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Let me begin this review with an important disclaimer: I love Dan Brown. Always have, always will. When it comes to authors and series I like, I am loyal to a fault, so if there is any bias in this review, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I fell in love with the stories of Brown’s literary alter ego, Robert Langdon, in a slightly different way to how he became cemented in popular literature. I didn’t first meet Langdon in The Da Vinci Code, but in Angels & Demons, the intended order. To this day, I insist on Angels & Demons as being the first — and easily the best — of the Robert Langdon series. My ratings, from best to worst, proceed: Angels & Demons; The Da Vinci Code; Inferno; The Lost Symbol. The question now is, where does Brown’s latest offering, Origin, rank among its predecessors?

This series and Brown’s writing style are nothing if not dependable, and in some cases, predictable. I would argue this is part of the best-selling author’s appeal. In Origin, Brown has no hesitation in following his time-tested formula. Harvard professor of symbology and religious iconology, Robert Langdon, is forcibly removed from his academic activities and thrust into the middle of a high-risk (and no doubt world-changing) mystery, one that only he can solve. Along the way, Langdon must enlist the help of a highly intelligent female companion, who is herself embroiled in the mystery. The two must use Langdon’s eidetic memory to navigate his wealth of past pupils, colleagues and extensive research to solve the puzzle and save the day. Brown has never shied away from his tendency toward the melodramatic and Origin is no exception.

Origin sends Langdon to Spain to dive into the perils of the Guggenheim’s modern artwork and to reveal the secrets hidden in the Gaudí architecture that defines the Catalonian capital of Barcelona. Brown structures this addition to the series in much the same way he has always done: he uses short, snappy chapters, rarely over ten pages long, and sometimes as short as one or two. These chapters work towards the desired goal of keeping the reader at the edge of their seat — there’s no better encouragement to “just read one more chapter” when they are so easy to get through. Brown’s use of short chapters not only increase the pacing of his adrenaline-pumped storytelling, but also makes his writing incredibly accessible. This is a quality of his writing that I feel is both commendable and underrated. Brown’s work is popular for a reason, even though he delves deep into the history of art, science and (of course) religion, his work is never didactic and is always easy to read. Brown’s style is perfect for stressed-out college students in need of some reading that is intellectually enjoyable without being unnecessarily challenging.

Origin fulfills the expectations of Langdon fans. Like all books in the series, this one is exposition-heavy. Long passages, and even chapters, are devoted to the descriptions of artwork, poetry, location, regional history and philosophy. While these may be off-putting to some, it is what fans come back for time and time again. Brown unveils snapshots into peripheral histories you would never otherwise have heard of, and brings in fun trivia items that you can whip out at your next dinner party when you’re doing your best to sound culturally cultivated. No other book would find a way to tell you that George Lucas based some of his designs for Star Wars on Gaudí’s Casa Milà mere pages after detailing the cult-like Palmarian Church (the ultra-conservative home of an antipope, and known for having canonised both Franco and Hitler).

This extreme integration of varied information brings me to another point of praise for Origin: in keeping with Brown’s well-known style, Origin mentions an endless list of real-life organisations, artists, locations and even restaurants. These inclusions expand the experience of reading the book to one that is interactive and multidimensional. You will pause mid-chapter to look up a painting or to read the poem under discussion. You’ll start planning a trip to Barcelona or Bilbao so you can explore the hidden meanings in their artwork for yourself. I’m not even ashamed to say that I got supreme enjoyment in following the Angels & Demons trail through Rome and look forward to re-experiencing some of Spain’s most famous sights through Langdon’s eyes.

Yes, Origin is incredibly formulaic. Its characters feel like familiar versions of those in previous books. The assassin Admiral Avíla can be aligned with The Da Vinci Code’s Silas, the messianic Edmond Kirsch with Angels & Demons’ Camerlengo Carlo Ventresca, the mysterious Regent figure looms over Origin’s proceedings in much the same way as Inferno’s Provost. In following his well-established formula, Brown does detract from opportunities for excitement.

The Langdon mysteries somehow work better with an ancient society pulling the strings at the centre of the artwork and conniving characters. Not including this aspect of the formula is one of Origin’s downfalls, as Brown’s work is at its best when it feels like it is as much a part of history as a student of it.

Brown also clearly struggles with finding a central conflict as captivating as those of his first two Langdon novels. Brown has fallen into the sequel pitfall of attempting to make each installment bigger than before. The problem with the ideas becoming bigger is that they also become more abstract. Origin, like the rest of the series, is at its best when it allows us to witness Langdon’s impressive mind at work, solving the puzzles hidden in plain sight within the coded artwork we are often unknowingly surrounded by.

Is it the best book in the series? No. Is it an entertaining exercise in escapism, an adrenaline-fuelled art history class and a simply enjoyable read? Yes, yes it is.