Ten Years on … a Big Hand for Dan Brown
By K. V. Turley
Is it really only 10 years since the book named after a genius rose to the top of the bestseller lists—a name linked forever to that true genius, Leonardo De Vinci? The link with the painter, and what his art purportedly represented, was in theological terms to become, for some at least, akin to Darwin’s “missing link,” and as it turned out just as bogus.
Is it really only 10 years since the book named after a genius rose to the top of the bestseller lists—a name linked forever to that true genius, Leonardo De Vinci? The link with the painter, and what his art purportedly represented, was in theological terms to become, for some at least, akin to Darwin’s “missing link,” and as it turned out just as bogus.
Nevertheless, after dominating the bestseller lists for two years, an article appeared in the New York Times analyzing the book’s phenomenal appeal that was just then beginning to wane. The book’s author was the fantasy novelist, Dan Brown, with the novel in question being The De Vinci Code (DVC). It was about a cryptic code, but for some the greatest puzzle at its center was solely the mystery of how it ever became so popular.
First off, a vignette from those now distant days, and a true one at that. (When discussing DVC it is always best to make that distinction.) There was a train packed with passengers coming from somewhere bound for London. It had been a long journey, with books and magazines competing with the scenery for attention. In British trains it is common to have four seats facing each other and across the aisle something similar. Sitting opposite me were four fellow passengers all reading intently, reading oblivious to all else in fact, and, yes, all reading DVC. As the train pulled into its destination, one of the four raised her head from the printed page exclaiming to all present: “Why weren’t we told….” Presumably what she was asking was why her generation had been denied knowledge of secret codes scattered in famous paintings that now unlocked “the truth” and by so doing subverted all Western civilization and the whole of Christendom? Given the list of spurious “FACTS” at the start of the novel, I should have laughed out loud—or wept—at such a reaction. But sensing the earnestness of the exclamation what I felt instead was closer to panic, the type one feels when visiting an institution for the criminally insane with a full moon rising.
Today, it is easy to forget how widespread this “madness” had spread. On the airwaves serious discussion was to be had about the contents of what was barely a novel, labelled a “thriller,” seen as a pot-boiler, derided as an airport paperback, dismissed as a “beach read.” Were things really falling apart, was the center not holding? In short, were we losing the plot? And yet, on closer investigation, the “plot” all seemed remarkably familiar, and as I examined it further still, the “sketch” underneath began to reveal itself….
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Read more:www.crisismagazine.com
First off, a vignette from those now distant days, and a true one at that. (When discussing DVC it is always best to make that distinction.) There was a train packed with passengers coming from somewhere bound for London. It had been a long journey, with books and magazines competing with the scenery for attention. In British trains it is common to have four seats facing each other and across the aisle something similar. Sitting opposite me were four fellow passengers all reading intently, reading oblivious to all else in fact, and, yes, all reading DVC. As the train pulled into its destination, one of the four raised her head from the printed page exclaiming to all present: “Why weren’t we told….” Presumably what she was asking was why her generation had been denied knowledge of secret codes scattered in famous paintings that now unlocked “the truth” and by so doing subverted all Western civilization and the whole of Christendom? Given the list of spurious “FACTS” at the start of the novel, I should have laughed out loud—or wept—at such a reaction. But sensing the earnestness of the exclamation what I felt instead was closer to panic, the type one feels when visiting an institution for the criminally insane with a full moon rising.
Today, it is easy to forget how widespread this “madness” had spread. On the airwaves serious discussion was to be had about the contents of what was barely a novel, labelled a “thriller,” seen as a pot-boiler, derided as an airport paperback, dismissed as a “beach read.” Were things really falling apart, was the center not holding? In short, were we losing the plot? And yet, on closer investigation, the “plot” all seemed remarkably familiar, and as I examined it further still, the “sketch” underneath began to reveal itself….
..................
Read more:www.crisismagazine.com
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