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This was my first time reading Kundera. I picked it up in a bookstore on a whim and was completely enthralled. This author has a way of saying things I've always wanted to say, but never found the words to do so. He has a talent for observation that is cleverly, if not blatantly, philosophical. He's also very funny.
But enough about him, since one of his main points is that we all concern ourselves way too much with the personal lives of creative artists rather than their actual work. Hence, I suppose, the reason he gives himself a role in the storyline of the book, Alfred-Hitchcock style. He also throws in Goethe, Beethoven, Napoleon, and Hemingway and several others to help explain his ideas, and coins terms like "ridiculous immortality" and "hypertrophy of the soul" to give us his own "sound bites" for our minds to chew on.
The main storyline reads kind of like a modern Greek tragedy with a twist of French existentialism and several intermissions. I don't know if I could recommend it to everyone, but for creative types, depressives, beatniks, and anyone else who has felt like they didn't fit in with the rest of the world, this is a great book.