Funny, but not hilarious. Mostly tongue-in-cheek hyperboles, Mark Twain recounts here his 15-month walking trip through Central Europe and the Alps in 1878-1879. I have only one kind of test for humorous, or supposedly humorous, books: the sound test. Five stars if it made me laugh out loud; four stars if it made me chuckle; three stars if it made me smile; two stars if it just made light up inside; a star if I found it funny without any change in me, or if it wasn't funny at all.
In his Introduction Dave Eggers wrote that he "was crying because (he) was laughing" while reading this book. I find this hard to believe. But then again, maybe Mr. Eggers has a lower threshhold for humor. Or hasn't read Jorge Amado. I myself don't remember laughing, or crying, while reading his "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" which I read mainly because of its title which hinted of fun. It turned out to be a mild disappointment.
You see, of course, how many stars I gave this book