When my job involves translating and editing heavy duty materials from engineering proposals to legal documents to breast-feeding manuals to news reports to golf articles (yes golf, repulsive, repulsive, repulsive ugh), once a month or once in two months I treat myself to chic lits. You know,those pink floozy girly romance books now a hit with women (and gay men) in their late 20s to those like myself and my peers in our 30s. Chic lits or chic literature are no brainer-no-need-to-think-happily-ever-after-endings. All pink and sweet candylicious and characters as complex as cotton candy at the fun fair. Just the way I like it. A good respite from life generally. Curl up with a chic lit and hot tea on a rainy day and that’s bliss defined.
Recently I read in the papers about a trilogy listed as chic lit. But the 3 books are not pink. They are black. Every other person on Facebook kingdom mentioned it. Curious, I used my mph voucher to get myself the first book of the trilogy.
And I read it. And by the 3rd chapter, I hollered. What the hell?! This is not chic lit! This is porn. *gasp* …My mates and I had a good laugh over whatsapp over this not so innocent buy. Another friend described it as housewife porn for those who graduated from the Twilight series, minus the vampires. Many others, especially on Facebook are complaining about this trilogy being sold so openly in public — what if their teenagers start to experiment, using this as one of those ‘for dummies book’ ?.
This world is getting more and more difficult to raise children in, ain’t it?