Tonight the museum possessed an almost oppresive quality. Long shadows encroached everywhere, and the usually soaring vaulted ceilings appeared as a low, black void.
‘This way,’ Fache said, turning sharply right and setting out throught a series of interconnected galleries.
Langdon followed, his vision slowly adjusting to the dark. All around, large-format oils began to materialize like photos developing before him in an enormous darkroom…their eyes following as he moved through the rooms.
It was very dark in the main hall. A little bit of moonlight came through the windows, and Stanley could just make out the world’s most expensive painting on the opposite wall. He felt as though the bearded man with the violin and the lady on the couch and the half-horse person and the winged children were all waiting, as he was, for something to happen.
Time passed and he got tireder and tireder. Anyone would be tired this late at night, especially if he had to stand in a picture frame balancing on little spikes.
Maybe they won’t come, Stanley thought. Maybe the sneak thieves won’t come at all.
Both the books I’m reading this week – one for myself, the other to my son at bed time – revel in the atmosphere of a museum after darkness. It’s a compelling image that I’m keen to experience. Any curators out there willing to offer an after hours tour?
Probably not. Still, it was worthwhile posting this entry if only to recommend that you all turn off your machines and go straight to the bookshop to buy these books. It’s almost impossible to put down either of them.