Italo Calvino Books

Most young boys, presented with a plateful of boiled snails for dinner and forced to eat them, might well remove themselves from the dining room--just as Cosimo takes to the trees as a rebellion against the screwball whims of his family. After this memorable opening, however, any pretense of realism ends, because for the rest of his life Cosimo never touches solid ground again.

The comedy of Cosimo's family is narrated by his younger brother, Biagio, who serves as the "grounded" foil to the folly of his parents and siblings. The boys' father is a bore "dominated by conflicting ideas" whose meek personality pales when set against the supremacy of the household's womenfolk. Their mother, the Generalessa, the daughter of the commander of the Holy Roman Empire's troops, has turned her household into a military camp, where even pieces of embroidery resemble maps "showing the disposition of battles in the Wars of Succession." Cosimo's tough-as-nails sister, Battista, doubles as the cook, serving up basted baby porcupines and rats' liver pate and spending "nights wandering the house in search of mice, holding a candelabra, with a musket under her arm."

Although heir to this substantial, if quirkily managed, estate on earth, Cosimo establishes his own kingdom in the trees for the duration of the Age of Enlightenment, and he acquires first a local fame as a judicious protector (guarding against vagabond pirates and adolescent riffraff) and then a continental notoriety as a cerebral wit. A bibliophile even in his skyward perch, Cosimo corresponds with Diderot, to whom he posits a constitution for the ideal state, a Republic of Arborea. (Of course, once all of humanity had taken to the trees, Cosimo would necessarily return to his solitary life on the now-deserted land.) Being not exactly of the world permits him the distance "to see the earth properly." ("Once it was only Nature that produced living phenomena," says a bemused Voltaire. "Now `tis Reason.") Even Napoleon, on his way to Milan to be crowned, pays a visit to this modern-day Simon Stock.

One of Calvino's more popular (and most accessible) novels, the fairy-tale premise of "The Baron in the Trees" has occasionally been criticized for excessive cuteness, its farcical storyline often overpowering both its literary allusions and the seemingly haphazard references to seventeenth-century philosophy. Behind the folly, however, is a Donne-inspired morality tale that argues ad absurdum that there is no escaping the world; even from the air, Cosimo is as much a part of society as the most animated man-about-town on the ground.

One of Calvino's more accessible works, too. If you were put off by If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, try this more traditional novel. A great deal of fun. Goes great with coffee.

The Baron in the Trees is one of the most enchanting novels ever written. When the Baron decides to take up his arboreal existence, one cannot help but believe he is making the right decision. Calvino fleshes out the Baron into one of the most believable characters in literature. This is an amazing feat considering the farcical lifestyle the Baron decides to adopt. Calvino takes the opportunity to create a world at once steeped in history, philosophy and politics while at the same time illustrating the everyday existence and lives of those around him. The cat skin hat, the exiles in the trees, the Napoleonic troops all brought to life with amazing detail. Memory, love and history all combine and swirl throughout the story. While there is nothing exactly magical or out of this world about this book, it is one of the best examples of magical realism I have read. I could not put this book down. Stop reading this review and buy the book.

A beautiful fairy tale of a book. It never devolves into heavy-handed allegory. It's original, without stinking of Cleverness. Don't know what else to say. If you're into John Crowley, Borges, Ray Bradbury, or the Brothers Grimm, then you'll love this book. You'll probably love it anyway. Have fun.

Italo Calvino was one of the most underrated maestros of magical realism, where atoms fall in love and empty suits of armor walk and talk. And one of his most polished, reader-friendly stories was "Baron in the Trees," a fable about a nobleman who lives his whole life in a tree. Yes, it sounds weird -- but the result is sweet, uplifting and full of childlike wonder.

A young nobleman, Cosimo, was enraged when his eccentric sister made dinner out of his pet snails. So when his father ordered him to eat, he ran up a tree and swore to stay there forever. And he did, from his adolescence up to old age, becoming famous as the Baron in the Trees. Even at the death of his parents, he remained in the trees nearby, watching and helping -- but not coming down. Even when the Baron dies, he finds a way to ascend even higher...

