Whenever we encounter something particularly repetitive — especially if it’s a book or a movie that slams the same point home ad nauseam — Jill and I call it “beating a dead horse to death.” Yes, I know that phrase is redundant itself, but it also illustrates that the redundancy we’re referring to is not just useless, but exquisitely overdone. If I really want to emphasize the redundancy in something, I’ll go even further and talk about beating a horse to death, resurrecting it as a zombie, then bludgeoning it into inanimacy again.

All of this is to say that E.L. James’ new book, Grey: 50 Shades of Grey as Told by Christian, is caught in some hellish spin cycle of endless zombie horse torture. It’s right up there with Stephenie Meyer’s Midnight Sun — which is Twilight from Edward’s point of view — in terms of gratuitous fatuity. Naturally, I have it on reserve at the library so I’m first in line to read it when it arrives…assuming I can suppress a) my gag reflexes, b) my pain sensors, and c) my compulsion to throw it across the room.