EL James published a new book so here we are again. Bets in the comments on if this one will be better or worse.
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Marines: A few months ago, Nicole and I recorded a live Q&A for our Patreon. Our friend Sam asked about the big differences in our media tastes, specifically if there is anywhere we super clash. The answer is no, not really. There are places where we are different by degrees or in terms of general tolerance. As we were explaining this, Nicole made the point that I probably more enjoy the hate consuming of media than she does. That’s totally true, too. I loved being snarky about things that are very clearly bad.
Here we are, then, at another book written by EL James. And despite the fact that this is more my jam than Nicole’s, here she is too! What a good friend and Snark Captain. I love you, don’t you just love me?
Sweeney:
Additionally, I’ve invited friend, fellow BookTuber, Snark Lady, and all around rad person Rebecca to join us as well. She didn’t even know this book was a thing, so you know, fresh meat, untouched by the layers of our deep trauma or something. Say hi, Rebecca!
Rebecca: Hi! I have never read literally anything by EL James. I am truly Pure. Something a male EL James character would hone in on immediately.
Mari: You are catching on already. Okay, the team is assembled. LET’S GO.
We start with a definition of the word daily.
Rebecca: Maybe, but that might be too original for her.
Sweeney: I feel like after we gave her such a hard time for knowing like 8 words (every FSoG post ends with a whisper/murmur count) I’m trying to optimistically take this as a sign that she’s trying to broaden her vocabulary. Shhh, I know what you’re thinking – let me believe in something.
Mari: Things are tough out there right now; we’ll let you have it.
We move on to a thing I especially hate in this brand of popular, poorly written fiction: the prologue. I realize that it might be weird that I have strong prologue feelings. Maybe it’s because every prologue in every book we’ve ever recapped on Snark Squad is always basically the same.
Rebecca: I’m so glad you also hate them. Back when I started getting serious about writing, a lot of editors and agents warned it was a red flag that you were an amateur writer. I think opinion has swayed because that was over a decade ago. I still detest prologues.
Mari: This particular prologue is a true EL staple: a trauma flashback.
“No. No. No. Not the black. Not the choking dark. Not the plastic bag. Panic overwhelms her, forcing air from her lungs. I can’t breathe. The metallic taste of fear rises in her throat. I need to do this. It’s the only way. Be still. Be calm. Breathe slow. Breathe shallow. Just like he said. This will be over soon. It will be over, and then I will be free. Free. Free.”
Free.
I mean, I hope she gets free. I personally feel trapped (Trapped. Trapped.) because I promise before God that this could’ve been copy/pasted from one of the Fifty Shades books wholesale. Is this about a new character or baby Christian Grey? Stay tuned and find out.
Sweeney: TRAPPED! TRAPPED! TRAPPED! Also: this is supposed to be a sexy book! This is not sexy! This is how you start a horror novel!
Rebecca: Marines, I already regret this. What are you having me read? I am Concerned.
Mari: I’ve read romance novels that have characters dealing with trauma, and yet they rarely start by throwing us head first into said trauma.
Our unnamed character runs out of a store, out into some woods, down a dirt path. Go go go. Run run run. Wait, actually, I should’ve put quotations around that, as they were actual quotes. “Go. Go. Go.” “Run. Run. Run.” — EL James.
More:
“Cold. Cold. Too cold. Fatigue fogs her brain. Fatigue and the cold.”
Fatigue and… did I mention it was cold? Just checking. Unnamed woman sleeps on the (cold) (R: so cold cold cold) ground and wonders if “the others” got away. She wakes up shivering, on account of how cold it is. She has to keep going, though, because she’s trying to get to a specific address “Now. Now. Now.” — EL James.
She walks on, she drinks some water at McDonald’s, she’s cold, she walks some more, she follows the map she stole from a store.
“Tired. So tired. Dirty. So dirty and cold and frightened.”
Writing the prologue this way does make it rather musical, but the beat is me banging my head against a table. What you mean it’s only page one?
Rebecca: She’s not kidding. The prologue is barely 1 page and felt longer than a poorly researched 10 page paper I wrote when I was 16.
Mari: Unnamed woman reaches her destination– Magda’s house. Magda welcomes and asks what happened. She was expecting her last week. We don’t get to find out what happened. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Chapter One.
“Mindless sex– there’s a lot to be said for it.”
