Because he faced the horrible truth of this world and laughed at it. He laughed in it's face.
I remember I got the feeling of giving up idealism through his incredible cynicism and just enjoying simple pleasures instead through one of his books; just enjoying women and people in general, enjoying what good they do have to offer. It really made me feel a little euphoric for a while. I had a correspondence of a few years and I then had the realization of how beautiful the person was that I was corresponding with and it had been so long since I bothered to think about such things; it seemed like such an innocent good thing.
I told this person how beautiful she was. And she assumed awful things of me, didn't explain herself although in retrospect it was easy enough to guess what she thought, and dropped all relations with me.
And Kundera laughed his ass off.
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