This was very much what you would expect from a Christopher Moore. There was foul language, salacious moments, a few anachronisms, and some laugh-out-loud moments. What sets this one apart for me was the characterization of some of my favorite painters. They were believable and relatable. Except Renoir, Moore reduced him to a booty loving one-dimensional running gag. Oh well, you can't get them all. All in all, I enjoyed reading this book. It didn't exceed my expectations, but that's totally ok because I really like Christopher Moore.