Hmm, I’m going to guess that this is the dude’s chapter now. He says the only down side of mindless, no commitment, no expectation sex is remembering people’s names. Jojo? Jeanne? Jody? WHATEVER! “She was some nameless fuck who moaned a great deal in and out of bed.”
Oh, boy! Can’t wait until he remembers a woman’s name and loves all her sex noises. Then we’ll know he’s ~~in love~~.
Rebecca: You don’t understand, she’s different from all the other girls.
Mari: He’s going to mindfully sex her.
Anyway, tonight, Dude is sleeping with Caroline, his best friend. He questions the wisdom of sleeping with his best friend… again. He really hates himself for sleeping with his best friend. She wakes up and gets with the caressing, but Dude tells her they’ve done enough damage for one night. He can’t overcome his guilt. Bro, calm down, you were just calling women nameless fucks. I think you’ll survive sleeping with your bestie.
“This is Caroline, for heaven’s sake, my best friend and my brother’s wife.”
Oh, wait, shit. I take it back. YOU STEW IN THAT GUILT.
“Ex-wife. No. Not ex-wife. His widow.”
This was a rollercoaster of emotions.
Rebecca: I’m so fucking shook rn. More plot twists in those fives sentences than a Shyamalan movie.
Sweeney:
After a jump, Dude wakes up to an empty bed and a note from Caroline, asking him to join her for dinner with “daddy and the stepsow.” Dude thinks some more about how messed up all of this is, especially considering that the funeral for his brother was TWO DAYS AGO. And they started fucking literally the night they got the news that Kit, the brother, died. WOW. Um. Grief takes many forms?
Rebecca: NOT THIS FORM THOUGH. IT LITERALLY NEVER TAKES THIS FORM.
Sweeney:
“We danced the dance so many times, but that night I resigned myself to fate, and with an unerring inevitability, I fucked my brother’s wife.”
So when you said this was about grief, what you really mean is that you all were flirting a ton, almost had sex “many times” and the second you learned the brother/husband was dead, you both were like WELP IT’S INEVITABLE. TIME TO FUCK. Well, to borrow a tool from James herself: Wow. Wow. Wow.
Rebecca: The most logical of steps!
Sweeney: This is really A Choice for introducing our protagonist. But, you know, he keeps telling us he’s a piece of shit for doing this, so we can see that he’s on a ~*path to redemption*~ very fun can’t wait.
Mari: Now, I have to admit that I read nothing about this book before I opened it up to that definition of daily. I have no idea what the premise or plot are supposed to be or the names of the characters. I’ve been calling him Dude because I actually don’t know what his name is. They haven’t told me it yet, so I’m gonna go cheat.
Maxim Trevelyan. lol.
Rebecca: HAHAHAHA I JUST CHOKED.
Sweeney: You know what I never thought I’d say this but maybe it’s better if she just goes back to plagiarizing?
Mari: I took less than a chapter for us to arrive at “maybe just keep stealing things, girl.”
Anyway, Max calls himself pathetic, thinking that at least Caroline has the excuse of being in mourning and seeking solace in her best friend. I mean, that’s also true for him? And also I’m now comfortable enough to be judgey and say that “oops we sad sexed” isn’t really all that’s going on here.
Max is staring at the ceiling, describing the shadows that float above him, “light and dark seeming to taunt him.” Get it because he sad-banged his brother’s widow, but he feels bad about it. Shadows.
Rebecca: I know when I sad-bang my brother’s widow, shadows follow me everywhere. It is soooo distracting.
Mari: Max has a light moment, thinking about how Kit was apparently the good, well-liked brother who didn’t deserve any of this. Max has a dark moment:
“Who am I kidding?
Caroline and I deserve each other. She scratched my itch and I scratched hers. We’re both consenting and technically free adults. She likes it, I like it, and it’s what I do best, fucking some eager, attractive woman into the small hours of the morning. It’s my favorite recreational activity and gives me something to do– someone to do. Fucking keeps me fit, and in the throes of passion I learn all I need to know about a woman– how to make her sweat and if she screams or cries when she comes.”
Dear God, it’s like an infomercial for sex.
SEX: THE BEST RECREATIONAL ACTIVITY!
- Scratch your itch!
- Something to do!
- Someone to do!
- Stay fit!
- Learn everything you need to know about women!
Mari: I’ve got my fee all planned out.
