This book is a deconstruction of the archetype of Slavic manhood.
Jaromil has it all. A loving mother that treated him like a little king which later prevented him from forming meaningful relationships with other women for he and mama were in love. This, of course, is all too common in Slavic societies. I have encountered it myself at least a dozen times.
Jaromil is also painfully insecure which, in that good old Slavic fashion, has to manifest itself through toxic masculinity as the means of overcompensation. He has to "own" his lovers. Any interaction of theirs with the opposite sex is weighed with suspicion. This is taken to such an extreme that Jaromil cannot even bear his lover spending time with her brother. Jaromil also recoils at the idea of his lover being touched by a doctor, a male doctor. Such touch would undermine, would taint, his ownership.
Every inconvenience is met with revenge. Every challenge is met with needless posturing. Things are said to make him seem strong, vigilant, and quick-witted, yet they ring hollow, for he says them with no actual regard or passion, only mere posing. The ideas are used as a tool to prop him up as the man. After all, how could intellectual honesty measure up to manhood? Manhood's cock is bigger. Which is all that matters.
Every Slav either knows a Jaromil or is a Jaromil, the archetype is inescapable. As of writing this review in the year of our lord 2021, Jaromils are still a predominant force in my society, and the way towards which society is heading, they might just dominate for a few hundred years more.