Simon McDonald

It is no longer a case of diminishing returns when it comes to my enjoyment of Dan Brown’s thrillers—all joy has been diminished entirely.

This is a thriller—but man, it’s a slog; a patchwork of subpar plotting and inept storytelling. It is lethally overwrought, and outstays its welcome by a couple hundred pages at least.

This time, Harvard University professor of Religious Iconology and Symbology Robert Langdon is embroiled in a plot tied to the “Manhattan Project of the future of brain science”. But it’s a story that doesn’t require his intelligence, or play to his strengths, at all. He’s the protagonist because his name sells books. Frankly, the whole novel should’ve been reworked with noetic scientist Katherine Solomon at its centre.

I’m honestly gobsmacked at how poorly executed and constructed the whole thing is. I’m an easy mark for this stuff. But, seriously—oof.