Without leaving the trees, he manages to hunt animals, educate himself with great philosophers, adopts an abandoned dog, lends bestselling books to a local bandito, battles pirates who are conspiring with his uncle, has an affair with a promiscuous Marchesa, and even lives with a band of tree-dwelling Spanish exiles.

"Baron in the Trees" is a whimsical little story on the surface, until you look deeper at the message of "living in trees." Cosimo removes himself from the ground, and also removes himself from the worries of ordinary people -- social position, power, material goods. He's happy just to have friends, books, and his own private kingdom.

But even if you take it at face value, "Baron in the Trees" is an enchanting little story. Calvino's lush, detailed writing is always full of a child's wonder, and he sounds like he's living his own fantasies as he describes how Cosimo manages to sleep (a sort of fur cocoon), store his possessions and fall in live... while never stepping out of the tree. But Calvino manages to convey the bittersweetness of Cosimo's life: While he loves his odd life, he also knows that it alienates him from the rest of the world and leaves him alone.

Cosimo himself is a relatively distant character, since the whole book is through the eyes of his otherwise-unimportant brother. But he is surrounded by equally quirky characters -- his Jesuit-phobic father, "general" mother, creepy disgraced sister, and an array of book-loving bandits, odd priests, and peasants who get used to the tree-dwelling Baron.

A sweet, quirky fable about a young man who just won't come down to earth, "The Baron in the Trees" is a truly enchanting read.

I don't quite know what I was expecting with this book, but this just wasn't it. I was looking forward to reading this for a while but it just didn't keep me interested. This book definitely has an interesting concept, but apparently that just isn't enough for me. Other people might like it, but it may just take a little work to stay interested. Don't let this review discourage you though; take a chance.

The idea of entities as old as the universe telling their stories from their perspective - some at the galaxies macro scale and some at the atoms micro scale - seems like an interesting idea.
Italo Calvino has portrayed some stories with a style and prose that actually makes it a pleasurable reading experience. Unfortunately some of the stories are tedious and tiresome.
Overall - it deserves 3 stars for the idea, for being short- overall and for some of the stories which are truly fascinating.

This is a collection of short stories ``based on'' scientific theories. However, this attempt to give pseudo-scientific explanations/settings to all the stories, spoils the general fable-like literary beauty and charm of these stories. I don't claim that science-fiction should be held to the same standards of rigour and correctness as science itself, but stories that require suspension of disbelief (Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide or Lem's Cyberiad) should not try to explain things within the realm of ``actual'' science. Such stories can develop their own internal self-consistent logical systems, but if they try to connect to actual science then they merely become inconsistent. It is sad to see good literature being wrecked by bad science.

Amazing, and though it's hard to write a cliche like this after reading something so incredibly original, it truly is unlike anything else you'll ever read. Calvino uses higher math elements as his characters and the construction of the universe and probably the destruction of time as his story line. Like the best of carnival rides, who knows what the heck's going on? But the ride is fantastic and just exists in its own space. Have fun with this-- but be careful: you might get lost at the outer/inner rim of creation.

Twelve stories of varying quality told-not by
a whale or a woodworm-but by a character who is as
old as creation. Now an infinite narrator could have
a lot of different voices. He/she/it could even be
voiceless, or speak by vibrating the molecules of
the universe.
Sorry, I got carried away there. Anyway, the voice thatCalvino chooses is the voice of in ironically-inclined
grandpa telling an unprecedented set of Just So stories.
Distance of the Moon is the easiest of these to like and
the one most sure to make it to anthologies. The Aquatic
Uncle-a story about creatures leaving the ocean and living,
joyfully, rebelliously on land-is the most socially apt.

