This book is interesting, and by that I mean, it both holds something very precious, much like a secret, and lacks something. The omniscient narrator tells of the mature, travelling life of landscape painter Rugendas, but it doesn't do it with enough feeling, it doesn't make us care about him enough. I can't pin-point what it is that the author does wrong, maybe the fact that is tells the story with few beautiful details, but it doesn't recreate life itself. It's nice in a way that it writes about some great truths, but with not enough context.