by Dan Brown (2001). Absolute trash. Reading this vapid thriller while in a severely jet-lagged state at the airport, I became so fed up with the plot that became predictable around page 10, its bogus science and paper-thin characters, that I threw it in the trash. How did this guy ever become popular? At least, Crichton got his facts straight. Plus, I hate it when I read novels that are thinly disguised screen plays.