Truly, my favorite part of this is sex as a fitness routine. “Hey man, you are ripped. You pump iron?” “Nah, bro. I just pump
Never mind, I can’t finish that joke. It’s for the best. (R: Marines! I’m no longer Pure.)
We pivot back to Max thinking about how reliable and good Kit was. He died because of a motorcycle accident, which is wild because Kit was the opposite of reckless. Unlike Max who is the black sheep of the family. He makes sure that no one has ANY expectations of him. He’s done wallowing now and decides to hit the basement gym.
“Running, fucking and fencing, they all keep me in shape.”
WHAT? Running and fencing are involved?? I FEEL LIED TO.
Rebecca: Wait. I just planned my next year’s wellness plan on sex as a fitness routine! Now I gotta redo it.
Mari: Weirdly, we break after details of this fitness routine and join him running on a treadmill. Usually he likes running because it helps him feel something even if it is misery and pain. (Why do people run?) (Love you Sweeney!) (S: To feel something even if it’s misery & pain, duh?) Today, though, he doesn’t want to feeling anything after this “fuck-awful” week.
“Fuck-awful?” Is the opposite of fuck-awful fuck-amazing? It’s gotta be.
Max keeps running.
“Run. Breathe. Run. Breathe.
Don’t think about Kit. Don’t think about Caroline.
Run. Run. Run.”
Max finishes his workout by jogging the end of his sprint. I’m no runner, but I’m not sure you can both JOG and SPRINT. I mean, my sprint would probably look like a jog, but I’d be going as fast I could!
Rebecca: My sprint looks like walking and my jogging weirdly looks like sitting on the couch.
Sweeney: I’m just here to confirm on behalf of the activity of running that this did not make sense.
Mari: The Activity of Running has spoken.
Anyway, Max thinks about how he actually has stuff to do today? Before Kit died, he just lived off his trust and spent his time 1- recovering from sex, 2- having sex and 3- planning for more sex. Kit named Max the executor of his will, though, so for the first time ever, Max has to be useful.
First, though, a shower and a(nother) quick ponder. What to do about Caroline? They’ve been besties since boarding school at age 13. She was his first love and his “disastrous first fuck.” Years later, she chose Kit and not Max. And one hot second after Kit upgraded to angel, she chose Max. Max is like “shit.” He thinks about this some more as he shaves and looks at his own reflection, which can only mean it’s description o’clock. I know you were dying to know: GREEN EYES, EVERYONE!
Rebecca: I was wondering why tf this book is like 500 pages, and now I know! We apparently need to follow every second of this riveting character’s routine. I can’t not know what he thinks about in his shower! How would I live with myself if I didn’t ponder with this beautiful soul while he shaves? So many layers here. Ew gross every layer is lubricated.
Mari: In his “dressing room” (rich people? British people? I have a feeling I’ll ask this a lot) he dresses in black jeans, a clean white shirt and a black blazer, because we also need all of this detail. He “grabs a coat to defend himself from the cold.” Personal taste thing here, but I hate writing like this. First of all, you don’t need to explain why you grab a coat, unless you are doing something truly unique with the coat. “I grab a coat to use it to build a fort later.” See? Then you tell us. Also who says “defend myself from the cold.” Actually, maybe I will now. I hate the cold. ARM THYSELF AGAINST YE COLDE.
Rebecca: Yeah that’s brilliant I’m stealing this.
Sweeney: Listen I hate every page I read to prepare for this post, but I live in Montana and sometimes I do need to take up arms against the great enemy, the cold.
Mari: I have come full circle to only talking about preparing for the cold as if preparing for battle. I’m not too proud to change my mind.
Just as he is about to leave, he remembers that Krystyna, his daily, is coming to clean today. It’s a good thing I was recently informed what a daily was!
Sweeney: He also pointedly tells us that she’s ancient? Which is fucking rude, but maybe guess this means she’s gonna die soon, because people need to die to make room for his new conquests.
Mari: RIP Krystina.
Max takes the stairs, because he may be a wastrel but he doesn’t use a lift, like, come on.
Outside, on the Chelsea Embankment, it’s cold, gloomy and gray. Hey, there’s the Thames. We’re in London, by the way. Max hails a cab.