But all of them, even in the hands of a playful narrator who
himself/herself/itself has no shape until the very last story, are
remarkably about love.

Does any of this make sense? Well, probably not. But it
makes something: a playful, avuncular poem maybe,or maybe
just a great read.


--Lynn Hoffman, author of THE NEW SHORT COURSE IN WINE and
the novel bang BANG. ISBN 9781601640005

Calvino's ability to capture topics of humanity is relevant for people of all ages. In this story of a man in a poor industrial town, Calvino conveys eloquently the timeless struggle between nature and civilization.

For any translation, the book ought to include the original text. Although the translation of Marcovaldo is very good, it is a little disappointing that these stories, originally written in Italian are not included in this book. Despite what is described about the book in the editorial review, this product does not include the Italian text. Having said this, the stories are very enjoyable. There are twenty stories divided under themes on seasons. The main character, Marcovaldo, is a simple country man who is experiencing culture shock after he relocates and works in the industrialized part of Northern Italy during the 1950's, and the stories center around his problems of adjustment. One of the funniest stories in the book is titled, "The Wasp Treatment." People may recall something called "bee therapy" where bee venom is used to cure various aliments. Marcovaldo comes up with an idea that is a variation on the bee therapy, but things do not turn out the way that he expects. The book guarantees many laughs and enjoyment, even though it lacks the literary beauty found in the original language.

This is a work that is simply magical to read. A collection of stories dealing with the imaginative dreamer, Marcovaldo, the book weaves a dreamscape around the protagonist's city life. Sometimes surreal, often funny, and sometimes poignant, Marcovaldo is a book that can work its way into your heart and remain with you. In the words of another reviewer who summed it up quite nicely: "There is a little Marcovaldo in all of us."

It's hard not to admire the people who enjoy simple things... as long as they don't get out of touch with the reality. That seems to be the idea behind Italo Calvino's "Marcovaldo: Or the Seasons in the City," a warm little novel that shows the joys of life -- and the weird truths behind them.

Marcovaldo is an unskilled laborer in a rather dreary Italian city, with a stressed wife and a bunch of somewhat dopey kids. He also has an eye for beauty and an idealistic love of natural bounty. A stray rabbit, a blanket of snow, a peaceful park bench, a hidden stash of mushrooms, a trip to the countryside with his children, and a bus on a foggy night.

Marcovaldo revels in the natural beauty and good fortune that come to him on these occasions. Unfortunately, they aren't quite as wonderful as he thinks -- every time, something bizarre and unlucky happens to him, whether it's the noises of urban nighttime, the realities of farm work, diseased rabbits, a plane to Bombay, a minor avalanche, or a bad case of food poisoning.

Popping little idealistic dreams seems like a pretty mean-spirited thing to do. Yes, even to a fictional character like Marcovaldo. But somehow Italo Calvino's charming little book manages to be mocking and funny without being nasty about it. He's an airhead, and somewhat selfish, but amusingly and likably so.

The book is made up of little short stories, each focusing on one "season in the city," and a new problem for Marcovaldo. In a way, each amusing little story feels like a joke, with the punchline only coming at the end. For example, a walk in the fog and boarding a bus becomes a disaster, when Marcovaldo discovers that the "bus" is actually a plane heading for Bombay.

Here and there, Calvino also adds a bit of magical realism to the otherwise prosaic stories, such as one scene where Marcovaldo sneezes away every flake of snow in a large area. Even if this could never happen in the real world, his lush, almost conversational writing makes it come alive and seem plausible.

Its simple stories keep it from being among Calvino's best, but "Marcovaldo: Or the Seasons In the City" is a charming, offbeat book that takes a slightly more cynical look at idealists.

I've read this book as a child. These surreal stories are a
marvel: poetic, tender, still realistic in telling the lives of simple, even poor people, pathethically struggling in the difficulties in a cold city, and yet humorous, cheerful of the scant victories and joys they can attain. These stories are filled whit a great love for humanity, and of a subtle sense of the surreality of life. A must read!

