Three times now, Dan Brown has managed to string together plots so compelling that they've dragged me through 500 pages of the clumsiest, most awkward dialogue this side of a 7th grade creative writing class. It might very well be the greatest tragedy of modern literature that an author so widely read is so fundamentally bad at writing.
Readers of this book should strongly consider doing it with a cold beer in hand: drink every time he begins a chapter with the word "the." Drink every time he brings a character back into a plot with full name and title, just in case we dense readers couldn't keep 'em all straight. Drink every time the villain says something so lame that it makes Snidely Whiplash look menacing. Drink every time you're eyes instinctively hit their upper lids after reading a particularly tortured metaphor or unnecessarily intricate description.
I read him, but I hate him for not letting me stop.