"Fifty Shades of Grey" é pornografia segura para donas de casa e adolescentes, adquirível sem olhares de reprovação e consumida em público sem causar escândalo. Não é mais que isto e é provável que, com a sua natureza de "fan fiction", a autora nunca tenha pretendido ir mais além. O resto foi um acidente. Nada aqui será particularmente censurável. Mas é uma leitura aborrecida, cheia de chavões, sem qualquer coisa que se assemelhe a um enredo (a sucessão de cenas sadomasoquistas ou os momentos "ele é tão lindo!" não contam) e inacreditavelmente repetitiva. Talvez a repetição fosse inevitável num livro que não se esforça nada para ser mais do que um auxiliar masturbatório, mas permite exercícios interessantes. Como este:
Fifty Shades of Inner Goddess
uma construção narrativa em excertos diligentemente recolhidos
And my very small inner
goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba. My inner goddess glares at me,
tapping her small foot impatiently. Ha! My inner goddess is thrilled.
My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves. My inner goddess
has stopped dancing and is staring too, mouth open and drooling slightly. My
inner goddess is thrilled. My inner goddess sits in the lotus position looking
serene except for the sly, self-congratulatory smile on her face. My inner
goddess nods in silent zen-like agreement with her. My inner goddess is jumping
up and down, clapping her hands like a five-year-old. Please, let’s do
this… My inner goddess stops jumping and smiles serenely. My inner
goddess shakes her head at me. My inner goddess glows so bright she could light
up Portland. My inner goddess does too. My inner goddess frowns at me. My inner
goddess jumps up and down with cheerleading pom-poms shouting yes at me. My
inner goddess is not pleased. My inner goddess is doing back flips in a routine
worthy of a Russian Olympic gymnast. I flush, and my inner goddess smacks her
lips together glowing with pride. I examine the list, and my inner goddess
bounces up and down like a small child waiting for ice cream. I squirm. My
inner goddess is panting. Oh the possibilities… my inner goddess roars,
and from somewhere born of frustration, need, and sheer Steele bravery, I push
him on to the bed. My inner goddess is going to explode. My inner goddess looks
like someone snatched her ice cream. My inner goddess has woken and is paying
attention. My inner goddess pleads with me, my subconscious is as paralyzed as
I am. My inner goddess is prostrate… well at least she’s quiet. Bewitched… my
inner goddess is staring open-mouthed. Even she doesn’t believe this. Well,
it’s been swept under the rug that my inner goddess is lying on, eating grapes
and tapping her fingers, waiting not so patiently for Sunday. My inner goddess
is beside herself, hopping from foot to foot. Go girl! My inner
goddess has her pom poms in hand - she’s in cheerleading mode. My inner goddess
is spinning like a world-class ballerina, pirouette after pirouette. My inner goddess has a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside of her room.
My inner goddess grins at me. My
inner goddess sighs with relief. Fortunately, he seems oblivious to her, but my
inner goddess is smoldering and not in a good way. My inner goddess nods in
agreement, a satisfied grin over her face – You didn’t haveto ask for
them. My inner goddess pops her head above the parapet. My inner goddess
pouts at me, failing miserably to hide her disappointment. My inner goddess is
doing the dance of the seven veils. My inner goddess glares at me in
desperation. No my inner goddess scowls at me, not too beautiful
for me. He is sort of mine, for now. She hasn’t got a clue,
and my inner goddess is still basking in a remnant of post-coital glow. No –
we’re all clueless. My inner goddess leaps up cheering from her chaise longue. My
inner goddess gazes at him in quiet, surprised speculation. Truth or dare time
– my subconscious and inner goddess glance nervously at one another. “Yes.” My
inner goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar. My inner goddess is
standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. My inner goddess has back
flipped off the podium and is doing cartwheels around the stadium. My inner
goddess – she’s under a blanket behind the sofa. Jeez, my inner goddess swoons. Am
I up to this game? My inner goddess is hopeful for one type of mood, my
subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves. From tension to relief to
something else: a look that calls directly to my inner goddess, a look of
sensual carnality, gray eyes blazing. She’s there somewhere, hiding behind my
inner goddess. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner
goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm. I whisper as my
pulse starts to accelerate, and my inner goddess closes her eyes, reveling in
the feel of his lips on me. My subconscious has passed out, and my inner
goddess is endeavoring to look brave. My subconscious is shaking her head
sadly, and my inner goddess is nowhere to be seen. Deep down, a nasty, unbidden
thought comes from my inner goddess, her lip curled in a snarl…
