Da Vinci Code, Yet Another Fatal Flaw
John Gaudet
November 08, 2006
So for all practical purposes anyone could have simply smashed the cryptex with a hammer and thus gained access to the map showing the location of the Holy Grail. There really was no need for all that palaver, or secret codes, though it certainly made for a very exciting read.
Papyrus.”
I stopped in my tracks, struck dumb. The word had come from that most unlikely source, my wife’s mouth! “What did you say?” I asked in amazement, breaking in on a conversation she was having with a cluster of serious-looking types, her book club was meeting at our house that month.
They stared at me as she said, in a voice that conveyed surprise, “Papyrus. David just said he had seen the same reference, and we all agreed that it must be very delicate stuff.” The rest were looking at me with a look that said, Why would anyone ever be interested in such a thing?
I asked myself, Was I hearing right? Not only were they commenting on my favorite subject, but they seemed about to take it over and run with it. And there was little I could do because I didn’t really understand what the hell they were talking about. “Delicate?” I asked. “Why would you say that?”
Because,” said David, as the others nodded wisely, “there’s a vial of vinegar in the cryptex.”
It would be impossible now or forever to describe my consternation. I who had carried out research on the ecology of papyrus in Africa to the extent that villagers knew me as ‘Bwana Papyrus’; I who had over the years become an expert on the history of the plant, and its use in the ancient art of paper-making; I who had baffled and bewildered audiences with monologues on papyrus for years. Yet tonight it was I, who was completely at sea.
A what, in the what?” Now came more looks. Those knowing glances exchanged by members of the reading club. Worse, my wife seemed to sympathize with them. I was being pitied because it was I who was lost in the woods.
In The Da Vinci Code,” said Tom, who shook his head in wonder at my ignorance. “Don’t tell me you haven’t read it?”
I read it in two days,” said my wife pointing to her copy lying on our dining table.
You read a book that mentioned papyrus?” I asked in a pained voice easily heard in the quiet room. I grabbed the book. “Show me,” I said, hardly able to control my excitement. Tom leafed through it.
Here,” he pointed. “Langdon, on page 443. He’s holding Saunière’s papyrus, which he has taken from the cryptex, and now he passes it to Marie.”
A cryptex is a marble cylinder,” said David helpfully. It’s opened by turning the sections of the cylinder until they match a code. Then it opens and you take out the small roll of papyrus paper that has a map on it. That solves the mystery of where the Holy Grail is located.”
But you have to be careful,” said someone else. “There’s a vial of vinegar inside and if you use a wrong code, or try to force it, or break the cryptex, the vial shatters and releases the vinegar.”
And it says here,” said Tom as he turned to page 201, “that it’s reduced to mush. Sophie says it turns into ‘a glob of meaningless pulp.’”
I was flabbergasted. “No,” I yelled. Everyone in the room stared at me. “It doesn’t. It won’t. It can’t.”
But it says right here,” said Tom, and shrugged his shoulders, sending a message that echoed through the room. “It’s a bestseller.”
You’d believe some hotshot story?” I asked, my voice rising as I looked around at the crowd. My friends! My wife even! The doubt written on their faces convinced me that something had to be done.
Wait,” I yelled then turned and ran into my study. I pulled open the middle drawer, grabbed a flat plastic envelope from a folder and ran back to the assembled guests. “I’ll prove it,” I said as I waved several large sheets of papyrus paper at them. Years ago, passing through Cairo, Professor Hassan Ragab at the Papyrus Institute gave me those sheets of papyrus paper as a souvenir. He was one of the few people ever to appreciate my obsession with the subject. At that point I glanced at my wife. “Get a pair of scissors,” I commanded, “four or five pens and some bowls of vinegar.”
A small crowd gathered around the dining room table.
What was on this papyrus in the cryptex?” I asked David.
A map.”
And probably some directions,” said Tom.
In code,” said someone else.
It appeared that everyone in the room had read the book except me. I had five teams write out coded messages, then they drew maps in regular ink, ballpoint, felt tip and pencil on pieces cut from the sheets. During that exercise I explained that the paper they were using was the same papyrus paper as used by the ancients, because Prof. Ragab followed the method revealed by Pliny the Elder in the 1st Century, AD. It was authentic. It was also the same paper that is bought in quantity by tourists in Egypt, a business that has been going on for the past twenty-five years.
Now the vinegar.”
My wife brought in five small bowls of wine vinegar and gave one to each of the teams. “Dip,” I commanded and everyone watched as five pieces of papyrus paper were swirled, dipped, soaked and pummeled in the vinegar, until they…
Turn to mush you sucker!” yelled Tom.
A gob of meaningless pulp is what I want!” yelled David.
I confidently took the pieces of papyrus out of the vinegar, and rinsed them off. Still in perfect condition, still showing five different ways of getting to the Holy Grail, they had stood the test of time, but The DaVinci Code had not. Did it make any difference? Not a bit; my wife’s club still voted it the best thriller so far. And as for the papyrus, I dried it off and put it away. Sometimes history speaks, but who’s to listen?