The Nonexistent Knight and The Cloven Viscount were my first reads of Calvino's. These two novella's in one book made a fine interlude into a long series I have been reading and one in which I needed a break from. As in the Viscount in The Cloven Viscount, the book has two halves...one of which I really enjoyed and the other I only partly enjoyed.

The Nonexistent Knight was superb! I absolutely loved it and found myself laughing out loud in hysterics. It was brilliant! However, I found it difficult to get into TCV. It didn't move as fluidly, didn't catch my attention and wasn't until about halfway through that I began to rather enjoy it and its philosophical underlinings. I highly recommend both, but I didn't feel TCV was at the same caliber as TNK.

I can't share the same enthusiasm for these tales as so many other reviewers have expressed. These stories are only hints of the brilliance Calvino exhibits in his later tales. The two parable-like novellas are based on far-fetched premises (a Calvino trademark) -- the first an empty suit of armor that acts as the exemplary knight out of sheer will power; the second a viscount halved in combat into two surviving entities. It is fun to ponder the implications of these stories, particularly the story of the perfect knight who is physically non-existent but coheres through act of will, yet who lacks whatever it is that we call humanity. The Cloven Viscount is a more mundane and predictable tale that employs the old good-evil, id-ego, left-brain-right-brain paradigm. These stories offer an interesting glimpse into the developing genius that manifests itself more fully and artfully in Baron in the Trees, Cosmicomics, and Invisible Cities.

This book by Calvino is certainly more conventional than something like "Cosmicomics," yet I found myself enjoying it more. Perhaps it's the feeling of flow a more developed plot brings or maybe it's just taken this long to get into Calvino's idiom. Even here, I found myself getting more into "The Cloven Viscount" than the
"Nonexistent Knight." Whether that's because I finally got into Calvino's writing style or one story is better than the other remains to be seen.

"Knight" is a cool fable in any case. Its satire, however, can be slightly off putting. For example, the first time we meet the female protagonist, she's peeing in a lake! Not a great first impression - but Calvino must have meant for that to be the case. Perhaps it's a joke or satire of courtly love. The ending "revelation" doesn't seem to have the impact I think Calvino meant it to have. However, in retrospect it makes sense. I do, however, love the character of "Agilulf" or perhaps "A Gulf" or emptiness, too. It's interesting to contrast him with the Good Un of the following novella.

"Viscount" was more enjoyable, though. I like its violence and thoughtfulness. One would expect one's sympathies to be with good in a good vs. evil fight. However, Calvino shows how even good is half of a whole. Moreover, it's fascinating how much easier it is to understand evil than good. Such themes and vital imagery make this a visceral and intelligent story.

Fables all, but good ones. A great place to start reading Calvino. Perhaps the rest of his work will make more sense after this introduction.

Magical realism was never more magic than when Italo Calvino wrote it. While the two novellas "The Nonexistent Knight and The Cloven Viscount" are early work, his quirky satire and strange fantasy are in fine form here. The best description of Calvino's writing is: fairy tales for adults, which are smart and funny at the same time.

"The Nonexistant Knight" opens with Charlemagne and his army preparing for a massive battle -- except that one knight named Agilulf is, technically, nonexistant. Okay, he's the very image of honor and chivalry, but he's also a walking empty suit of white armor. For some reason, Charlemagne doesn't seem disturbed by this.

Fortunately, Agilulf is able to do his job despite not existing; Calvino's meditations on this are outstanding. Because of his ultra-perfection, Agilulf ends up attracting a naive young soldier, a feisty warrior woman, and an odd young knight who is looking for the Order of the Holy Grail. A Shakespearean tangle of sorts emerges before things start to sort themselves out...

"The Cloven Viscount" is a simpler work: A viscount is hit by a Turkish cannonball that somehow splits him in half. Surprisingly, he's not dead -- they're able to save the right half of his body. But when the right half goes home, it becomes increasingly clear that it only has half the personality as well. And unfortunately, it's the evil half.

