من أكثر الروايات شهرة في عالم الروايات البوليسية اللتي يلفها الغموض من كل جانب و يرافق الفضول و التشويق القارئ حتى النهاية.

لكن هنا سأسكت قليلا احتراماً و تقديراً لجهود الكاتب في نقل صور الأماكن و المآثر المعمارية بهذه الدقة و الغدق في التفاصيل دون ملل مع معلومات تاريخية عنها هنا و هناك خلال المغامرة الشيقة والممتعة للبطلين.

زاد عشقي لإيطاليا من خلال رحلتي بين الكاتدرائيات و الكنائس و المآثر التاريخية بالعاصمة روما في كل مرة اتوقف عن القراءة و أبدأ بالبحث عن اسم المكان المذكور و أندهش من الجمال المعماري للمدينة و أعود للقراءة و كلي فضول لمعرفة المزيد و المزيد عن رحلة بروفيسور علم الرموز و صوفيا، رسالة من جدها المتوفي في لوحة دافنشي تحاول جاهدة فك شفرتها المعقدة لكشف غموض هذه الرسالة.

ثم ندخل متحف اللوفر في عاصمة الأنوار و العطور باريس و جولات سياحية ثقافية بين لوحات و تحف المتحف.

متعة حقيقية و معرفة جيدة ومغامرة لم تكن الاخيرة مع البروفيسور

PLEASE do NOT recommend The Da Vinci Code to me because you think it's brilliant. Please do not try to explain to me that it is a "really interesting and eye-opening book." Just don't. Please.

I've read Iain Pear, I heart Foucault's Pendulum, Dashiell Hammett is my hero, Alan Moore is My Absolute Favorite, I listen to Coil on a fairly regular basis, and cloak n' dagger secret society/Priory of Sion/Knights of Templar-tinged num nums make me a very happy girl... but if you truly believe that Brown's stupid airport thriller has ANY right whatsoever to be placed in the same category with Michael "Wooden Dildo Dialogue" Crichton, let alone Umberto Eco, kindly keep this opinion very far away from me, or the ensuing conversation we have will not be constructive or polite in any way.

I loathe Dan Brown. I resent him for spoon-feeding the masses pseudo-intellectual "Holy Blood, Holy Grail" D-grade thriller shite under a pretense of real sophistication, and getting orally serviced by The New York Times for his effort.

I'd heard that the novel was meticulously researched and contained some really interesting and controversial assessments of religious zealotry. Um, not really? Well, not by my Merovingian standards, anyway. :D

Let's put it this way. If Dan Brown was teaching an Insurgent Christian Symbolism in Art and Literature 101 class at my local community college, I'd definitely have a different opinion about him.

But NO. Dan Brown is not a professor of anything but pap. He is a barely competent thriller writer who wrote an AWFUL book that I could not bear to finish because I felt my IQ plummeting a little further with every "Let's Go to Paris! Guidebook" description and blowhard authorial essay. Oh, don't even get me started about those cute soliloquies the main characters are so fond of delivering, ever so calmly, often while cops n' bovvers are chasing them.

The characters are weakly drawn. The dialogue is excruciating. The research is shoddy and self-serving at best. The plot, no matter how open-minded you are, is beyond ludicrous. It's laughable enough to be incorporated into the next Indiana Jones movie. That'd be sweet, dude.

What really irks me are Dan Brown's sanctimonious interviews, wherein he shows off all of his priceless antiques while expressing his abiding convictions that the American public needs a "deeper appreciation" of art and history and culture. What a shallow, self-aggrandizing hypocrite. I'm all for fictional subversion of the dominant Catholic paradigm, but only if the subverter knows what the hell they're talking about. Brown DOESN'T. He's all "la la la, connect the dots" but the picture he comes up with is awkward and unconvincing.

The DaVinci Choad is a dead easy, nay, downright lazy read, and yet droves of people are patting themselves on the back for having read and *gasp* actually understood it. Like this is some spectacular achievement? WHY? What, because the slipcover describes it as "erudite"? Are you fucking kidding me?

Don't believe the hype, kids. You are profoundly more intelligent than this holiday page-turner gives you credit for.

If you really, honestly, just plain liked the book, that's cool I guess. Maybe you also prefer Anne Geddes to Alfred Stieglitz, Kenny G to Sidney Bechet, John Tesh to Igor Stravinsky. Your prerogative. Just.... please don't try to tell me that this is "fascinating" or "meaningful literature". Frickin' read The Club Dumas or something. Then we'll talk, and I won't want to shoot myself in the face.

Alright, glad I purged that poison from my system. Carry on.