True Obscenity: The Contract Language in “Fifty Shades of Grey”

I had been vaguely aware of the “Fifty Shades” trilogy, described in this Maureen Dowd column as “bondage-themed romanticas that have evoked hysteria, whipping up a frenzy with the housewives of Long Island and rippling out from there.” They feature a dashing mogul, Christian Grey, and the object of his stern affections, the winsome Anastasia Steele. (The names alone scream “Crushingly banal!”)

Even though I apparently live in the epicenter of this phenomenon, I had been prepared to ignore it. After all, I’m hardly in the target demographic. But I saw in Dowd’s column that the first volume, “Fifty Shades of Grey,” contains a contract, so of course in the name of art I had to check it out.

Five minutes later and $9.99 poorer, there before me on my Kindle was the contract in question, in chapter 11. If I could be bothered to read the book itself, I might end up with a more rounded view of the Mr. Grey. But based on the ponderous and mealy-mouthed prose of his contract, he’s no hunka hunka burning S&M love. Ms. Steele might be at risk of falling asleep before the first thwack of a riding crop, or whatever.

Grey is a telecommunications mogul, and he has evidently absorbed the semi-literate contract verbiage regurgitated by his high-priced lawyers. Let’s consider just a few of the contract’s failings:

Enough! I can’t take any more. If I were Ms. Steele, I would clap Mr. Grey in irons and vigorously administer to him, for his contract-drafting sins, a taste of his own medicine.