I am rather adamant about finishing a book once I start it. I think it is awful to put one down and never find out how it ends. With that being said, I owe myself a flogging for not finishing this book… and then an additional flogging for ever attempting to read this book.
I had started The Secret Supper initially last winter. I figured this would be a good, deep read, great for those hot chocolate in hand evenings when the world was white, quiet, and utterly boring. Little did I know that this book would be far more boring than the great expanse of white stuff outside.
di Vinci is completing his great masterpiece, The Last Supper in Milan in 1497. And being di Vinci, everything is mysterious and coded. Not only that, but the famous painter is hiding secrets and symbols in his paintings, which is far more injurious when you consider the painting is installed in a church. None of the saints appear holy, the supper table isn’t quite right, and why do the saints resemble well-known heretics?
Normally this would be my speed, I’d eat it up in three days and exclaim how wonderful and rich the writing was. But I just could not stand to read another page once I forced myself through 2/3 of the book. I have no idea how it ends. But I’m guessing Leo wasn’t burned at the stake… The Last Supper wasn’t destroyed… and I probably won’t learn my lesson and will attempt another book that I will inevitably not finish at some point in my life.