Master of alliteration and counterpoint, imperfect, repetitive and genuinely entertaining. The narrative compass of Hassen Ben Othman is seriously flawed, a concomitant effect of chronic moral drunkenness, he's, notwithstanding all self-adverized literary wantoness, a legitimate heir to the Ali Douajji school of typical Tunisian humor and wittiness. I like Hassen ben Othman for being what he is, no strings attached, a Tunisian archetype caught tormentedly between what's sacred and what's not. Like everyone of us, nomadic souls in geopardy, he's schizophrenic but less hypocritical in admitting so. A conaissaire of profanity of all sorts and a dogged fighter of it, Ben Othman is an adorable chattered national soul. I admire how he wavers not, even as a much-reviled unorthodox believer in the divine above and beyond. As he holds high the remains of puritan faith to fend off all matters of unsophisticated doubt, his thematic pursuit of oenological paraphernalia in this book is fun and liberating. Comparison to Promosport dawns upon us again, if only for being less witty and comic, but that's what happens to a writer who grows more bitter and disenchented. The glorious Tunisian revolution, Ben Othman might opine, that's one bloody occasion to drink to.
سرديات فيها من الفضائحية المحببة بقدر ما فيها من الاعترافات الصريحة والمضمنة، عمل أدبي متناسق البنيان وان بدأ صحافيا. كتاب ينصح الباحث في شيزوفرينيا السكرة والصحوة التونسية، بقرائته. رغم بعض التكرار والحوشي تونس السكرانة او السكر، انا كما شاء للقارئ ترصيف أحرف هذا الجناس التصحيفي، عمل آسر يحول دون افلات يديك لصفحاته قبل ان تجد نفسك عند كلمة تمت.