New Dan Brown novel

My daughter Emmanuelle happened to give me the only Dan Brown novel I possess: the notorious thing whose title evokes the great Leonardo da Vinci [1452-1519]... who surely did not deserve to be manhandled, five centuries after his prolific existence, by a muddy-minded and pretentious US writer.

I was incapable of pursuing my reading of Brown beyond the first few pages of his ghastly tripe. Even the boring movie with Tom Hanks didn't unblock me. I'm simply unable, viscerally, to consume Dan Brown's words and thoughts. They give me an uncontrollable desire to vomit. Meanwhile, I see that this celebrated US novelist pursues his activities, no doubt astronomically successful. Click here to see a delightful review of Brown's latest twaddle.

 

Click here for further amusing criticism. If one were to ask me how a lousy novelist can become filthy rich through his shit, I would reply that the first step consists of being American.