I was actively looking into this topic when I found this book, and I love doing long detailed research into niche interests, so this book should have been perfect for me. However....it felt more like awkward small-talk with a new acquaintance, rather than a deep dive into a topic. It felt like trying to dive with a life-jacket on: it was really hard to get very far past the surface to the good stuff.
The topic is very interesting, and there's some information that's really cool to hear about. However, it feels like there's more authorial introspection and travel reviews than actual substance. Several of the passages were just...really "icky", for lack of a better word. For instance, (content warning for discussion of suicide ahead), there's a bit where the author is talking to his wife, who's telling him that in Hungary, suicide isn't a taboo topic - it used to be a noble way out for bankrupt aristocrats so it's not, like, targeted by religious groups or stigmatized. She mentions that hanging is the preferred method of suicide. And the author quotes himself as responding, "Hence the hangdog expression of all the servers (in the restaurant). They're just going to finish their shift and go home and hang themselves. They're already depressed because the rope will probably slip or the light fixture will come out and they'll have to try two or three times." Just...feels really weird and insensitive? Like it's not funny, it's not adding any insight to the book's topic, it's not adding to the experience. It's just..."lol suicide".
There's also a healthy dose of misogyny. For instance, "When the landlord had said he could arrange a translator I instantly imagined someone young and lovely, and then stopped myself. It wouldn't be that way; it never is, and anyway I wasn't interested" (or so he says; but nonetheless feels the need to prepare himself for disappointment: "I conjured up instead an earnest linguist with thick glasses and stumpy shoes. When the thoughts returned" (wasn't interested? sure buddy) "I added stocky, swarthy, and a fierce command of the subjunctive in six languages" (because ewwww masculinity in a woman). "On the morning she was to arrive I dialed in a hint of moustache and sour body odour." Really selling your lack of interest, my friend. When she arrives, he finds out "She looked like Audrey Hepburn. Slender, with brown hair that fell below her shoulder blades, held back in front with a hair band. No makeup, delicate features, small hands. She wore tight blue jeans and a western shirt with snaps over a turquoise tank top." Just normal things to say about a female professional, right?
It's not just a fluke, either. Later on he describes the female head of promotion of a Swiss company: "Tall and slender, she had on elegant glasses and a business suit with a brown scarf at the neck, an ensemble that was stylish without being sexy (which of course made it so)". Again, just...just a normal way to discuss a woman doing her job.
Anyway, all that aside (there are plenty of other specific examples), overall there's more travel commentary and complaining and introspection than there is actual information about ink. There's good content in this book, but the author makes you wade through his diary to find it.