He heads over to Pavel, Marmont and Hoffman, the family solicitors since 1775. Max tells himself it’s time to a grown-up and heads inside. There, the receptions flushes at the very sight of Max. She also has “olive skin,” the favorite description of authors who write 99.8% white people. (R: euughhhghhh) Max thinks she’s pretty “in an understated way,” and if these were normal circumstances not related to the very recent death of his brother, he’d have the girl’s number in 5 minutes. (R: EUUGHHGHH) I think this means we can look forward to another book full of women side characters who all just want to bang our main character.
Sweeney:
“Of course.” Mr. Rajah nods with a polite deference that I find irritating.”
Yeah, ugh, polite deference to your client who just lost a family member. ANNOYING.
We jump again to Max at his club, staring at fire, contemplating his new title as the Earl of Trevethick. Kit inherited the title when their father passed away suddenly and now Max has it following Kit’s death. It feels weird, like he’s intruding on his brother’s domain, but then he remembers intruding *eyebrow waggle* on his brother’s countess last night.
Rebecca: The amount of times he has to remind us that he’s fucking his dead brother’s wife is truly astounding. It’s been like eight pages. Trust me we remember!
Mari: Max basically tells us about being jealous of Kit, the title, and the fact that he got the girl for a while, but getting over it. Weird thing is that now everything is his, including the girl. And Kit didn’t leave anything for Caroline in the will, despite having updated it four months ago. Max wonders what he’s gong to do just as he gets a text from Caroline wondering where he is. He switches off his phone and orders another drink. He opens Tinder so he can meet someone new and hopes to also score some cocaine.
Rebecca: I’m truly seeing how the other half lives.
Mari: Another cut to Max showing his Tinder conquest around his flat. She’s staring out to the “murky water” of the Thames. I’m gonna go ahead and guess that the Thames is taking on the role of the inner goddess, and will hence forth reflect all of Max’s inner toil and emotions. If you are the drinking sort, get ready, ’cause I think we found our drinking game.
Rebecca: o no
Sweeney:
Sweeney: I was honestly a bit shaken by this unpredictable bit of character growth, not from any of the fictional characters but from the author? A shocking twist.
Rebecca: I mean I know I’ve heard bad things about 50 Shades but HOO BOY I’m glad I didn’t read them if this is a step up.
Mari: With absolutely no exaggeration, I can confirm this was a significant step up.
They kiss and Max talks about the taste of cigarettes in her mouth and her small waist and big boobs. He leads her to his bedroom and blesses his daily (did you know a daily is a woman who is employed to cl… lol just kidding) since the room is clean and tidy. Heather sways a little as they get into the room so Max pauses again to judge how sober she is. Neat. “Sober enough,” he concludes. Okay, kind of skeevy, and a second after I appreciated the try.
Rebecca: How can you tell someone is “sober enough” by looking into their eyes for 4 fucking seconds? And who are you to judge what “enough” is???? I mean this is clearly consensual, I don’t even know why she had to write that line at all. We can judge she’s excited and into this based on her actions and words and omg I just can’t.
Mari: It’s like she did better but then couldn’t help herself. Slipped in the extra line just to throw us off.
Max undresses Heather who gives him a “searing look from beneath her lashes.” God dammit, James. NO. NO BENEATH HER LASHES. They both keep kissing and head to the bed.
We cut away, and Max is once again reminding himself that this woman’s name is Heather. She’s still asleep beside him at 5:15am, and Max wants her gone so he can be alone. As promised earlier, Max has learned all he needs to know about her during The Best Recreational Activity: she works in telly, she lives in Putney, she likes to be on her front during sex, she’s quiet when she comes and she’s good with her mouth. Don’t we all feel like we know Heather intimately now? I hope you have a great life, Heather.
Rebecca: Heather’s pretty cool. Too good for this guy. Get out while you can, Heather.
Mari: Max is jealous of Heather’s peaceful sleep, and wonders if he’d acquire some of that serenity if he got to know more about her. And then he’s like “THAT’S STUPID, A WOMAN CAN’T SAVE ME!” Kind of. Not really, what he said, but I can imagine. He just wants her gone. Max recalls Caroline telling him he has intimacy issues and then just, like, remembers Caroline, whoops.
Rebecca: Did you know that Caroline was his dead brother’s wife and he fucked her?
Mari: Oh, good idea clarifying. We want to make sure everyone is following at home.
Max checks his missed messages and has 3 from Caroline:
WHERE RU?
