An Object of Beauty, Martin. Yes. Martin’s writing is mechanically nearly flawless, and while it started out a bit writerly for my taste, either he settled down or I became more tolerant. This rather lengthy excerpt (edited somewhat to remove plot-related irrelevancies), I believe, will tell you all you need to know to make a decision about reading the book:

“How can an artist have no effect on you for years and then one day it has an effect on you?”

“I call that the perverse effect. Those things that you hate for so long are insidiously working on you, until one day you can’t resist them anymore. They turn into favorites. It just takes a while to sort out the complications in them. Those artworks that come all ready to love empty out pretty quickly. It’s why outsiders hate the art we love; they haven’t spent time with it.”

The writing and story were easily good enough that I finished and enjoyed the book, and I greatly appreciated the photographs in the book of many of the art works that Martin discusses, but it never completely pulled me in the way I prefer a book to do.