Man this book read like a thriller. Everything felt so immediate and breakneck, I was holding my breath waiting for it to all fall apart. I can hardly believe any of this actually happened, but some parts felt incredibly real and familiar to me. I have no idea what to think of Breitweiser by the end, I'm both absolutely disgusted by his transparent narcissism and recognize bits of him in me.  My dad is an art history enthusiast and he taught me to appreciate art in much of the same way, and those descriptions of euphoria in the face of art felt incredibly real. That urge to want to touch, to get to know a piece of art on a deeper level is something my dad and I share, but we channel through making copies and making things inspired by those great works of art. I think Finkel did a great job of not glorifying Breitweiser but making him not justifiable, but understandable. Just loses a couple of points because it's one of those books that I loved but only really want to experience once.