I just finished reading Cicero’s De Officiis, which was pretty good, but anyone who has ever plowed through fifty pages of a Dan Brown novel, as I did when, at the beginning of my honeymoon, I bought Angels and Demons in the airport, only stopped himself from throwing the book through the window at the gate by considering the cat-like reflexes of the TSA minions, forced himself to read fifty more pages before wanting to light the book on fire, and finally, out of a rare blend of German stubbornness, academic exhaustivity and a teeny, tiny bit of charitable benefit of the doubt, read another hundred pages, before giving up and vowing never to read anything by Dan Brown again, could hardly fail to laugh out loud at this wonderful and ingenious review, by The Telegraph’s Michael Deacon, of the renowned author’s latest surefire bestseller.
Here’s an excerpt:
“Hello agent John, it’s client Dan,” commented the pecunious scribbler. “I’m worried about new book Inferno. I think critics are going to say it’s badly written.”
The voice at the other end of the line gave a sigh, like a mighty oak toppling into a great river, or something else that didn’t sound like a sigh if you gave it a moment’s thought. “Who cares what the stupid critics say?” advised the literary agent. “They’re just snobs. You have millions of fans.”
That’s true, mused the accomplished composer of thrillers that combined religion, high culture and conspiracy theories. His books were read by everyone from renowned politician President Obama to renowned musician Britney Spears. It was said that a copy of The Da Vinci Code had even found its way into the hands of renowned monarch the Queen. He was grateful for his good fortune, and gave thanks every night in his prayers to renowned deity God.
Thanks, dear reader, should you ever find me, for not poaching upon the intellectual capital of mental giants who have gone before you and fobbing it off upon those who don’t know any better.