Dan Brown’s Brilliance

Despite the numerous—and completely valid—critiques of Dan Brown’s writing style and use of historical “fact”, I can’t even tell you how excited I was when I discovered that he had written a new book. Wanting to throw myself into it completely, I waited until I was on vacation and then downloaded it. It took me about five days to read, but that was only because I was actively slowing myself down. I doubt that I’ll ever forget where I was when I finished reading it – in the arrivals hall at Prague’s Václav Havel Airport, looking out towards the taxi stand and feeling that the world had irreparably changed. Inferno – another classic.

I probably shook my head then, to empty it of the blinding revelation at the end of the book. With Dan Brown’s books more than most others, I frequently have to remind myself—as should the legions of outraged critics and even whole countries that have banned his works—that Dan Brown writes fiction. The stories that we read in his books are not true. He sure does have a way of pulling you in, though.

I should perhaps mention that my bachelor’s degree is in English. You know, words. The language. Literature. I had to both read and write a fair amount to get it.

Anyway, the plot of Inferno follows the same general structure as his other books (I once made the mistake of reading Angels and Demons, Deception Point, and Digital Fortress too quickly in succession to forget the pattern, so I immediately knew who the bad guys were when they entered the story). Robert Langdon wakes up with a mystery on his hands, and he has to use his knowledge of art and symbology to save the world from something horrible – in this case, a mystery virus.

The historical figure in question this time is Dante Alighieri, whom the nefarious creator of the virus regards as a sort of prophet. Various characters appear to accompany Langdon, and you read along without knowing whom to trust. He takes you on an exhilarating ride through multiple cities, and when you finish you’re practically out of breath. What’s not to like? As long as you’re not reading Inferno to learn how to write actual literature, I don’t see anything wrong with losing yourself in Dan Brown’s world.

Really, the books have several uses even besides a few days’ entertainment. They offer valuable vocabulary lessons, for one. I started a list of “words Dan Brown taught me,” and at the end I had ‘chthonic’ (relating to the underworld), ‘numinous’ (spiritual or supernatural), and ‘eidetic’ (a word to replace ‘photographic’ in ‘photographic memory’, which Robert Langdon of course has). And luckily for me, he used each one of them at least once every 20 pages, so now I’ll never forget what they mean. Brown’s stories are also great guidebooks. Robert Langdon’s travels in Inferno gave me a wonderful chance to relive my own experiences in those cities, and my family and I bought a second copy of Angels and Demons to take with us to Rome. Our dog, ever the literary critic, had eaten the first one.

I, however, have always been loath to listen to my dog’s book recommendations. I went ahead and paid full price for Inferno, and in no way do I regret it. The suspense! The historical tidbits! The art references! The badly drawn caricatures who function as characters! The terrible butcherings of the language! The twists, my God, the twists! Go out and get it now – or wait until it comes out in Czech in the fall, so that you can tell me if his Czech translator maintains the, um, quality of his English writing. I’m already looking forward to the next time I can throw my English degree out the window and believe, for a couple of hours, in a world that disregards both the rules of grammar and the facts of history.

Autorka studuje český jazyk a politiku na univezitě v Glasgowě a je stážistkou Respektu

Knihám amerického bestselleristy se věnuje i text Literární inferno Dana Browna z Respektu č. 26