Alright, let’s talk books. That’s correct folks! Here is the book corner, where we tear books apart like a riftrax on speed, only with the moving pictures and cool soundtrack.

Book this time is: The Da Vinci Code

Let’s start off by saying that this book was not originally read for pleasure. However, after about chapter 45, it was sheer joy to my critical side until about chapter 89 when things began to drag on a little too long even me. The writer, (who for his own safety we shall call Dan B. No, that’s too obvious, let’s call him D. Brown) did not realize this as he wrote in this book-to-movie style.

Now, let’s talk criticism. I did not read that book as a religious person who has fear of the Lord. Rather, I approached the book as a student of writing styles and formats. Being an aspiring writer myself, I am always interested in whose styles to adapt or avoid. For all those writers out there I must speak honestly. His short chapters and cliffhanger endings are capturing and got the job done to keep the reader interested. There were points where I could literally not put the book down because I didn’t want to not know what was going to happen next. We give him one point for chapter flow.

Next up (sorry Danny boy) is writing correctness. Or what his editor thought passed for it. Within the first 15 chapters I counted no less than 15 breaks in the writing, either by grammatical error, spelling error, or simply a poor sentence format. No one likes to have to read the same sentence over and over again, especially when it hurts the eyes to look at the poor construction. I deduct a point for this pattern that he didn’t outgrow as the story progressed.

What about the story? Well, I will admit I love a good conspiracy story and this one had all the makings of a good one. However, Dan takes it a little too far beyond even possible belief. The story, which granted is not as irreligious as it is simply blasphemous, was fun with all the clichés and earmarks needed to make it your typical thriller/adventure. Even the characters have all the trappings needed for your perfect high adventure story. The bookish, tweed jacket wearing hero (more on him later) the foreign heroine who shouts out random foreign phrases in order to remind the reader that she is, indeed, foreign. The crippled best friend who is eccentric and knows most of the answers anyways, so it seems almost silly to have the hero along. Yes, I know that sentence is poorly writ, but given who I am writing about you’ll have to forgive me.

Let’s talk heroes. Yes, let’s do that shall we? E. Gads. For all those who cannot clearly picture this ruggedly handsome, nattily dressed, sexy baritone man, please turn to the back cover where you will find a picture of your hero. In all his balding glory. Granted, the hair color is not the same, and Dan shares the same curse as our country’s beloved chinless George Lucas. But really! It’s him! Dan, under the name of Langdon, is your hero! Down to the natty tweed jacket and ascot. Maybe someone forgot to tell Dan that Indiana Jones held the market on college professors who also saved the world from immeasurable dangers and that neither he nor his alter ego are needed at the moment. Harry Ford ain’t in the wheelchair yet.

Now, let’s talk about the part that I really, really, really like. The random facts. Now, if you know me and if you’re reading this webpage you do, you know that I love random facts. I sprout them out like water from a cute little naked water statue in a theme park in the center of a fancy food court with classical music blaring out of imitation rocks that are really speakers. Ask me anytime and I can tell you something random that will get you nowhere in life but will make you feel smarter compared to the dunderheads you see every single day. However, there comes a time in anyone’s life when the random facts are just too, too much in coming. And when they disturb the flow of life itself, then there must be anger and fire and brimstone and very strong glares. Someone needed to tell Dan that very thing. No one ever consults me about such matters and so the man went into his story with both eyes closed (which also explains the continuity problems that would pop up from time to time). It was around the one millionth time that the story was put on hold so that Dan could show off his “infinite” knowledge about sometime irrelevant to the story, or to my life entirely, that I was done with facts and figures and people in general. I no longer cared about the Rose line, or the symbols of male and female, or the pagan rites from long ago, or how long the Louvre was, or how high the Eiffel Tower was, or where to stand to see all the major buildings in London, or the architectural style of the building that was NEXT to the building that was prevalent to the story. I desired not to know how many glass panes there were in the damn glass pyramid in France built by some idiot or other. I wished no longer to be told historical facts that turned out to not be entirely true anyways. I longed simply for a story. I was denied this simple want and forever I shall have ache in my soul at being deprived of such a simply thing.

You can tell that this bothered me the most because it has the longest paragraph to its name.

Now onto the biblical problems of the story. Or, shall we say the obvious ramblings of a man who was forced to live the rigors of the Catholic life and did not like it one bit. We’ve all met that kind; they are irrationally angry about things they know nothing about; they complain about things that no longer should matter to them, now that they have thrown off God and the Church; they make themselves the target of every single Catholic joke towards the rest of humanity. They are, in fact, the butt of all our “other religion” jokes. And they don’t even have a religion! I could not tell which the book managed to do more: blaspheme God or malign Mary Magdalene. Dan I don’t think realized that in “elevating” the “whore,” as he frequently called her, he made her the spectacle of laughter.  She’s going to have something to say when he finally makes his way to the pearly gates and I can say with some certainty it’s not going to be “thanks.” The book of Phil? Really? Come on, man. At least try! The “passages” read sounded like something I would find in the teen section at the library.

“Why does Jesus like her more than me, man?” sayth Peter with a pout, “I’m, like, totally cooler than she!”

“Chill dude,” replied John, “He’ll get over it and return to you. Besides, we do what he says because we’re just men and she’s a chick.”

I paraphrase of course, but you get the gist. I read it multiple times trying to figure out what was wrong with the “passages” from these fake bibles when it struck me that they were written in the modern dialect of the 21st century. Someone forgot to tell Dan that the bible is a little older than 1970.

In short, and let us end this before I ramble on too long, I came to the conclusion as I shut those pages that this was the work of a man that wanted not only to be loved by all women, but to be a women himself. This was the ranting of a soul who had issues with his life and didn’t want to blame his inability to get a girl on himself, but rather the symbol of what he was: a man. This is the fantasy of a teacher that needs to stop crushing on the foreign exchange students in his literature class because that’s creepy. This is the story of a man who needs to get a new tailor. This is the daydream of Dan Brown.

I apologize.