I could pretty much say without pause that my mama would not have approved of my summer reading list.

Mingled with my senior seminar readings on fair trade and after long days of work, I found solace in a silver knit tie, a red room and a flogger—none of which are things childish dreams are made of.  

This summer, I got kinky and millions of other people joined me. 

I’m not going to say E.L. James book, “Fifty Shades of Grey,” is a new age love story—the next “A Walk to Remember,” it’s not—and I’m not going to say it’s even among the top 300 well-written books I have read. 

In fact, I found myself holding back my desire to strangle protagonist Anastasia Steele, and her salsa dancing inner goddess. Anastasia is weak woman, something that I am not a fan of in novels. 

Yes, I read all three books in under 48 hours, and yes, I am excited to see who gets cast in the movies and similarly to go see it, but people who say this is good book are seriously mistaken. 

I’ll call the book what it is: readable porn. 

Christian Grey—get the title?—is pretty messed up, too, but I find his story better and not as annoying as Ana’s.

Ironically, “Fifty” has something that I call the Twilight-effect. I know it’s bad, and I even know that I’m losing respect for myself with each flip of the page, but do I stop? No. 

Am I ashamed? No, not really. 

As someone who grew up reading books that librarians really should have known not to give me (Harlequin romance novels are my vice), “Fifty” really isn’t the worst thing I’ve read, but it is the longest form of printed sexual debauchery that I think has come out in a long time (a la Kama Sutra). 

Half the fun of reading the books is knowing that you’re doing something that will lead you to a confessional later or to getting the disapproving or approving looks from people 30 years older than you are. And that’s something else that I find interesting: women my mother’s age are reading these books. At first, I was a little disgusted by this, but now I have changed my tune—share the smut. 

This craze of middle-aged women reading this book is not strange to me, like it was when they were emotionally attached to Edward and Bella’s romance. But E.L. James’ attachment (or obsession) is what led to “Fifty’s” inception—and for that I thank her. 

Some of you might not know, but “Fifty” actually got its start as the “Twilight”-based fan fiction, “Master of the Universe,” a story I read on FanFiction.net before it was paperbound. 

The novels’ downfall is that you can—or at least I could—tell that 1) it was based off of “Twilight” and 2) that it was a fan fiction. 

What I’m really excited about is for the movie…make it dirty…slap an NC-17 (under 18 need not enter) rating on it and suit up people, because it’s about to get 50 Shades of Weird and I couldn’t be any happier. 

So kick back, people. Thank God if you have some semblance of self-worth and pick up a book. 

For now, I have my self-esteem to keep me warm at night—that and Christian Grey. 

Nike Ogunbodede can be reached at 581-2812 or [email protected].