I want to heartily thank Janet Maslin of The New York Times from saving me the trouble of reading Dan Brown’s latest historical-consipiracy thriller The Lost Symbol. That is, of course, unless I get a strong bought of constipation and have to make friendly with long boring stretches on the can: ”Too many popular authors (Thomas Harris) have followed huge hits (“The Silence of the Lambs”) with terrible embarrassments (“Hannibal”). Mr. Brown hasn’t done that. Instead, he’s bringing sexy back to a genre that had been left for dead.”
Ugh, really? I think I just threw up a little at the thought of Dan Brown listening to Justin Timberlake while writing his latest novel.
“The new book clicks even if at first it looks dangerously like a clone. Here come another bizarre scene in a famous setting (the Capitol, not the Louvre), another string of conspiratorial secrets and another freakish-looking, masochistic baddie (tattooed muscleman, not albino monk) bearing too much resemblance to a comic-book villain. “If they only knew my power,” thinks this year’s version, a boastful psycho and cipher calling himself Mal’akh. “Tonight my transformation will be complete.””
Paging Buffalo Bill, paging Buffalo Bill, someone is stealing your transformation meme. If you do want to buy the book, you can do so like everyone else tomorrow morning or whenever. It’s not going anywhere. The book is going to fester like a boil.
Also? Don’t be the least bit surprised if I buy a copy, read it on the john and then come back here with a regretable, “ohmygoditsthebestfuckingbookintheentireworldyouhavetoreadthiswritenow” type of review. Just sayin’.
