Maybelle Victor

Dan Brown returns to ignite a thinking audience with his latest book, “The Lost Symbol.”

“The Lost Symbol” is generally about Robert Langdon’s efforts to save his friend and mentor, Peter Solomon.  It began with an unexpected, immediate but privileged invitation to sub/replace a speaker who was supposed to present at a private thanksgiving gala for the generous supporters of the Smithsonian Institute.

It was too late for Langdon to realize that he was pawned into a trap, in a way, blackmailed to play his part in a dangerous web of secrecy and ploys, meant to trigger an irreparable chaos of utmost magnitude.  At most part of the book, and not only for Langdon, each has a role to play and it’s the fool who got played.  But then, like an old Filipino saying goes, “Matalino man ang matsing, napaglalamangan din” (“An intelligent monkey can still be beaten.”); the pupeteer, Mal’akh did not get what he wanted, not the knowledge, not the secret, not the apotheois he dreamed or the death he foresaw.

Using what I refer to as the Dan Brown Formula, he once again, used minimal characters (usually, one or two villains (a fanatic and/or the mastermind), one or two more neutral charaters, either accessory to the villain or mistaken associates of the villain and a girl to help/save), symbols to move towards the next clue, a sub-topic with scientific heritage, an aspect of religion or Masonry and a “sort of” happy ending.

Similar to his other books, I loved the journey and the way it has kept me reading page by page to find out what’s next, sparking my interest with new topics or ideas I never heard of before.  I still feel like the ending was so abrupt, maybe because I am like Langdon who is a skeptic scholar or maybe because, I’m really just “not ready” to understand “The Lost Word” and the ancient mysteries.

I also liked the fact that it did not only maximized art and space (i.e. paintings and famous places) but also projected new age ideas including technological advancements (i.e. internet, codes/programming, hacking, iphone, texting, etc…).  There was some moments where I felt I was reading The Secret or watching National Treasure 2 but I was proven wrong  a few pages later.

What I don’t like about this book is the way it dragged me during the first seven chapters.  It was laying down the setting and the plot but I didn’t like the feeling.  Some readers expect action in the first chapter and I didn’t get to see that until Chapter 7 or 8.  I also don’t like the fact that it seems “tamer” this time.  I guess I was expecting some sort of exposé like Mary Magalene in the Last Supper of The Da Vinci Code or the political hierarchy, power and potential issues/secrets in the Papal Office of Angels and Demons.  Here, it was more of respect of religion or faith, and how or what Masonry really is.

Watch out for a more in-depth review soon!

TIME IS A RIVER . . . AND BOOKS ARE BOATS.  MANY VOLUMES START DOWN THAT STREAM, ONLY TO BE WRECKED AND LOST BEYOND RECALL IN ITS SANDS.  ONLY A FEW, A VERY FEW, ENDURE THE TESTINGS OF TIME AND LIVE TO BLESS THE AGES FOLLOWING. (Preface of a Masonic Bible)

- The Lost Symbol -

God is found in the collection of Many . . . rather than in the One.

“Elohim,” he repeated. “The Hebrew word for God in the Old Testament! I’ve always wondered about it.”

He had never understood why the very first passages of the Bible referred to God as a plural being. Elohim. The Almighty God in Genesis described not as One . . . but as Many.

As his eyes began to close again, he found himself staring at three words in Latin, painted within the Apotheosis.

E PLURIBUS UNUM

“Out of many, one.”.

- Robert Langdon, The Lost Symbol -

Light!

The endless void in which he hovered was suddenly filled by a blinding sun. Rays of white-hot light streamed across the blackness of space, burning into his mind.

The light was everywhere.

Suddenly, within the radiant cloud before him, a beautiful silhourtte appeared. It was a face . . . blurry and indistint . . . two eyes staring at him across the void. Streams of light surrounded the face, and he wondered if he was looking at the face of God.

- – - – -

The blinding sun has vanished.

The face had also disappeared.

The blackness had returned, but Langdon could now hear distant whispers echoing across the light-years of emptiness. Muffled voices . . . unintelligible words. There were vibrations now . . . as if the world were about to shake apart.

Then it happened.

Without warning, the universe was ripped in two. An enormous chasm opened i the void . . . as if space itself had ruptured at the seams. A grayish mist poured through the opening, and Langdon saw a terrifying sight. Disembodied hands were suddenly reaching for him, grabbing his body trying to yank him out of his world.

No! He tried to fight them off, but he had no arms . . . no fists. Or did he? Suddenly he felt his body materializing around his mind. His flesh had returned and it was being seized by powerful hands that were dragging him upward. No! Please!

But it was too late.

Pain racked his chest as the hands heaved him through the opening. His lungs felt like they were filled with sand. I can’t breathe! He was suddenly on his back on the coldest, hardest surface he could imagine. Something was pressing on his chest, over and over, hard and painful. He was spweing out the warmth.

