It's not the thought that counts, it's the gesture.
I have always said so, and I love the way this novel riffs on the gesture as metaphor. I don't agree with Kundera that "a gesture cannot be regarded as the expression of an individual," but I like his notion that "no individual is capable of creating a fully original gesture, belonging to no one else, nor can it even be regarded as that person's instrument; on the contrary, it is gestures that use us as their instruments, as their bearers and incarnations."
Perhaps more metaphysical cant than novel, but ultimately a good story, and humorous and conversational enough to not become tedious.