As the various peasants try to deal with the viscount's vicious acts, the left half shows up as well. As it happens, the left half is the good half. He's also, despite his goody-goody personality, as much of a menace as the evil side. Can the two halves somehow get back into a whole man, or will they drive everyone else nuts?

Italo Calvino's work is always a bit whimsical, but there is actual substance under the whimsy. For example, Agilulf is rigidly devoted to protocol and form, because he has nothing inside him. I'm pretty sure every person has met someone like Agilulf. Or, for that matter, glimpsed the two halves that lie inside every human being.

Don't think it's all stuffy philosophy, though. One of Calvino's greatest talents was to make a hugely entertaining story that never became preachy, only funny. While the subtext of "Viscount" is obvious, "Knight" is a sort of satire on medieval chivalry tales. And that is where Calvino excels; "Viscount," while good, is a bit heavy-handed in places. But his macabre, slightly strange sense of humor keeps it from being goofy or preachy.

His writing is formal, clear and evocative and starkly pretty, with only some key details. But it is peppered with funny lines and undignified characters. One of the best lines of "Knight" is at the beginning, where Charlemagne comments (entirely seriously), "Well, for someone who doesn't exist, you seem in fine form."

Calvino's offbeat parables and satires are always excellent, and his early pair of novellas are no exception. Funny, strange and thought-provoking, these are a pair of modern classics.

I've long meant to give Calvino a try as his name is always mentioned in the company of other magic realists and fabulists that I like. I decided on this one simply because I found a nice copy used. Unfortunately, I didn't like it very much and I wonder if I just got the wrong book to give Calvino a fair try.

This is two novellas that showcase why he's considered a magic realist, and they do meet at least my definition of that term. In "The Nonexistent Knight," the titular character Agilulf is indeed an empty suit of armor which even Charlemagne finds off-putting rather than unusual. After setting up that the Knight is about the most perfect of the paladins (so much so that his fellow paladins dread him), a meal discussion reveals that the incident on which his knighthood is based might be false, thus leading him on a quest to discover the virgin whom he rescued many years ago. A couple of other characters--including a Red Sonja-type maid who yearns for the knight because he is perfect in every respect but physicality--and a strange nun narrator who keeps inserting her voice add some side-trips to this search, but it's a strange fairy-tale that wraps up in the end but still leaves you wondering what it was all about.

"The Cloven Viscount" is even stranger, about a lord who was severed in half (down the middle) and in which each half survives, yet one side is all bad and the other is all good. The fact that I can't keep a bad Star Trek episode out of my mind the entire time I'm reading this is not a recommendation. More so than the first novella, I couldn't see what the point was. With both of these, it could be that it was simply lost in translation, or that I just wasn't open to the wonders of the stories.

I'd be willing to give Calvino another try, although I think I may ask around for recommendations before picking up the next book.

This is a fantastic collection of stories. I read it at the same time that I was reading very many short stories and trying to get a handle on the form. In addition to reading Calvino's book presented here, I was also reading Isaac Baashevis Singer's Death of Methuselah and Other Stories. While Singer's stories in that volume reverberate with the echoes of a firm oral storytale tradition, Calvino's volume is more firmly planted in the literary (qua fable). It is difficult, in my opinion, to find a more heartwarming expression of many of life's great tragedies, including the tragedy of war, presented in a number of stories in the volume with brilliant wit and eccentric cynicism. In some senses Calvino's work can be viewed as a close counterpart to the rather ironic novels of Evelyn Waugh, although there is a sense of grandeur in Waugh that will assuredly not be found in Calvino. Like Mauriac said of Kafka, Calvino is one of those writers with whom you'd like to read everything about and nothing by; insofar as that is true, then this collection of wonderful stories is a vigorous exception.

