Dear Ms. James, Mother of Mommy Porn

Dear Ms. James, Mother of Mommy Porn,

Like the Twilight books that were your genesis, I spurned your books as your fame rose.  I was certain that they were not for me, and though curious about what could drive your sales to such stratospheric heights, I said, “So many books, so little time!” and I kept chipping away at the mountain of other books by my bedside.  Books with Weight and Literary Merit.

Then there was a hint that you might be a pick for our book club, and then, not one, but two mothers enthused that you were so, so bad but sooooo good, and then, it was official and you were this month’s pick.  I bowed to the weight of consensus and bought all three of your naughty little tomes.  (If these were going to read like Twilight, I did not want to have to wait for the next installment.)

Well Ms. James, thank you for a very entertaining Mother’s Day.  Your pronounced lack of Weight and Literary Merit kept me awake until the small hours all weekend.

Marcelle recently quipped that the most outrageous fantasy in your erotic romances was that a recent graduate of university would land, not one, but two interviews at a publishing house right after graduating.  To this I would add another thing that sorely tried my suspension of disbelief.  Your heroine does not eat when she is heartbroken.  She loses weight because she forgets to eat.  Please.  In addition to being a virgin, has she also never heard that the pint size of Hagen Daas was made for just such occasions?  Her boyfriend eats the ice cream off of her in a reunion scene.  Bullshit.  The ice cream in her freezer would have been history 30 seconds after heartbreak.

But you really do get the mommy porn right with the domestic staff.  I know I’m not quite getting into the spirit of things here, but when the narrator takes us into the Red Room of Pain, all I can think is, “Who cleans in here?”

The marvel of your book is that you provide an answer for that.  The ever competent, and largely invisible, Mrs. Jones.  She cooks, she cleans, she launders, she anticipates everyone’s domestic needs, she meets them, and she disappears.

Ms. James, your Christian Grey was delightful to meet, but in real life, I’d take your Mrs. Jones any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Thanks again for a great escape.

Fond regards,

Nathalie Foy

 

 

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6 thoughts on “Dear Ms. James, Mother of Mommy Porn

    • Are you going to read book 2?! The relationship changes quite a lot in the second book. For the better, I thought. If the naysayers, who claim these books set feminism back a century, had read past the first book, they’d have less to gripe about.

  1. Brilliant, thank you. Unfortunately I couldn’t finish it, but your summary has done me nicely.

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