The 50 Shades Of Grey phenomenon is now so huge that even the haters are having a go (reading the book. Eww, what did you think we meant?) just to see what the fuss is all about. And it hasn’t stopped there either – suddenly, women who previously wouldn’t have dreamed of picking up anything saucier than a Jackie Collins are delving into the wider world of literary erotica. Of course, it helps that we can sneak our choice of reading material onto a Kindle (which, in a way, feels even naughtier). But what does your favourite bonkbuster say about your personality and, eek, your own sex life? Here, writer Isabel Mohan gives her verdict...
50 Shades Of Grey by E L James: you’re at pains to emphasise that you wouldn’t normally read anything so low-brow, of course, but you hate to be left out – after all, everyone else is talking about it, and you don’t want to look like a prude. In reality, your idea of S&M is rapping your man on the knuckles when he tries to pinch a Malteser.
Lace by Shirley Conran: sex for sex’s sake is not your thing – you need a plot, and the more dramatic the better. That’s how you conduct your personal life, too – you’re strong, confident and, to you, everything’s an epic saga to be gossiped about with your friends. Either that, or you’re just pretty old, and remember Lace from the first time around.
Riders by Jilly Cooper: if you’re not actually rich and posh, you’d certainly like to be. You dream of moving to the country and riding your way (in both senses of the word) to a bottom that looks as good in white jodhpurs as the infamous one on the cover. And, quite frankly, you find all this 50 Shades nonsense a little vulgar and juvenile.
Anything with vampires: you’re just so alternative, man. Why would anyone be turned on by a sleazy corporate sell-out with a red room of pain when they can fantasise about virgins being deflowered by pasty-skinned men with pointy teeth? In reality, dare we say it, you’re just a little bit scared of exploring erotic possibilities that might actually one day come true. Unless you’re Kristen Stewart, obvs.
Picture: Marcin Hayniewicz