This collection of stories represents some of Calvino's best early work (the stories were originally compiled in two books from 1949 and 1958). Those who have read "The Baron in the Trees" (from 1957) will recognize the style at work here. The book burgeons with short stories, 28 in all divided into four sections, and each one includes a discovery of some sort as well as a reflection on the most bizarre of human emotions: love.
The stories contained in the book's first section, "Riviera Stories", seem to have political subthemes. Many deal with the haves and have nots and their interactions. "The Enchanted Garden" tells of two children that happen along a seemingly deserted villa to discover a utopia or a dystopia - are the people who live in such luxury happy?; "A Goatherd at Luncheon" explores the gaps between the rich and the poorer classes when the man of the house invites the goat herder to lunch; In "Big Fish, Little Fish" a very capable young diver comes across an astonishing motherload of fish along with a sobbing sunbather who says she's "unlucky in love", but every fish the boy pulls out seems to have problems - the downside of a bonanza; "Lazy Sons" traces a day in the life of two boys who refuse to work in spite of the fulminations of their hard-working parents.
The next section, "Wartime Stories", not surprisingly, contains the most violent and disturbing stories of the book. "Hunger at Bévara" explores the desperation of a village caught between two fronts and the hero Bisma who helped save the village, at least temporarily; "Going To Headquarters" plays with expectations as the tensions between two men, one who might be a spy, and the other who may be his executioner, heighten; "One of the Three Is Still Alive" probably qualifies as the book's most disturbing story. A man thrown into a deep pit by the enemy discovers that the dead bodies of his comrades broke his fall, he then tries to escape from the pit; "Animal Woods" is both comedic and tragic. A man tries to shoot a looting German soldier but the livestock of his village keeps interfering.
The third section, "Postwar Stories" deals with a desperate world, one with limited resources and where almost anything goes. "Theft in a Pastry Shop" tells the hilarious story of criminals who suddenly find themselves on a gluttonous rampage during a robbery; "Dollars and the Demimondaine" explores a couple's quest for dollars amongst a crowd of rather lusty American sailors. This section deals with the desperate climate of a postwar country. As people suffer some take a no holds barred approach while others find themselves giving up or asking what's it worth.
The book's final, and longest, section, "Stories of Love and Loneliness" is probably the most intriguing. It presages somewhat Calvino's later book "Mr. Palomar". The style in this section is deeply character driven, and the thoughts and motivations of characters get explained with amazing detail. "The Adventure of a Soldier" follows a soldier's conquest of a woman seated next to him on a train. He cautiously explores her body to gauge her reaction. Did she pull away? Is she acquiesing? "The Adventure of a Bather" explores how some see nakedness as a humiliation, so much so that they risk death rather then being seen unclothed. "The Adventure of a Photographer" depicts a seemingly non-obsessive man's all consuming obsession with capturing life through photographs. He's too engaged to even notice the interest of the beautiful woman acting as his subject; "The Adventure of a Nearsighted Man" shows just how much a pair of glasses can change one's life. The character can now recognize many things, but other people no longer recognize him. Even the woman he yearns for, and who he's known for years, doesn't recognize him with his glasses on.
"Difficult Loves" provides a suitable umbrella title to package these stories under. Many deal with love in its various forms: physical, emotional, spiritual, self, political, material. In nearly all cases the characters in the story have difficulty defining or requiting the love they have for others or things. The book explores the nebulous nature of desire and attraction to others and the inevitable hardships of bridging one's desires with reality. Throughout the book, Calvino's writing mesmerizes (even in translation) and pulls the reader in without mercy. The character studies of the final section are incredible in their detail and ambition. It's amazing how much Calvino can cram into a ten page story. The range of emotions is also incredible. The stories evoke laughter, disgust, pity, shame, and of course love.
If you want a good read or want to study the art of the short story, look no further than this book by Calvino. It won't disappoint.

