Our Dirty Little Secret

I have been living in persistent anxiety the last few days that someone would “out” us, or at least suspect us, so I thought I should just get it out in the open. Air the dirty laundry, so to speak. Confession: Brady and I are over halfway through the latest Dan Brown novel.

I know, I know. You can spare us the “you should know better” lectures. We do know better. Your feelings of superiority are accurate. You are better than us. This post is in no way an attempt to justify or excuse the behavior. We have fallen from grace and readily accept the consequences. You may never trust our judgment or literary recommendations again.

But now that it’s out in the open, I finally feel free to talk about it. OH. MY. WORD. (*shudder* shake it off *shudder* again) GAHH. It has been a rough few days. I never made it beyond the first chapter of The Da Vinci Code. I couldn’t stomach the prose. I remember a couple years ago one of my students really trying to convince me that it was a good book. I agreed that it was probably entertaining, probably had an interesting premise, some suspense, maybe some interesting historical tidbits, but I held my ground that it was not good writing. To which the student responded, “Yeah, but when you read what he says, and then, like, look at the paintings, it’s, like . . . WOW.” A compelling argument in its own way, but still did not convince me of Brown’s literary merits. I was then assured that if I had taken this kid’s high school AP history class I would have better understood the real genius of the book. I personally find Heidegger’s ekphrasis of Van Gogh’s Peasant Shoes more enlightening than Brown’s contributions to art criticism, but to each his own way.

But I digress. I’d like to say this was all some kind of accident, that we stumbled into this unknowingly. But we were fully conscious and consenting. Brady downloaded an audio version of the book from audible.com because he was “just really curious.” The other night we were both exhausted and not really interested in TV, so Brady suggested that we start listening to it. My response: “Really? REALLY?! Why did you GET that? Are you kidding?” I was actually a little angry at first. Then I figured I’d just fall asleep, so might as well. Only I didn’t fall asleep. It’s not because I was pleasantly surprised at how gripping the story really was. It’s kind of like passing a car wreck and you can’t look away. I’ve been rubbernecking my way through this thing, having to constantly look back and comment at how unbelievable it all is. In fact, we have developed our own running commentary with the narration (a la Mystery Science Theater 3000) that has actually made the book quite entertaining.

Not having the text in front of me it’s difficult to remember specifics to share here, but the editor in me can barely hold still while we listen. If you do read it, you can expect lots of preachy sermons hidden in the guise of flashbacks to lectures the protagonist delivered to his college students (all conveniently remembered whilst running from the bad guys—though I usually pause to think about lectures I gave to my college students when I’m in a moment of crisis too). Also during these flights you will be treated to quite the tour of our nation’s capital, as the protagonist takes the time to notice fine architectural details and magnificent paintings and sculptures in various buildings (and explaining quite a few obscure and utterly irrelevant details about it all in the narration before we have to quickly rush away—again, a typical response in midst of crisis, or at the very least a good placeholder for all that research that makes the author look so, so smart but doesn’t fit anywhere else in the book).

You will not be allowed to forget that the Redskins are playing that night. Every security guard will be listening to or thinking about the game, several other characters will comment on it (because it’s these consistent, concrete details that make it so REAL). You could probably start some kind of interesting drinking game around words like “grope” and “elegant.” People are constantly groping: for light switches, for doorknobs, for memories, for ID cards—it’s as if the characters have lost all manual dexterity and are just flailing about for the most part. And so many things are “elegant”: city plans, devious schemes, artwork, and one character in particular is always described as “an elegant African American” (Dan Brown is so P.C.). Then there’s “noetics.” Don’t worry about what it really is, it just is, okay? Oh, and did I mention that the Redskins are playing? It seems to be awfully important that we know this.

You will know which characters are going to die and which won’t; the expendable people seem clearly marked as soon as we are introduced to them (sort of the counterparts to the guys in the red shirts on Star Trek). Expect that you won’t find out anything important until two or three chapters after the characters discover it themselves. Again, we don’t have the text, so we can’t see the chapter or section breaks coming, but any time characters can’t believe what they are looking at or a phrase like “that can’t possibly be what the message says” pops up, we know the scene will end before we get to see/hear/read what they do. Not being overly concerned with the outcome of this story, I find it more obnoxious than suspenseful in its utter predictability. What might help is some ominous organ chords pumping in duh-duh-DUHHNNNN after such statements. That or Ryan Seacrest popping in and promising “we’ll find out . . . after this” and cutting to commercial. With all the product placement and mention of name brands in the book, Brown might as well have sold advertising space (or maybe he did?). Other than all this, and all the drawn out, dispassionate discussions of metaphysical philosophy held in the midst of traumatic, horrific encounters with life-threatening situations, I’d say the book holds up okay.

I am, of course, leaving out the knit-picky discussion of Brown’s language. I wouldn’t say no one can mangle an ordinary English sentence quite like him (I worked in editing for years—I’ve read my fair share of mixed metaphors, stilted dialogue, misplaced modifiers, and intrusion of “big word” descriptors intended to make the author sound smart but actually terribly misused). But I would say that very few have quite so successfully duped readers into thinking they were masterful. Other people have written articles on that issue, so I will just add the comment that editors should be doing more than putting in or taking out commas. They should be the filters that keep such ridiculous missteps to a minimum. I had to spend some good time reading Billy Collins this weekend just to remind myself of the beautiful, charming, and cunning things the English language can accomplish (I highly recommend the poem “Bathtub Families” to cheer you up, though it is as difficult to find the prime example of Collins’s good work as it is Brown’s bad).

Sometimes while we are listening I zone out a bit and daydream parody versions. One scene in which the two main characters were poring over a painting, culling all the hidden meaning from it, reminded me of when I took my nieces to see an exhibit of Walter Wick’s I Spy series last summer. We stood in front of some of those pictures for ages pointing out all the hidden details with the same intensity, minus the suspicions of centuries-old conspiracy theories lurking behind the art. But what if there were secret encryptions in children’s picture books that pointed to little known (though easily hyped) legend? Perhaps Brown’s next work could involve a conspiracy theory behind children’s picture books, wherein the evil Scholastic has secretly brainwashed us all, but our hero will discover the long-lost heir of Waldo (of Where’s Waldo fame) and Carmen San Diego—an invisible child who can never be found—to restore the ancient order of things.

Now, before any fans gets defensive of Brown’s work and take all this critique personally, I would point out two things. One, I have no problem with this kind of writing being out there. The action/adventure, light, beach-reading/guilty pleasure sort of book has its place. If people want to read it, fine. My problem is when it purports to be something it is not; people buying $75 leather-bound copies of The Da Vinci Code and saying that book changed their life is too much for me. (I heard one commentator say that the real hoax was 40 million people getting together and saying it was the best book they ever read.) Dan Brown is not an exceptional author. In 100 years most people will likely not have heard of him or be reading his work. He is someone who wrote something and got an incredible marketing campaign for it and for some reason it took off more than the other mediocre novels out there. Getting something made into a movie doesn’t mean you’ve done good writing or good research, nor does it get you into the canon. Just gets you lots of money. The second thing I would point out for anyone personally offended by this critique is that I am reading the book too. I am right there with you. And, if I follow through and finish the book, I will have to add Dan Brown to the list of authors I have read. Dostoyevsky, Austen, Dickens, Twain, the Bronte sisters, Faulkner, Ellison, Morrison, and Shakespeare will all have to make a small space for Brown in that increasingly less prestigious club. To which I say: Well played, Mr. Brown. Well played.