INFERNO (ROBERT LANGDON, #4) by Dan Brown

"Abandon hope all ye who enter here" 

 ~ Dante's Divine Comedy. 

 (Oh, Mr.Brown...the irony and the accuracy)

  ---------------------------------------------------- 

The last Dan Brown novel that I recall reading and enjoying to the hilt was Angels & Demons. So, when I proudly hefted his new tome INFERNO home from the book store, I was all:



And then, barely twenty pages had passed by and my buoyant emotions pretty much went The Little Mermaid Way:

 

The author has decided to morph into a dry-as-day-old-bread version of Wikipedia. And also, into a closet tourist guide - a tourist guide who will bore the sweaty and itchy tourists into a rigid stupor as he drones on, ad nauseum, about every gilt-edged pillar and every conspiracy-ridden niche that the museums of Italy seem to be overflowing with. 

And might I add that the plot was non-existent. So my reaction at the complete absence of a storyline began at a mild:



laboured along at a steady:

 

and eventually escalated into a full-blown:



But wait, there was more… 200 Pages on and we are still sifting through a sea of unnecessary facts, vapid musings of the characters and brick-by-brick descriptions of Italy’s hotspots.
And still, no plot.

 I am getting a tad snitty and mighty snotty now, Mr.Brown.
 Take it from here, Miss.Pony:

 

I’m trying to keep an open mind. I’m trying to remember that one day, I will write a book and I will not want reviewers to tear it to soul-destroying shreds. I remind myself that Dan Brown is an articulate man with a brilliant mind.

But a description of Gondolas? Which, for the record, wasn't essential to the plot. REALLY, Mr.Brown?!?

 

AND, if I have to hear about the Provost’s deeply tanned face or his sun drenched visage one more time:

And then, a faint glimmer of hope.
THE PLOT! It exists! It’s alive!!
Hallelujah!



But wait, I spoke too soon. What you saw and read and believed is NOT what you saw and read and believed.
Yes, big shock there, Prof.Langdon.



On a parallel (but seemingly wholly unrelated) note, is the plot progressing? Nope. No sir. Not at all. It’s just more pages of lectures and descriptions and yes, lectures.

 

Stop it, Mr.Brown! Stop it. Please. I am getting big imaginary welts on my forehead with all these big imaginary medieval *headdesks*

 

It’s not right. I want to stop. But I have paid a third-cousin-twice-removed-duke’s ransom for this book.
I must finish it.
I must.
I will see the promised land.

But it’s a lonely path.
And it’s dark.
 *help* 



Why is it not ending? Why!?!


Mr.Brown. STOP. Please. For the love of Angels & Demons, STOP.

 and... oh look, I'm done.


Deep in my heart, having emerged from INFERNO with my wallet lighter, my head throbbing and my spirit chafed, I only have to say this:

---------------------------------------------------- 

To summarize, I broke my rule of writing scathing reviews because:
a) An interesting premise could have avoided a long and messy demise, had the book been 200 pages long. 200 pages. Not 400 agonizing, brain-numbing pages long.

 b) Reputed and respected Prof.Langdon is facing what could probably be the biggest catastrophe of his life. And his reactions? Dry chuckles. Startled asides. The occasional uppity smirk.
Kristen Stewart. Rejoice. YOU have more expressions than Robert Langdon.

 c) Sienna Brooks was a huge disappointment. And really, were her actions justified? I think not. Prof.Langdon, stop acting all noble and understanding. You just want to, excuse the crudeness, get into her pants.

The Raven Boys (Raven Cycle, #1)

 

SYNOPSIS:
Despite her eccentric clothes and irregular-on-purpose tufty hairstyle, teenager Blue Sargent is touted as the sensible girl in her family. After all, in an estrogen laden household that comprises psychics, clairvoyants and mystical seers, Blue is almost an anomaly.
However, Blue has the essential essence that makes someone else’s psychic power stronger. Almost like a human battery charger. In a lifestyle rife with mystical happenings, Blue and her mother Maura have an yearly tradition. Every year, on April 24th,St.Mark’s Eve, the duo head off to the local ruined churchyard and keep watch on a path, eerily named The Corpse Path. Along it walk the soon-to-be-dead-in-twelve-months souls and they can only be seen by Maura. Blue, happily enough, has never sighted them.
But this time around, a spirit of a young man is suddenly visible to Blue and he speaks directly to her. His name is Gansey and he is a student of the privileged local private school, Aglionby. If that hasn’t freaked the beejesus out of Blue enough, she is blithely informed by her aunt that the only reason a non-seer like Blue could see Gansey was because either Gansey is Blue’s true love OR Blue will be the reason behind Gansey’s death.
Happy times.

