There are those who might suggest that this novel is lacking in certain things that could be deemed necessary to a novel - a significant plot, for example. I say, and it's robbed from Heller himself, that the object of debate is not debate - that is to say that the object of a novel is not necessarily to be a typical novel. This could be seen to be a didactic novel, a exercise in politics, in philosophy, in humanity. And it's damn funny! For those in the know, those with a keen sense of the absurd, and those with a sense of humour, not depressaholic to be sure, this is packed, loaded and bursting with inimitable Heller magic. Rembrandt is genuinely pathetic and cringeworthy, Socrates is one of the most admirable boobs ever portrayed, and Aristotle stands apart as a commentator of the sharpest intellect.
If you love Heller, hate Heller, or have never heard of him, this is a very funny and clever novel. If you want to learn about Rembrandt, screw Sarah Emily Miano, Tracy Chevalier or even Simon Schama - read this instead.