So, I finished The Da Vinci Code. I am restraining my inclination to dissect it point by point, due to concerns that the InterWeb may not be large enough to hold such a document. Needless to say, I wasn’t impressed. I had a flicker of hope when things moved to England, because at least things actually happened that gave some merit to the idea that this was supposed to be a thriller (poorly written though they were), but then we got to the conclusion. The grand finale. Quite possibly, the biggest cop-out in fictional history. Avert your eyes, spoiler-police…
Leaving aside the conclusion to the grail-quest, a non-event of staggering limpness, the fact that the ‘real’ conclusion came through Sophie’s personal revelations was incredibly poorly judged. It could have worked – other authors have played big themes against personal revelation to good effect, because they’re simply better writers. In this case, the utter absence of convincing characterisation throughout the novel only heightened the anti-climax of the conclusion, because I had never bought into the character as anything other than a cipher to move the grail-quest along.
The only thing the book has going for it is that it details an entertaining, though obviously weak and unconvincing, conspiracy theory (and there’s nothing wrong with that sort of thing being the basis of good fiction – The X-Files got away with it for years on a global scale). The story is so weak though, that you would be far better simply reading the crackpot ‘reference books’ that cover the possibility of Christ having a bloodline in other ways. They’re a more entertaining read than this turgid drivel, by far.
I am now going to go and read some light philosophy, to see if I can resuscitate the many brain cells that have died in the course of this reading experiment. I only hope it works, and that I am not found later, whimpering and drooling on the pages in the dark.