Coming to Gansey, he is no ordinary, what-on-earth-is-this-magical-mumbo-jumbo kind of obnoxious high school prat. Gansey is a boy on a mission. A mission to discover a ley-line (an invisible energy line that connects spiritual spots), a tomb that lies on this particular ley line and the tomb’s legendary and royal occupant, Owain Glyndŵr (Owen Glendower). So what happens when Blue and Gansey cross paths? All this and so much more in the first instalment of The Raven Boys.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

MY (gushing and completely non-Critical) THOUGHTS:

I LOVED THIS BOOK! I DID! SERIOUSLY, BEST.THING.EVER! I could leave it at that. And be content. But the book is so rich and delicious that I need to say a bit more.

#1: Blue. Dear Blue, how straight up are you? No emo drama. No angsty silences. No supposedly endearing but actually spoilt flashes of teen rebellion. No long drawn out monologues about love, life and Gansey’s fanning eyelashes. I loved her character from the moment she made an appearance on the church wall spotting invisible souls right up till the end when she had to deliver a message from “the beyond”. She holds her own in a gang of strong-willed boys and shows tremendous potential for the future books.

#2: The Raven Boys. The beauty of this tale is that it’s not about the Glansey-Blue love story. Infact, at the risk of pitching in a spoiler, I could almost say that it barely took off. The book infact is the mother of all Bromances. Adam Parrish, the seemingly perfect and dapper Aglionby boy whose elegant facade hides a savage home life.....quiet, soft-around-the-edges Noah who sees much but says little .....and the darkly decadent bad boy with the shimmering tattoos and *lock-your-daughters-up* demeanour, Ronan Lynch form a shining trio around their unofficial leader, Gansey. No sparkling vampires, no prancing about in skin-tight shorts werewolves...just everyday boys with everyday problems.The interaction between the lads, their quips and wry asides, the simmering resentments and the unwavering loyalties are all placed at perfect pitch. What proves to be an exceedingly long book is gently cushioned by the drama surrounding the four friends. They keep you hooked, well-lined and completely sinkered with their individual and collective story lines.

#3: The Mystery/ The Hunt/ The Backbone of the book: Even if I tried, I couldn’t do justice to the concept of ley lines. So do savour those bits for yourself. The hunt for Glendower was such a beautiful idea. While I always love a good romance, I am more often than not disappointed by the fact that a seemingly supernatural thriller fast derails from it's paranormal angle and ends up as kissy smoochy mopey whiney session between the protagonists. Not so, with The Raven Boys.
The book is packed with intricate details, delightful patches of history, legends, scientific facts and unexplainable phenomena. It's a regular reopening of the long buried and much loved X-Files. The author takes the mysterious concept of ley lines and unravels the story in a manner so eloquent, that mentally, you feel that you are sitting in the back of a battered up Camaro as you race against time and logic to plumb the deepest mysteries of the earth. Completely enchanting.

Many of the readers had complaints about the abrupt ending.I have no such qualms. If, as I believe, the series is supposed to span four instalments, I think the author has nicely laid the groundwork for future fireworks. I can’t wait to learn more about Ronan Lynch (who comes across as a younger,edgier Sirius Black) and the manner in which his angle progresses. So yes, I wholeheartedly recommend this book to all who love a good old-fashioned paranormal fantasy with a healthy splashing of boy bonding and a smidgen of gutsy heroine thrown in for good measure.

