I just finished Book 1 of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. Have you read it? It’s the latest thing in popular erotica, and I can see why. The erotic scenes are steamy and the subject matter is taboo, and yet there’s something comforting and predictable about the summer reading formula, complete with the voyeuristic impulse that goes with the status envy.
The “serious” literary press has trashed the writing, which I find too thin for my taste, but as an author of erotica I have high praise for aspects of this work by the TV-producing mum, E.L. James. 
I heartily approve of the compulsive contraception. More foil packets are torn in Fifty Shades than in all five seasons of “Queer as Folk.” And guys, seriously: if you don’t have a clue what a girl wants or needs in the nude (whips and chains aside), read this book. Finally, the best instruction may be for aspiring lawyers. If you are studying for the bar and you’re worried about failing Torts, this book reprints contracts in a mesmerizing, even sultry, fashion. If you forget key clauses here, forget hanging your shingle anywhere near me.
So why am I not rushing to dip into the second book?
It could be sensory overload. When they drank the Sancerre with the pasta I was thinking, whoa, baby, save something for dessert ! Guess I’m just a Picpoul-with-my-pasta kinda girl.
But I bet the real reason why my Kindle is still on low burn is that I’m waiting for my champagne delivery, in the form of Eros, the wonderful back issue of Lapham’s Quarterly from Winter 2009. I’ll savor that as long as I can before firing the Kindle back up Fifty Shades Darker.
Lapham’s Eros: now there’s a pretty girl bound to turn your head. Order it online—go ahead, command it!—from laphamsquarterly.org and tell me what you think.
