How could I possibly suggest that Flowers In The Attic be read along to on a blog entitled The Heroine’s Bookshelf? Forget its compelling content, its underground appeal, its beach read perfection. Don’t I have a reputation to uphold, a standard of Literature to bear? Wouldn’t you, my literary friends, judge me (even though you were secretly longing to read the thing yourself)?
And then I read this. You see, someone is publishing an erotic novel called 50 Shades of Louisa May. It is exactly what you think such a book might