By the time you reach The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook, it is abundantly clear that Matt Dinniman has no intention of allowing his Dungeon Crawler Carl series to settle into a comfortable formula. Each instalment has expanded the scope of the story, but this third book feels like a genuine turning point. The dungeon grows stranger, the challenges become more inventive and the conspiracy simmering beneath the surface finally begins to reveal itself in earnest. What started as a brilliantly absurd survival story has evolved into something much larger, blending action, comedy, science fiction and social satire into one of the most entertaining ongoing fantasy series around.

One of the most impressive aspects of Dinniman’s writing is his ability to make an increasingly bizarre world feel oddly familiar. The setting has become so outlandish that it could easily overwhelm the reader, yet it never does. Once again, the series makes excellent use of what internet culture affectionately refers to as “memberberries”. Familiar tropes, cultural references and recognisable ideas gently guide the reader through the chaos, offering little moments of comfort amongst the madness. As with the previous books, the effect is reminiscent of Ready Player One, although the execution is very different. Rather than making nostalgia the central attraction, Dinniman uses it as a subtle storytelling tool. These references provide familiar signposts without ever overshadowing the original ideas that make the series so distinctive.

More importantly, The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook marks another major escalation in the overarching narrative. Earlier books hinted that the dungeon was merely one part of a much larger system, but here those hints begin to crystallise into something far more substantial. Carl is no longer simply trying to survive the next floor. Every decision carries wider consequences, and the political intrigue surrounding the crawl becomes almost as compelling as the battles themselves. The series begins asking bigger questions about power, exploitation and resistance, all without losing sight of the personal story at its centre. It is a difficult balancing act, yet Dinniman manages it with remarkable confidence.

Carl himself continues to be an immensely engaging protagonist. His resilience never tips into invincibility, and his frustration, anger and determination all feel earned. He remains someone who succeeds through stubbornness and creativity rather than destiny. Princess Donut is every bit as entertaining as ever, continuing to evolve beyond what could easily have remained a one-note joke. Her relationship with Carl provides both many of the funniest moments and many of the most heartfelt. Their partnership remains the emotional core that grounds even the most ridiculous situations.

The supporting cast also benefits from the expanding scope of the story. Characters who might have been little more than colourful background figures in another series are given opportunities to grow, and the increasing complexity of the dungeon’s various factions makes the world feel genuinely alive. Despite juggling a large cast, Dinniman rarely loses control of the narrative, keeping events moving at an exhilarating pace while still allowing quieter moments to breathe.

The satire remains one of the series’ defining strengths. Reality television, corporate sponsorship, celebrity culture and audiences who consume suffering as entertainment all continue to come under fire. None of these observations are especially subtle, but they do not need to be. The exaggerated nature of the dungeon allows Dinniman to push these ideas to their logical extremes while still delivering an exciting adventure filled with monsters, impossible odds and wonderfully absurd humour.

As with the previous audiobooks, Jeff Hays deserves enormous praise for his narration. His performance has become inseparable from the series in my mind. Every character possesses a unique voice and personality, making even the busiest scenes effortless to follow. His comic timing is exceptional, but it is his ability to switch seamlessly into moments of genuine emotion that truly elevates the production. Whether Carl is facing impossible choices or Princess Donut is delivering one of her gloriously theatrical speeches, Hays makes every interaction feel authentic. He does not simply narrate the story. He inhabits it, bringing these characters to life in a way that makes the entire world feel real.

There was, however, one element of the audiobook that did not work for me. I was disappointed to hear that Critical Drinker, also known as Will Jordan, had been given a cameo narration role. In my opinion, the cameo was noticeably weaker than the consistently outstanding performances delivered by Jeff Hays and the rest of the cast. Rather than adding anything to the experience, I found it distracting and it briefly pulled me out of an otherwise immersive production.

I also recognise that Will Jordan is a commentator whose work generates strong and often polarised reactions. Personally, I detest his style of commentary and I loathe the themes and perspectives that feature prominently in his wider output. Because of that, hearing him appear in a series I otherwise love was disappointing to put it mildly.

Even so, that brief cameo is little more than a footnote in what is otherwise another exceptional instalment. The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook successfully expands the mythology, raises the stakes, develops its characters and delivers another exhilarating mix of humour, action and biting social commentary. Combined with Jeff Hays’ extraordinary narration, it stands as another superb entry in a series that continues to exceed expectations and leaves readers eager to discover just how much stranger the dungeon can become.

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