I read Difficult Loves a month ago and found that the stories in this book have staying power. Italo Calvino conjures up vivid imagery to accompany magical and unsettling stories. His story telling abilities are such that he reminds readers of long forgotten sensations. We feel the marvel and anxiety of two children who happen upon a property that is both enchanting and disturbing. We experience the elation of a man who is new to glasses and his disappointment upon realizing he found only a temporary reprieve from his same old life. Another story that opens with a leathery old man warning a weary traveler against crossing a mountain pass is one of the most powerfully written tales in the book. Difficult Loves is worth rereading.

Difficult Loves provides a comprehensive look at the art of storytelling, and its ability to expose the subtle emotions and personalities of everyday life. Calvino is particularly adept at honing in on a definitive moment, or succession of moments in the lives of his characters, and capturing the surprising shifts of relation and consciousness that occur suprisingly and spontaneously. The last section in the book, Stories of Love and Loneliness, shows Calvino at his most artful, examining the ways that certain types of people experience life and love. An earlier reviewer pointed out that everyone can find something to connect with in these stories. This is true in an even deeper sense, namely, that within the narration, sparkling moments of truth are revealed about the workings of the human mind, and they can only be read with a consistently deepening respect for the author and his art. There is a confessional quality to the work as well, and Calvino hints at his own obsessions and deviancies and shortcomings as a thinker. This authorial honesty conforms well with the subjects of the stories, all of which are betrayed in a state of almost disconcertingly fallible humanity. These are the anti-heros, the heros of everyday life and love. With Difficult Loves, Calvino maps out another essential area of human experience, and does it with a simple beauty that belies the complexity of his grand project.

"Difficult Loves" is a collection of four sets of stories, each set revolving around a particular theme or setting. Calvino's perspective and style remain constant, however, as he navigates effortlessly between a disparate set of characters and situations. The hallmark of Calvino's perspective is his ability to take small "slices of life", understand them in great detail, and convert them into fascinating and gripping tales. The attraction to his stories is heightened by the occasional recognition of, and correlation to, the plethora of complex feelings aroused by these small and innocuous happenings. The fact that these feelings are so often buried in our subconscious and never played out recognizably indicate how acute an observer and analyst Calvino really is.

"The Adventure of a Soldier", a part of the last set of stories ("Stories of Love and Loneliness"), is a beautiful example of Calvino's keen observational faculties. In this story, a man embarks on a complex and courageous mental (and somewhat physical) journey, on the basis of a perceived physical contact with a fellow passenger on a train. Such is the honesty of Calvino's account of the soldier's emotions, that the reader can almost palpably feel the various contacts with the co-passenger, while sympathizing, if not empathizing, with the soldier's state of mind. This story is also a great illustration of the use of dramatic arc as a story-writing tool, especially to connect seemingly disjointed ideas or states.

The one serious drawback of this book is that while it manages to avert becoming platitudinal, it nonetheless becomes increasingly monotonous with the passage of each story. Calvino's disposition to simplicity and lucidity become his greatest failing as the novelty of his perspective wears off. Thus, overall, this is a book definitely worth reading, but best read in a piecemeal fashion to avoid weariness.

Founded in late 1960 in France, at a colloquium on the work of Raymond Queneau, in order to research new writing by combining mathematics and literature (and also to just horse around) the Oulipo (The Ouvrior de LittÈrature Potentielle or Oulipo (The Workshop of Potential Literature)) expanded to include all writing using self-imposed restrictive systems.

Potential Literature, to me, seems an extension of Surrealism, which used the methods of literary production to critique modernism's obsession with the literary artifact; instead of the myth of the artist alone in some garret painstakingly crafting a Work of Art, literature is automatically generated by timed writing, or mechanically generated by multiple authors with games like the Exquisite Corpse or pieced together in a collage of found text. The Oulipo extends this the critique of modernism by exploring ways that literature can be produced as a result of mathematical formulas, or by building complex rules that limit writer's potential choices, or by the construction of new literary forms.

