Lee got me this as a birthday present, signed by every seccie he saw reading it on the tube that day.
I devoured it this weekend, mindful of the famous review beginning "This is the worst book I've ever loved."
So much of the book is clever people telling each other clever things. Patiently. In the back of cars. Or mulling over clues which you've solved already (as Lee put it: "Don't you get tired of being five pages ahead of them?").
But many of the flaws are in themselves a delight. Who can help thrilling to a character being described as "Sir Leigh Teabing, noted British Royal Historian"? Several times.
And what gay can resist a giddy clap of incomprehension at the way a range rover isn't just a range rover, but a "A Range Rover, with polypropelene mounted headlights, reinforced chassis and improved ground clearance." An aeroplane isn't just an aeroplane - it's a flying Haynes manual of turbo twin propellors and adjustable tracked seating.
See? Even the hateful bits of the bit are a joy. And the wafer-thin characterisation only adds to the wonder. Tell me more about her sweater and less about her motivation! Go on...
Interestingly, for a suspense novel, there is only one suspect for the super villain. And his name is so ludicrous it has to be an anagram (or is it: Grail be heisting").