The Da Vinci Code Blues

What’s all this noise about the upcoming The Da Vinci Code movie? Almost every news website I’ve visited in the last few weeks featured something about the latest Tom Hanks vehicle, from calls for boycotts to an outright ban. What’s the big deal?


Oh, the thing about Jesus and Mary Magdalene and the Catholic Church. Right. Now I remember.

I read Dan Brown’s best-selling novel last year in less than two days. I found it to be highly entertaining. In fairness, he does spin a yarn so tight you just couldn’t put it down.

But that’s all there is to Dan Brown and his controversial book. Entertaining? Definitely. Enlightening? You gotta be kidding me.

I’m not Catholic. In fact, I’m not even much of a religious person at all. So I’m bashing Dan Brown not because his prose has deeply offended my religious sensibilities, but because he is a popcorn fiction writer presenting all historical “information” in his fictional book as fact. In short, I’d like to see Dan Brown flogged because he’s one, big, conceited p____k (fill in the blanks however you like).

If Dan Brown is an historian as he apparently claims to be, then I’m a quantum physicist. Criticisms of The Da Vinci Code are coming from just about every direction because the book is mainly replete with inaccuracies and outright mistakes, most of which pointed out by real historians and scholars who have spent their entire lives searching for historical truth.

According to critics, the book’s title itself is a prime showcase of Dan Brown’s pretensions to historical scholarship. Real historians and scholars, critics say, have always referred to the great Italian artist as “Leonardo”, because “Da Vinci” translates to “from Vinci”, which happens to be Leonardo’s father’s hometown. Simply put, “Leonardo Da Vinci” means “Leonardo from Vinci” in English. Unfortunately, this error, which a real historian would probably not make, echoes all throughout the book.

If I had Dan Brown’s historical acumen, I’d probably address my friend Carla, an Iligan native, as “from Iligan” in all my e-mails to her. (“What’s up, from Iligan? How’s married life treating you?)

But then again, if I had Dan Brown’s historical and writing savvy, I’d probably not be asking neighbors to tell creditors who come to collect at my house that I don’t live there anymore. I’d be richer than King Midas, just like Dan Brown is. Selling forty million copies and counting means serious moolah.

Dan Brown’s critics, the Catholic Church mainly, can boycott the book and the movie all they want. They can scream all their anti-Dan Brown sentiments until their collective jugular veins pop. Not that they matter anyway. The author would still walk laughing, stomach clutched with both hands, all the way to the bank.