It is ironic that I happen to know the author of Divine Comedy likes to be known as Dr. Bebawi, for this book is an extraordinary tale of one man fighting against a never-ending plague of medical conditions to which the author’s academic doctorate is totally irrelevant. The tale does, however, make up for the author’s lack of medical training with the constant flow of health professionals in the cast. For anyone to have to digest the poisonous soup of diseases with strange names that is the theme running through this fictional tale of nonfiction is punishment enough, but for that same man to have to suffer the trials of an overactive sexual appetite, for which the physical apparatus required to satisfy the same ends up among the many failing organs in his body, must be purgatory indeed. Whether or not the narrator, Alexandre Akpors, would ever get to meet St. Peter is a moot question, such that he may never find out if his radiographically induced halo will ever have a chance to blind the saint. While the reader is never given a chance to forget the title of the book, the comedic aspect of the real or imaginary life that one learns about is always close to the surface. But in this writer’s mind, there is nothing very divine about this endless, overly repetitious tale of suffering and sexual encounters, both successful and otherwise, which leaves the reader both mentally exhausted and longing for a long and healthy life, free from all temptations of the flesh and never, ever having to set foot inside a medical doctor’s consulting room.

—Taran Hewitt,



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