
I tried to read “The Da Vinci Code.” I couldn’t do it. I gave it 60 pages and put it down, took it back to Barnes and Noble and got my money back. I asked the cashier if anyone else had returned the book and he said that he didn’t know in a fairly snooty tone.
I have no plans on watching the film, but I did very much enjoy Anthony Lane’s review of it in The New Yorker. Anthony Lane is my favorite movie reviewer because of paragraphs like, “The film is directed by Ron Howard and written by Akiva Goldsman, the master wordsmith who brought us “Batman & Robin.” I assumed that such an achievement would result in Goldsman’s being legally banned from any of the verbal professions, but, no, here he is yet again.”
To say that Lane is witty is a serious understatement. The guy has been writing some of the most amazing and entertaining reviews now for the last 12 years.
I’m going to have to quote his review again.
“There has been much debate over Dan Brown’s novel ever since it was published, in 2003, but no question has been more contentious than this: if a person of sound mind begins reading the book at ten o’clock in the morning, at what time will he or she come to the realization that it is unmitigated junk? The answer, in my case, was 10:00.03″
“Should we mind that forty million readers—or, to use the technical term, “lemmings”—have followed one another over the cliff of this long and laughable text? I am aware of the argument that, if a tale has enough grip, one can for a while forget, if not forgive, the crumbling coarseness of the style; otherwise, why would I still read “The Day of the Jackal” once a year? With “The Da Vinci Code,” there can be no such excuse. Even as you clear away the rubble of the prose, what shows through is the folly of the central conceit, and, worse still, the pride that the author seems to take in his theological presumption.”
I don’t think it can be summed up much better than that.