The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes

To have a slight measure of the pleasant chills that race up and down your spine when you delve into a meaty Holmes mystery, do read the introduction passage by Mark Gatiss (co-creator of BBC Entertainment’s Sherlock). Amidst a host of admirable emotions, Gatiss’ one nostalgic paragraph captured my fancy. It goes thusly,

“I’d never read any of the original stories until one fateful Saturday when, recovering from German measles, I was given a treat : a trip to WH Smith, and the purchase of any book I wanted. There, nestling amongst all the possible contenders for my shiny fifty-pence piece was a gorgeous, plump, purple Pan paperback, with a colour-tinted Sidney Paget illustration on the cover: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Everything about it promised the thrill of mystery and the faintly queasy allure of Victoriana with which I was already and headily in love. But first came the introduction. I can’t remember much about it now, except that it ended with the moving sentiment: I wish I were reading these stories for the first time.“

*I wish I were reading these stories for the first time*

Never has a statement so effectively captured the sheer bliss of nose-diving into an old and much cherished spot of literature. What prompted me to revisit the series was BBC Entertainment’s hugely popular and marvellously brilliant show : *SHERLOCK*. A fellow fan, sharp reviewer and possessor of the prodigious talent to pick the perfect book (Yes, Mith....I am talking about you) and yours truly were jamming up our Tumblr dashboards with the magnificence of a certain Mr. Benedict Cumberbatch. Said Cumberbatch has done a splendid job of yanking Mr.Holmes into modern day London and playing him with aplomb....... It doesn’t hurt that he’s very easy on the eyes too.

Ergo, when Cumberbatch (he of the cupid curls, vertiginous cheekbones and manic eye-glint) with his trusty bro-mate, Watson (Martin Freeman) graced the cover of yet another Sherlock edition, I had to lay my hands on it. All the foaming-at-the-mouth fans (and I mean that in the nicest way possible since I unashamedly head the pack) can be forgiven for labouring under the misconception that this book here, is a TV Series adaptation. It’s not.

Sadly...well, not really (because, *KNOCK KNOCK*, it’s Sherlock Holmes, the O.R.I.G.I.N.A.L.)...the book is a reprint of the twelve original mysteries as written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

So when Holmes is not marvelling over the cleverness of Irene Adler, he’s scratching his head over the sudden collapse of the Red-Haired League. Whether it’s the trivial case of the Blue Carbuncle or the horrifying finale of the Speckled Band, Holmes is striding about with a befuddled Watson in tow. Dignities are being restored....genteel ladies are being chivalrously rescued.....and pages are being fraught with drama, deceit and old-fashioned danger. In short, everything that you would expect from the most famous detective of all fictional times.

What could I write in my review that would add anything new to the reams that have been dedicated to the snarkiest sleuth of them all? How do I delve into a character that’s a delightful blend of humility and egotism? How do I gush and fawn over a mind that could dissect an individual down to the tiniest speck of dust on the tip of his frock-coat?

From the moment a knock falls at the door of 221B Baker Street, you know that you are in for a treat. From the pithy to the sensational, no case escaped the interest of Holmes and his partner in crime-solving, Dr.Watson. Holmes would settle down before the roaring fireplace, light his pipe, give the despairing individual a clinical onceover, draw his (almost always correct)conclusions and then just as quickly, proceed to unravel mysteries on the strength of observation, infallible logic and that essential spark of genius cloaked in eccentricities.

In the times of darkly dreaming Dexter and stiletto wearing Detective Kate Beckett, Holmes may pale in comparison. And then again....maybe he won’t. In the cold of Victorian London, amidst the ladies who sniffed into their lacy kerchiefs and the gentleman who blustered around in their breeches, Holmes cut a dashing figure. With his dry wit and baffling disguises, he plundered the murky underbelly (ah, how I love my clichés) of crime, and almost always got his man/woman/murderous cult.

Yes, we love our modern day detective-dramas and high-octane police chases. We love the forensics lab with it’s meticulously laid out tools. We love the fact that a well-worded Google search might just catch that horrendous serial killer by the end of the one hour episode.

But, as Steven Moffat (co-creator of BBC Entertainment’s Sherlock) puts it:

"Conan Doyle's stories were never about frock coats and gas light; they're about brilliant detection, dreadful villains and blood-curdling crimes – and frankly, to hell with the crinoline. Other detectives have cases, Sherlock Holmes has adventures, and that's what matters."