Last night, I finished reading The Da Vinci Code, the best-selling novel by Dan Brown, after requesting the book from my public library a couple of months ago. (More than a hundred people had their own requests ahead of mine.) My interest came from two places: 1. The book has become a cultural phenomenon; 2. I assumed its popularity meant that it was a very good example of genre fiction. Let me take the second matter first: The Da Vinci Code is well done, a real page-turner that held my interest as its heroes solved puzzles and uncovered a huge (if ridiculous) religious conspiracy (essentially to hide the “fact” that Jesus had a wife and a daughter). The ending was a letdown, but that’s a problem with so many thrillers (books and movies) that I’ve almost come to expect it–a build-up that’s better than the climax. Sometimes I have to remind myself, zen-like, that the journey is the destination. Having said all that, I was of course aware of book’s deep anti-Catholicism. Perhaps because I knew it was coming, I found this aspect less grating than I would have otherwise. I chose not to let it frustrate me, and so it didn’t, or at least not much. (For the Crisis magazine critique, go here; for Christianity Today, go here.) In the end, The Da Vinci Code reminded me of an Oliver Stone movie–go ahead and enjoy it, just don’t believe any of it. Nothing brought home that point more than this line, which has nothing to do with Brown’s silly premise: “The BBC producers … had concerns that the concept was so shocking and hard to swallow that the network might end up tarnishing its reputation for quality journalism.” Obviously, Dan Brown writes about a make-believe world.