Inferno: A Novel

the woman seized his wrist with her slender hands and plunged a thumb into the bony carpal area just beneath the palm of his hand.

he lanky man deride

enormity and defined musculature startled most first-time visitors, and yet for Langdon, it had been the genius of David’s pose that he found most captivating. Michelangelo had employed the classical tradition of contrapposto to create the illusion that David was leaning to his right, his left leg bearing almost no weight, when, in fact, his left leg was supporting tons of marble.
The David had sparked in Langdon his first true appreciation for the power of great sculpture. Now Langdon wondered if he had visited the masterpiece during the last several days, but the only memory he could conjure was that of awakening in the hospital and watching an innocent doctor murdered before his eyes. Very sorry. Very sorry.
The guilt he felt was almost nauseating. What have I done?
As he stood at the window, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of a laptop computer sitting on the desk beside him. Whatever had happened to Langdon last night, he suddenly realized, might be in the news.
If I can access the Internet, I might find answers.
Langdon turned toward the doorway and called out: “Sienna?!”
Silence. She was still at the neighbor’s apartment looking for clothes.
Having no doubt Sienna would understand the intrusion, Langdon opened the laptop and powered it up.
Sienna’s home screen flickered to life—a standard Windows “blue cloud” background. Langdon immediately went to the Google Italia search page and typed in Robert Langdon.
If my students could see me now, he thought as he began the search. Langdon continually admonished his students for Googling themselves—a bizarre new pastime that reflected the obsession with personal celebrity that now seemed to possess American youth.
A page of search results materialized—hundreds of hits pertaining to Langdon, his books, and his lectures. Not what I’m looking for.
Langdon restricted the search by selecting the news button.

series of tired gears clunked and whirred into motion.
Upward …
The creaky carriage shimmied and vibrated as it began its ascent. Because the walls were nothing but metal screens, Langdon found himself watching the inside of the elevator shaft slide rhythmically past them. Even in his semiconscious state, Langdon’s lifelong fear of cramped spaces was alive and well.
Don’t look.
He leaned on the wall, trying to catch his breath. His forearm ached, and when he looked down, he saw that the sleeve of his Harris Tweed had been tied awkwardly around his arm like a bandage. The remainder of the jacket was dragging behind him on the ground, frayed and filthy.
He closed his eyes against his pounding headache, but the blackness engulfed him again.
A familiar vision materialized—the statuesque, veiled woman with the amulet and silver hair in ringlets. As before, she was on the banks of a bloodred river and surrounded by writhing bodies. She spoke to Langdon, her voice pleading. Seek and ye shall find!
Langdon was overcome with the feeling that he had to save her … save them all. The half-buried, upside-down legs were falling limp … one by one.
Who are you!? he called out in silence. What do you want?!
Her luxuriant silver hair began fluttering in a hot wind. Our time grows short, she whispered, touching her amulet necklace. Then, without warning, she erupted in a blinding pillar of fire, which billowed across the river, engulfing them both.
Langdon shouted, his eyes flying open.
Dr. Brooks eyed him with concern. “What is it?”
“I keep hallucinating!” Langdon exclaimed. “The same scene.”
“The silver-haired woman? And all the dead bodies?”
Langdon nodded, perspiration beading on his brow.
“You’ll be okay,” she assured him, despite sounding shaky herself. “Recurring visions are common with amnesia. The brain function that sorts and catalogs your memories has been temporarily shaken up, and so it throws everything into one picture.”

Dante Alighieri.
The darkest places in hell
are reserved for those
who maintain their neutrality
in times of moral crisis.

Nothing left to chan

pparently a background in drama could be a versatile weapon.

Not the moment for modesty,

Inferno was the first of three books that made up Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy

Never before had the concept of hell captivated the masses in such an entertaining way.