Despite my adamancy that I would not, I was cajoled into seeing The Da Vinci Code yesterday. Despite my conviction that it would be terrible it...wasn't all that bad. Well, it's not bad if you can overlook how awful it was, anyway.
To be fair, I'm rather predisposed to hate it. As most of my readers will doubtlessly be aware, the story is pseudo-historical nonsense--the jabbering of people with axes to grind against Christianity at large and Catholicism in particular. Now, to be fair, a great many people come to the table in this field with axes to grind--probably even most--but for the love of God, at least make sure you have a stone to grind it on. It won't get any sharper trying to hone it with this wet noodle.
It's rather ironic, the first books I read on the historical Jesus as a young lad of sixteen were Baigent and Leigh's The Dead Sea Scrolls Deception and The Messianic Legacy. Fortunately, however, there were not shelves and shelves of dimestore paperbacks to supplement my ignorance at the time, so after a brief foray with Barbara Thiering (who seemed too ridiculous to be true even to my uninformed mind), soon found myself with Fredriksen's Jesus of Nazareth in one hand and Crossan's The Cross that Spoke in the other. Fredriksen led to Sanders, Crossan to Brown and the rest, as they say, is history.
If nothing else, I can console myself with the hope that surely some people will pick up Ehrman's book to supplement Brown's, and surely some of them will be intrigued enough to engage more serious literature. I can't be the only one.