by Elmysterioso » Tue Nov 16, 2004 11:18 pm
I found it:
Da Vinci Roulette
Below is one of the early book reviews I wrote for the Santa Barbara Independent. I've had a few people ask me about it and, as it's not on the Independent's web site, I've reposted it below for the curious, and likely to my own detriment. Originally titled Da Vinci Roulette, it appeared in print on April 22, 2004.
I've been cornered one time too many by someone earnestly trying to convince me that Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code is a great novel, when it's not. It's a fun read, I suppose; a reasonably interesting premise for a thriller with plenty of interesting factoids (though most of them seemed forcibly shoe-horned into the book) and an overall solid structure. It's the stuff that Hollywood blockbusters are made from, and Code will likely join their ranks in a few short years.
But it's not a great novel for one reason, and one reason only: Dan Brown can't write. There, I said it, the emperor has no clothes, there is no Santa Claus and Cousin Marty isn't resting, he's in a mental asylum. Living in a large, glass house, I'm loathe to trash another writer and I told my editors as much, but I've had too many quiet nights with a pint ruined by some moron derailing my silence with, So, have you read The Da Vinci Code? It's awesome…
Yes, I've tried… I'm about three quarters of the way through it. It's slow going, what with the blood leaking from my eyeballs every few pages, or having re-read a paragraph or a line of dialogue two or three times to ask myself, did he actually write that? People think this is good? Below are five passages I've quoted, minus the character names; two from the Code and three are not. See if you can tell which were written Dan Brown, and which weren't (answers below):
1) They walked past the huge multicolored and vaguely anthropomorphic metal sculpture that stood guard outside the station area. The sculpture always reminded [her] of how she felt after a heavy weekend: split into pieces, one eye by her toes, the other perched on her ear.
2) She was moving down the corridor toward them with a long, fluid strides… a haunting certainty to her gait. Dressed casually in a knee-length, cream-colored Irish sweater over black leggings, she was attractive and looked to be about thirty. Her thick burgundy hair fell unstyled to her shoulders, framing the warmth of her face. Unlike the waifish, cookie-cutter blondes that adorned Harvard dorm walls, this woman was healthy with an unembellished beauty and genuineness that radiated a striking personal confidence.
3) He relished the unaccustomed silence of the country and the privacy which the garden afforded. It was large, partly walled, and the remainder enclosed by a tangled hedge bordering fields that undulated from down to the village somewhere below. Wild and overgrown though it was, the garden had transmuted neglect into beauty: clematis and honeysuckle toppling over the crumbling brick walls and a confusion of rampant ivy threatening to smother the orchard.
4) Two minutes later she was creeping out of the open front door and heading for the path toward the stables. To the left of the gazebo, a heavy iron gate guarded the entrance to the grotto. She'd never been there- it had always been too overgrown- but she'd heard the gardeners clipping it back on her first morning… A quick examination confirmed that the padlock was missing. [She] brushed the orange flakes of rust from her fingers and gave the gate a shove. It swung open with an eerie creak.
5) Perfect. Now all that remained was to close and lock the door. Leaving the box on the ground for a moment, he grabbed the metal door and began to heave it closed. As the door swung past him, [he] reached up to grab the single bolt that needed to be slid into place. The door closed with a thud, and [he] quickly grabbed the bolt, pulling it to the left. The bolt slid a few inches and crunched to an unexpected halt, not lining up with its sleeve.
Paragraphs two and five, above, were both taken from The Da Vinci Code. The first, third and fourth paragraphs are taken from the following: Cheap Trick, by Astrid Fox (Black Lace, 2001); The Reckoning, by Anonymous (Blue Moon, 1998); A Gentleman's Wager, by Madelynne Ellis (Black Lace 2003). As you might have gathered, those last three are soft-core porn paperbacks; Astrid Fox' and Madelynne Ellis are most likely pseudonymns for writers who realized that Anonymous was already taken (is it me, or does Astrid Fox sound like some female superhero's alter ego?).
I'm not trying to be cruel, but prove a point. My first measure of a writer is how he or she handles language, and the level of writing in Code is clearly no better than pulp novel pornography. To be fair, there's likely some undiscovered and formidable talent wasting away in some of those little black paperbacks. But as near as I can tell, Code isn't much better than the bulk of those… having skimmed a number of them to find appropriate passages, I noticed that the writing in some of them was noticeably better than Brown's, though the dialogue was terrible in all of them; Brown also shares with his pornographic brethren a penchant for detailed descriptions of churches, museums and gardens, along with many parochial authority figures. The only things keeping Dan Brown from being just another Astrid Fox are a lot of dumbed down history lessons and a lack of spanking.