CALL ME!
*POUTING*
Who texts like this? How old are these characters? I mean, at this point, I don’t think Max has any right to be mad at his best friend Caroline who just lost her husband, but *POUTING* is kind of an annoying text message.
Rebecca: I was going to make a joke about her being young but NO. I actually think this is how older people text. Classic Boomer Energy.
Mari: Max thinks Caroline should know that a quick tumble in the sheets isn’t going to change how he feels about her. He loves her, kind of, as a good friend. This feels slightly contradictory to his previous recollections of Kit getting the girl, but okay. Maybe you are conflicted. If only there was an external body of water to telegraph exactly how you are feeling iside.
“Above me the shimmers from the Thames bob and weave, free and easy. Taunting me. Reminding me of what I’ve lost.
Freedom.
And what I have now.
Responsibility.”
We are told again that Kit has bequeathed him everything from the estate and left nothing to Caroline. Also, in case you missed it, she’s Kit’s wife and they fucked. I realize, post typing that, it might seem like I’m adding onto this joke but:
“She’s my brother’s wife. And we fucked.”
Max figures Caroline must be feeling guilty like he is, which explains why she slipped out in the middle of the night. He types a quick text to tell Caroline that he’s busy.
Heather wakes up and smiles shyly at Max. Something she sees in him makes her decide it’s time for her to go. Max gives her privacy to change and stares out across the dark Thames. This drinking game is shaping up nicely, and by that I mean, please don’t die, I love you.
Rebecca: I only grabbed one bottle of wine, my dude. We gotta slow it down.
Mari: Heather show up and hands Max her phone number. Things are a little awkward so Heather comments pleasantly on the flat and notices the baby grand, asking if Max plays. He says yes, and she notes that must be why he’s good with his hands. She blushes at her comment, but Max graciously over looks it. They instead keep talking about Max and his many talents, as he also DJs, dabbles in photography and models. Max calls himself a jack of all trades with a self-deprecating smile and again, Heather picks up on vibes he isn’t even aware he’s sending.
The Uber arrives, and Max says he’ll call her. She replies that he definitely won’t, but it’s okay. That’s Tinder for you, and she had fun. She’s really good about just being like by, see ya never, and even compliments Max on remembering her name. She leaves him with a wish that he find what he’s looking for. Bye, Heather! I hope you really do have a great life! You seemed great and oddly perceptive of this mystery’s man internal turmoil! Must’ve been the Thames context clues! Bye!
Rebecca: Goodbye and blessings to you, water reader.
Sweeney: Heather got laid, got out, and got the Uber home paid for, so good for her. Wishing you all the best, Heather. We’ll miss you, but I know you’re in a better place, which is not in this book.
Mari: Max wonders what she meant by looking for something. He has this apartment, he had her, and he’ll have some other girl soon. HE DOESN’T NEED ANYTHING, OKAY? He goes back to bed but keeps thinking about Heather’s parting words. He also thinks about all the land and holdings he’s inherited, which also means lots of people are relying on him, including tenant farmers, estate workers and household staff.
Rebecca: And dailys!
Mari: Max curses Kit for dying and then half-cries himself into a stupor.
Rebecca: If he actually cried I might have liked him a little. Shame.
Next time on The Mister: The new daily shows up in Chapter 02.
I'm a 30-something south Floridan who loves the beach but cannot swim. Such is my life, full of small contradictions and little trivialities. My main life goals are never to take life too seriously, but to do everything I attempt seriously well. After that, my life goals devolve into things like not wearing pants and eating all of the Zebra Cakes in the world. THE WORLD.
Nicole is the co-captain of Snark Squad and these days she spends most of her time editing podcasts. She spends too much time on Twitter and very occasionally vlogs and blogs. In her day job she's a producer, editor, director, and sometimes host of educational YouTube channels. She loves travel, maps, panda gifs, and semicolons. Writing biographies stresses her out; she crowd sourced this one years ago and has been using a version of it ever since. She would like to thank Twitter for their help.
I am a book, movie, and TV fanatic over the age of 30. I love baking, video games, and D&D. Legally I must tell you I am a disaster. I've written like 6 novels but haven't had the real courage to query agents yet, and also I don't know how to make decisions (DISASTER). So please send me wine for Courage. Maybe a heart too. Oh and also a brain.
