What the women’s auxiliary of the Manhattan cultural elite are reading:

The series, by E.L. James, has a nickname, actually several: “The Book,” “Twilight for the grown-up set,” “mommy porn,” and the “mouthpiece for a generation.” Dana Schuster writes, it “is rapidly becoming a cult hit among Manhattan women, who are exchanging well-worn paperback copies and excited whispers about the book’s ‘red room of pain’ (Grey’s in-house sex playroom) everywhere from Fred’s at Barneys to parent-teacher conference night at school.”

It is functioning as a tool for female bonding, an aphrodisiac to women who might not be otherwise all that interested in sex with their husbands, a marriage revitalizer, a glimpse into the joys of reading for children who’ve never seen their parents doing it so much, and an educational supplement about BDSM:

“I found myself explaining what BDSM [bondage, discipline, sadism, masochism] was to some of the moms at a Saturday morning basketball,” says power publicist Alison Brod, who hails “Fifty Shades” as “the new kabbalah for female bonding in this city.”

I don’t think that’s what the women’s book clubs in St. Francisville are into these days. Then again, we don’t have any power publicists around here.