* Everyone else has; you may as well see what all the fuss is about. Possible contenders: prose style, plot, character development, profundity, endless pages about kinky sex? It's certainly one of them.
* Some readers say it really does capture that Teenage Kicks sense of all-consuming infatuation that smacks you repeatedly across all four cheeks when you fall madly for someone for the first time. Yeah, baby, give it to me, as Christian might say. But the feeling tails off for the 50 Shades reader much sooner that it does in real life.
* So why bother ploughing through it when it's basically the same chapter repeated 26 times (impressive length, indeed)? Well, the language Anastasia Steele uses to describe her ladyparts and her overwhelming emotions when pushed to her rosy-cheeked sexual limit is certainly eye-widening (something Christian does a lot): there are more Holy! exclamations than a 60s episode of Batman. "I groan loudly, gutturally, and revel in the fullness of his possession."
* The suave seduction techniques of white-shirted millionaire spanker Christian Grey are in the same OTT vein as Robert Downey Junior in Iron Man. But Iron Man stops short of asking his lady friends to sign an access all sexual areas agreement before getting down to the serious business of butt plugs and Ben Wa balls.
* The entirely present-tense prose style really is as off-putting as everyone says it is. It might give a sense of heart-racing urgency but limits any chance of getting to know Anastasia and Christian beyond cliche. It just adds to the feeling that we're voyeuristically reading a gushing teenage diary when we really ought to know better: "I blink at him momentarily, and then I turn over. He unhooks my bra and runs his hand down my back to my behind." Tap the Kindle screen or fiddle for the off button - your choice.
* It's a modern ladies' lexicon of coy sexual references: Christian repeatedly stills himself and finds his release: "He's my very own Christian Grey flavour popsicle." But for an English graduate with a repeated penchant for Jane Austen and Thomas Hardy, Anastasia has let the side down.
* There are some chuckles, especially the comedy sex similes that reduce the metaphysical to the humdrum: "Two orgasms... coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow." Wow indeed, Miss Steele.
* The most awkward bits are the recurring thoughts of Anastasia's Inner Goddess and her admonishing conscience. They conjure images of rival fairy godmothers on each shoulder, a bit like that 70s public information films about cartoon Dave who kept losing the girls because he couldn't swim: "Meet Mike; he swims like a fish." But swimming is not the primary aerobic activity here: "He groans again. Ha! My inner goddess is thrilled."
* There is some tenderness, literally and metaphorically, among the whip lashings. Christian may be a spanker but he's also a cream slapper: he gently applies ointment to Anastasia's palm-printed areas after one of their more vigorous sessions. The caring man behind the gimp mask.
* Ultimately, 50 Shades will disappoint anyone who's looking for either a sex manual or a really convincing, emotional story of sexual infatuation. But it doesn't claim to be either. It's a fantasy, and one relished by enough readers to warrant a read. And you can bet your sore behind that it's a better bedroom companion than iPad porn for anyone who prefers the power of their own imagination to pixels. Laters, baby.
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