Papyrus.”
I stopped in my tracks, struck dumb. The word had come from that most unlikely source, my wife’s mouth! “What did you say?” I asked in amazement, breaking in on a conversation she was having with a cluster of serious-looking types, her book club was meeting at our house that month.
They stared at me as she said, in a voice that conveyed surprise, “Papyrus. David just said he had seen the same reference, and we all agreed that it must be very delicate stuff.” The rest were looking at me with a look that said, Why would anyone ever be interested in such a thing?
I asked myself, Was I hearing right? Not only were they commenting on my favorite subject, but they seemed about to take it over and run with it. And there was little I could do because I didn’t really understand what the hell they were talking about. “Delicate?” I asked. “Why would you say that?”
Because,” said David, as the others nodded wisely, “there’s a vial of vinegar in the cryptex.”
It would be impossible now or forever to describe my consternation. I who had carried out research on the ecology of papyrus in Africa to the extent that villagers knew me as ‘Bwana Papyrus’; I who had over the years become an expert on the history of the plant, and its use in the ancient art of paper-making; I who had baffled and bewildered audiences with monologues on papyrus for years. Yet tonight it was I, who was completely at sea.
A what, in the what?” Now came more looks. Those knowing glances exchanged by members of the reading club. Worse, my wife seemed to sympathize with them. I was being pitied because it was I who was lost in the woods.
In The Da Vinci Code,” said Tom, who shook his head in wonder at my ignorance. “Don’t tell me you haven’t read it?”
I read it in two days,” said my wife pointing to her copy lying on our dining table.
You read a book that mentioned papyrus?” I asked in a pained voice easily heard in the quiet room. I grabbed the book. “Show me,” I said, hardly able to control my excitement. Tom leafed through it.
Here,” he pointed. “Langdon, on page 443. He’s holding Saunière’s papyrus, which he has taken from the cryptex, and now he passes it to Marie.”
A cryptex is a marble cylinder,” said David helpfully. It’s opened by turning the sections of the cylinder until they match a code. Then it opens and you take out the small roll of papyrus paper that has a map on it. That solves the mystery of where the Holy Grail is located.”
But you have to be careful,” said someone else. “There’s a vial of vinegar inside and if you use a wrong code, or try to force it, or break the cryptex, the vial shatters and releases the vinegar.”
And it says here,” said Tom as he turned to page 201, “that it’s reduced to mush. Sophie says it turns into ‘a glob of meaningless pulp.’”
I was flabbergasted. “No,” I yelled. Everyone in the room stared at me. “It doesn’t. It won’t. It can’t.”
But it says right here,” said Tom, and shrugged his shoulders, sending a message that echoed through the room. “It’s a bestseller.”
You’d believe some hotshot story?” I asked, my voice rising as I looked around at the crowd. My friends! My wife even! The doubt written on their faces convinced me that something had to be done.
Wait,” I yelled then turned and ran into my study. I pulled open the middle drawer, grabbed a flat plastic envelope from a folder and ran back to the assembled guests. “I’ll prove it,” I said as I waved several large sheets of papyrus paper at them. Years ago, passing through Cairo, Professor Hassan Ragab at the Papyrus Institute gave me those sheets of papyrus paper as a souvenir. He was one of the few people ever to appreciate my obsession with the subject. At that point I glanced at my wife. “Get a pair of scissors,” I commanded, “four or five pens and some bowls of vinegar.”
A small crowd gathered around the dining room table.
What was on this papyrus in the cryptex?” I asked David.
A map.”
And probably some directions,” said Tom.
In code,” said someone else.
It appeared that everyone in the room had read the book except me. I had five teams write out coded messages, then they drew maps in regular ink, ballpoint, felt tip and pencil on pieces cut from the sheets. During that exercise I explained that the paper they were using was the same papyrus paper as used by the ancients, because Prof. Ragab followed the method revealed by Pliny the Elder in the 1st Century, AD. It was authentic. It was also the same paper that is bought in quantity by tourists in Egypt, a business that has been going on for the past twenty-five years.
Now the vinegar.”
My wife brought in five small bowls of wine vinegar and gave one to each of the teams. “Dip,” I commanded and everyone watched as five pieces of papyrus paper were swirled, dipped, soaked and pummeled in the vinegar, until they…
Turn to mush you sucker!” yelled Tom.
A gob of meaningless pulp is what I want!” yelled David.
I confidently took the pieces of papyrus out of the vinegar, and rinsed them off. Still in perfect condition, still showing five different ways of getting to the Holy Grail, they had stood the test of time, but The DaVinci Code had not. Did it make any difference? Not a bit; my wife’s club still voted it the best thriller so far. And as for the papyrus, I dried it off and put it away. Sometimes history speaks, but who’s to listen?
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