A reviewer in the JAMA of May 1931 had this to say: "

Nothing is so nonsensical as science made nonsensical. Mr. Chappell has written previous burlesques on books of travel. This book describes the adventures of a number of explorers who undertake a trip through the gastro-intestinal tract, where they stalk the heebee-geebees in the nerve forest of the lumbar region and rescue a hot dog that battles against the intestinal current. They capture phagocytes in their native lair. Some of the humor is based on analogy, some of it on puns, but most of it is pure nonsense and, as such, exceedingly funny to all who can appreciate nonsense."

I would just leave my review at "it is pure nonsense", but not exceedingly funny. I read the first chapter, which I found tedious. I dipped into several other chapters, but could never get beyond a page or two.

You, the reader, may find it more amusing than I did. ( )

If you enjoy 1930-ish sophomoric humor, this is the book for you. If you dream of a cruise past the Pyramids of Malpighi or the Islets of Langerhans, you will love this book. If your fantasy is a castle on the River Bile, read it and enjoy it. I read it for something light and fun and for nostalgia. Nostalgia? Well, my dad handed me this book in a used book store when I was about 14. At that time I was just starting a classical humanist education and was at the right age and of the right disposition and the right education to find the book hilarious. I well understood the reference in such gems as "This is a gorgeous dating from the Middle Ages reminiscent of Scarlatti''s famous Nux vomica Dolorosa" Even now as I type, I find myself imagining the Gregorian chant of Scarlatti's Stabat Mater Dolorosa. I also enjoyed the (now) historical references to 1928 politics for my parents would often talk of Prohibition and the Depression.

It is in the Kidney Country that the failure of the Eighteenth Amendment to operate beneficially is particularly in evidence. Elsewhere throughout the circculatory and traffic-bearing system, there is doubtless an enormous amount of bootlegging. My friend the Chief-Larynx at the Œsophagus . . . "Gus" as I call him . . . as well as the Customs Officials at Thorax, had spoken despairingly of doing anything to prevent the flow of illicit liquor. "Most of the lock-keepers are bribed," they told me. "What can you do about it?"

But in the larger cities along the Canal thiss clandestine commerce is hardly noticeable, concealed as it is by the bulk of legitimate business. Bolus-loads of fresh vegetables, meats, fruits and breadstuffs are frequently mere camouflage for shipments of pseudo Scotch, synthetic gin, and bogus Baccardi. A large part of these shipments invariably finds itss way into the Kidneys. Here the absorption is frankly in defiance of the Constitution. Their attitude, like that of the state of Connecticut, is "What is the Constitution between Kidneys?" They are a law unto themselves and neither Bishop Cannon nor Mr. Volstead can tell them what to do. They will take what they can get and make the best of it. "The Kidneys Carry On!"

Don't mind me, though. I'm a little odd. ( )