I read. A lot. I am fairly embarrassed to admit that I have read over 50 books in the last 6 months. Please, don’t applaud me for my voracious appetite of the written word. And, please whatever you do, do not search for my Goodreads profile. That shit is downright shameful and embarrassing. I would say that at least 90%, oh who am I kidding, 98% of the crap I read is romance…not that there is anything inherently wrong with that. In fact, my grandma is a romance writer. Yep, she writes the smut. I read the smut. Not her smut, mind you…I think there is a line there that I am not willing to cross. I may picture her in the scenes, or hear her voice as the narrator, it’s all too much.
Admittedly, my affair with romance novels started with 50 Shades of Grey. I tagged along on one of my husband’s business trips to San Diego and was looking for something to read on the plane. I had heard murmurings of the book and how it had been dubbed “mommy porn”. I am a mom, I could like porn. SOLD! I finished all three books in 3 days. My husband went out and bought me an E-reader. I think the reader was a good move. I am willing to admit that I don’t have enough chutzpa to walk into a brick and mortar store, smelling of coffee and sophistication, and purchase Rock Me: Sex Gods on Tour. I can’t do it. I also have a difficult time not blushing when buying condoms, lube or a pregnancy test. Some things are just better left to anonymity.
As it stands, I am an equal opportunity reader. I have read sweet romances, high school romance, college romance, hard core “romance”, rocker romance, BDSM, billionaire dominance romance…lets just say there are many genres in the romance category. I will say that I prefer the ones that include deep love and devotion. I am not into the dominant/subordinate relationships, they make me uncomfortable. I mean, to each their own. I have read plenty of them, they just aren’t my favorite.
There has only been one book that made me so uncomfortable that I wanted to put it in the freezer. I got two chapters in and had to put the book down, I literally felt ill. My mind felt guilty for even reading the words on the page. Ok, ok, I will let you know what book it was- I know you are all wondering now. Perverts.
In the 80’s, Anne Rice wrote The Sleeping Beauty Trilogy under the pseudonym A.N. Roquleaure. The trilogy is about a woman, Beauty, whom was awoken by a handsome prince raping her and placing her into a kingdom of sex slavery. There is your one sentence synopsis. That should be enough. Excuse me while I go take a hot shower, I feel dirty.
Here are a few actual reviews of this book on Goodreads:
“I want to bleach my brain after reading this.”
“What in the name of Holy Mother was that????”
“200 pages of rape and sadism and degradation.”
“WHAT. THE FUCK. No. NO! NONONONONO.”
And my favorite, “I got this in a boxed set one Christmas from my GRANDMOTHER!” Apparently, her grandmother knew she liked fairy tale adaptations and bought her the series. I almost spit my coffee out when I read that review.
Ah, the wonderful world of romance. And to think, my grandmother started the Romance Writers of America. Yep, it’s that kind of passion that keeps our family interesting, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Oh, remember Fabio? He seemed to be gracing the cover of every romance book in the 80’s? Well, my grandma met him and he asked her, no joke, “would you like to pat my butt?” That story makes me smile. Every. Single. Time.
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