Not a comedy.
This novel has many of the familiar elements of Latin American fiction, a bit of magic realism, some hyperbolic sex, some touches of madness, and forays into politics.
But Medina's real goal seems to showing the brutality of the early years of the Castro regime, when the protection of the revolution has become paramount over human rights and civil liberties.
The failure of the book lies in the story of Elena, the protagonist, who spends much of her life, and the book, in a rural backwater of Cuba, helping her father make a primitive sort of alcohol that turns most of the town's young men into alcoholics, including her short-term husband, until drinking kills him. Her other distinction is being a determined poet bent on gaining acclaim for her work and moving to Havana.
Without much sturm or drang she wins an annual distinguished poetry contest and gets her opportunity to visit Havana. A brief return to her village gives her the chance to get reacquainted with her daughter. (You didn't know she had a daughter? That's okay, because Elena barely knew it herself.) Leaving the daughter behind again she returns to Havana and her poet-lover and instead of entering a heady world of artists and intelligentsia, she finds herself in a world of surveillance, censorship, and threats. She manages to stay out of trouble with authorities but her now husband poet faces their wrath after releasing a collection of poems highly critical of the regime.
The author makes a brave choice then of having the poet renounce his work, along with several friends, so that he and Elena are left in a murky, uneasy world with no clear path of escape. It would have been so easy to make them into martyrs in front of a firing squad, but instead we see them behave like ordinary human beings.
I found the fatal flaw in the book to be Elena herself. She pursues her own dreams of poetic success to the detriment of her own family and village, never showing any remorse about abandoning her child and mother, no regrets about the plague of alcoholism she helped her father unleash on the village, no sense of obligation or compassion towards the cousin whose "magic" frees her from a perceived curse, or even the long-suffering mule who gets her safely home only to drop dead himself at her doorstep.
Ultimately I didn't much care what happened to Elena or her husband as neither of them showed any signs of conviction outside the pages of poetry. Their lack of real character gives some credence to the regime's complaint that they cared only about themselves. I hasten to add that devotion to the idealised Revolution also took its adherents no closer to real compassion.