dishing out punishment and what emerges is a portrait of a pretty princely boyfriend. Welts and whips and her own moribund insecurities notwithstanding, there were times when I found myself envying Ana. Scratch any “almost,” I
did
envy her.
    A man like Christian Grey is not trying to keep you off-balance or otherwise in suspense. He is not going to
not
call. Christian Grey will call, all right—as well as email and textmessage and even show up unannounced and uninvited in your very bedroom if he feels the situation warrants it.
    Christian Grey is also not going to cheat on you. Once he chooses you, he is not going to take anyone into that Red Room of Pain but you. You need not doubt that those Ben Wa balls are shiny-new and bought just for you. He may insist on being the Dom to your sub, he
does
insist, but he is also unapologetically monogamous. And if in the past his monogamy has been of the serial sort, we’re inclined to give the guy a break.
    He
is
all of twenty-seven.
    Obsessive and controlling as he is about your food intake and safety, traits rooted in the horrors of his early past, there is also something almost endearingly old-fashioned, even chivalrous, about such unwavering care and concern. When you drunk dial him, he’ll not only come to your rescue but, unlike beta would-be boyfriend José, he’ll also hold back your hair while you vomit. Post spanking, he’ll