I want to go back.

He felt like he was a child being born from a womb.

He was convulsing, coughing up liquid. He felt pain in his chest and neck. Excruciating pain. His throat was on fire. People were talking, trying to whisper, but it was defeaning. His vision blurred, and all he could see was muted shapes. His skin felt numb, like dead leather.

His chest felt heavier now . . . pressure. I can’t breathe!

He was coughing up more liquid. An overwhelming gag reflex seized him, an he gasped inward. Cold air poured into his lungs, and he felt like a newborn taking his first breath on earth. This world was excruciating. All Langdon wanted was to return to the womb.

- The Lost Symbol -

… instinct was to pound and struggle, but he knew better than to waste valuable oxygen.  All he could do was stare up through the blur of water above him and hope.  The world outside was more only a hazy patch of light above the Plexiglas window.  His core muscles had begun burning, and he knew hypoxia was setting in.

Suddenly a beautiful ghostly face appeared, gazing down at him… Their eyes met through the Plexiglas window, and for a instant, he thought he was saved…

In this strange, dark place, trapped underwater, he strained to comprehend that <i>these </i> would be his final moments of life.  Soon he would cease to exist . . . everything he was . . . or had ever been . . . or would ever be . . . was ending.  When his brain died, all of the memories held in his gray matter, along with all of the knowledge he had aquired, would simply evaporate in a flood of chemical reactions.

In this moment, he realized his true insignificance in the universe.  It was as lonely and humbling a feeling as he had ever experienced.  Almost thankfully, he could feel the breath-hold breakpoint arriving.

The moment was upon him.

His lungs fored out their spent contents, collapsing in eager preparation to inhale.  Still he held out an instant longer.  His final second.  Then, like a man no longer able to hold his hand to a burning stove, he gave himself over to fate.

Reflex overruled reason.

His lips parted.

His lungs expanded.

And the liquid came pouring in.

The pain that filled his chest was greater than he had ever imagined.  The liquid burned as it poured into his lungs.  Instantly, the pain shot upward into his skull and he felt like his head was being crushed in a vise.  There was a great thundering in his ears…

There was a blinding flash of light.

And then blackness.

His mind hovered in an endless abyss.

No light. No Sound. No feeling.

Only an infinite and silent void.

Softness.

Weightlessness.

His body released him.  He was untethered.

The physical world had ceased to exist.  Time had ceased to exist.

He was pure consciousness now . . . a fleshless sentence suspended in the emptiness of a vast universe.

His mind floated through the emptiness of space.  He peered into the infinite void, searching  for any points of reference.  He found nothing.

Total darkness.  Total silence.  Total peace.

There was not even the pull of gravity to tell him which way was up.

His body was gone.

<i>This must be death.</i>

Time seemed to be telescoping, stretching and compressing, as if it had no bearings in this place.  He had lost all tack of how much time had passed.

<i>Ten seconds?  Ten minutes?  Tend days?</i>

Suddenly, however, like distant fiery explossions in far-off galaxies, memories began to materialize, billowing toward him like shock waves across a vast nothingless…

=====================

I am gazing down upon myself, a wreck of bloody flesh on the sacred slab of granite.  My father is kneeling behind me, holding my lifeless head with his one remaining hand.

I feel an upwelling of rage . . . and confusion.

This is not a moment for compassion . . . it is for revenge, for transformation . . . and yetstill my father refuses to submit, refuses to fulfill his role, refuses to channel his pain and anger through the knife blade and into my heart.

I am trapped here, hvoering . . . tethered to my earthly shell.

My father gently runs a soft palm across my face to close my fading eyes.

I feel the tether release.

A billowing veil materializes around me, thickening and dimming the light, hiding the world from view.  Suddenly time accelerates, and I am plunging into an abyss far darker than any I haver ever imagined.  Here, in the barren void, I hear a whispering . . . I sense a gathering force.  It strengthens, mounting at a startling rate, surrounding me.  Ominous and powerful.  Dark and commanding.

I am not alone here.

This is my triumph, my grand reception.  And yet, for some reason, I am filled not with joy, but rather boundless fear.

It is nothing like I expect.

The force is churning now, swirling around me with commanding strength, threatening to tear me apart.  Suddenly without warning, the blackness gathers itself like a great prehistoric beast and rears up before me.

I am facing all the dark souls who have gone before.

I am screaming in infinite terror . . . as the darkness swallows me whole.

- The Lost Symbol -

“That which is impenetrable to us really exists.  Behind the secrets of nature remains something subtle, intangible, and inexplicable.  Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion.” (Albert Einstein)

- Dean Galloway, “The Lost Symbol” -

“My body is but a vessel for my most potent treasure . . .  my mind.”

- Mal’akh, “The Lost Symbol” -