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Paris, May 2006. The pyramid at the Louvre, a stop in the Da Vinci Code pilgrimage. Of course: To solve an ancient mystery, check out the newest structures in the Louvre.

I received an invitation from National Bookstore to the official release of the new Dan Brown novel, The Lost Symbol, 11.30 pm tonight (eve of the worldwide release on 15 September) at Glorietta 5. Naturally I’m going. It’s not a literary event—the concepts “Dan Brown” and “literature” don’t really go together—but it’s definitely an event. In this global recession, the American publishing industry looks to the Dan Brown as the messiah that will raise publishing from the abyss.

Found The Da Vinci Code cheesy and dumb, but read all of it in one sitting anyway (What, you don’t do things to annoy yourself? Why do you read this then). It reminded me of Nancy Drew—each chapter ends in a cliffhanger so you can’t stop. I thought the guys who wrote Holy Blood, Holy Grail should sue Brown. They did, and lost.

Apart from rescuing the publishing industry from the infernal pits, will Lost Symbol do for its location, wherever it is, what Da Vinci Code did for Paris? I remember the Parisians turning up their noses at the hordes of tourists in T-shirts, shorts, thick sneakers and butt bags congregating at the Louvre clutching copies of the Dan Brown in their meaty hands, clogging the room of Leonardo’s La Gioconda so she still looks like a postcard from where you stand, and taking pictures with the flash when flash photography is expressly forbidden. And they still took their money. Ah, Paris.

2340. Lots of guests and media.

A TV crew ask to interview me. I say, Are you sure, I’m not a fan.

Why are you here then, they ask. So I can be the first to trash it, I reply. Unless it turns out to be brilliant, and I love a shock. This book is review-proof anyway, people will buy it no matter what its critics say. Plus I wish I had Dan Brown’s sales figures, and I want to figure out his secret.

Any idea what the book is about? they say. Well, the teaser has a picture of George Washington and the words “He could not tell a lie. But he could keep a secret”. So I’m guessing it involves American history. And George W. And a secret.

0005, Tuesday, September 15. I grab my review copy and skedaddle. I am an expert at skedaddling, it takes skill, practice, and an antisocial nature.

0010. I discover that at midnight all the pedestrian underpasses on Ayala between Edsa and Makati Avenue are closed, and if you want to cross the street you have to jump over the rails then jaywalk. We’re just roadkill out here. I end up taking a taxi to the Peninsula, which is ridiculous.

0020. Blast, I am too late for the Pen’s anniversary price rollback which ended at 2359. Wanted pancit luglug and halo-halo at 1970s prices. I call my sister to meet me at Old Swiss Inn instead.

0030. Finally crack the book open. The first line of the prologue: “The secret is how to die.” Ooh, that’s right up there with an icy shiver running down your neck. On a dark and stormy night.

If you think I’m a snot my sister won’t even deign to read Da Vinci Code.

Maybe I’ll read Lost Symbol in the next few hours while waiting for the Federer v. Del Porno final at the US Open. Hey I’m at Old Swiss Inn wearing my Federer pin. 16!

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Not only do we get The Lost Symbol twelve hours ahead of New York, we get it cheaper. The book’s cover price is US$29.95, about P1497. It is now available at all National Bookstores nationwide at P780, nearly half the cover price. It’s a good way to get non-readers to pick up the book, and maybe the habit of reading.

* * * * *

Holy crap Del Potro def. Federer 3-6, 7-6, 4-6, 7-6, 6-2.

Our idols need to be taken down a notch every so often to remind them they are human. And to behave. (Uma-attitude?! Ayan, napalo.) The post-Wimbledon coronation-canonization in the media can’t be good for anyone. That kind of praise only means one thing: at the first sign of weakness, they’re coming to get you.

New blood is always good for the game so welcome to the big time, Juan Martin Del Potro.

Cat guards Foucault’s Pendulum. Paris, September 2009. Photo by Juan Chua.