This book serves as a short introduction to the methods of potential literature several reprints from the groups pamphlet series, including François Le Lionnais's Manifestos and Italo Calvino's essay "How I Wrote One of My Books," which served as the blue print for If On a Winter's Nigh a Traveler.

Oulipo is a body of generative ideas rather than a critical or analytical method. It does away with philosophical underpinning in favor of just generating writing. Raymond Queneau regretted that writer's didn't use tools like other craftsmen. With word-processors, they do and this text supplies a range of techniques for extending mechanical writing beyond spell check. The muse has had her hard drive reformatted.

This book is a riot! I highly recommend it. All of the texts are funny but Fornel's Suburbia is the funniest produced yet by the Oulipians. In addition, this book is a good introduction to the aesthetics of Oulipo, a group of writers who are underappreciated by the American audience.

This superb work of fiction is a bit confusing at first but totally engrossing as you get into it. It is the first book I've ever run across in which the author tells the reader what the reader is doing, making the reader the lead character in the story.
It's unusual style, combined with a truly original plot that is both entertaining and thought provoking at the same time, make IF ON A WINTER'S NIGHT A TRAVELER a truly wonderful book and heartily good read.

Yes, this book requires thought to fully understand. However, it is not tedious, as some have claimed it is. It's ingenuity and novelty keep it entertaining, even at parts that otherwise would be boring. Regardless, it will definitely change the way you think about literature, writing, and reading (if you're a casual reader and not an academic, of course).

I have read many books over my life and am incredibly picky as to the authors, possibly to my detrement. Even among the authors I do enjoy I find flawed writings, whether it be Jorge Luis Borges, Salmon Rushdie, philosophers like Marcus Aurelius or Thomas Paine. Of all Calvino's writings from The Path to the Spiders' Nest, to his collection of Italian Folktales, I have never failed to enjoy his writing. As I have read all his writing, I can say with confidence If on a Winters Night a Traveler is his greatest novel, his masterpiece. I can not think of a better novel to read to provoke the mind, find pleasure, or to relax with. It like Salmon Rushdie's Grimus, or Dashiell Hammett's black mask writing, stays with the mind almost as a dream, a friend until present day.

A innovative novel about the reader-writer relationship in which Calvino encourages each one of us to think about the activity of reading, to do so, Calvino turns the reader into a character and makes him (or is it me?) interact with the writer, the non-reader and the other reader. Calvino also puts beginnings of novels in-between the reader's story and are in those that he shows how talented and flexible he is, he changes his prose, tone and style on everyone of them, in an - successful - attempt to make us believe that they were all written by different authors.
At some point you'll realize that Calvino is actually playing with your ability as a reader, he dares you to keep reading no matter how frustrating it is to be interrupted right after the story gets interesting, to be left wondering what's going to happen next, and never get an answer, but if you keep going, if you carry on going further into the world of dead-ends, mirrors and mirages that Calvino creates you'll realize how worthy it is to get lost on his masterful labyrinth.

4.5 out of 5

Calvino's 'If On a Winter's Night a Traveler' is a wonderfully complex literary dip into post-modernity in which the author distances the narrative and holds it under a fractured telescope. The plot is a peculiar combination of stories told with a cool detachment which all eventually converge with the two readers, who are in truth the protagonists of the story. This does not make for easy reading, and it's nearly impossible to get it all the first time through, but Calvino's remarkable command of ideas and prose will pull you into his rich imagination.

This book traces Mr. Palomar's thoughts about various events. As the events or places that Palomar passively partakes in become funnier so do the thoughts of Mr. Palomar. The book isn't really totally conventional, or emotionally sweeping or anything but it evokes a certain feeling associated with a fictional train of thought, and then moralizes about this fictional line of thought at the end.

From what I could tell Mr. Palomar was meant to be sort of a banal character, with a topical knowledge of many subjects. I wonder what his thoughts would've been like reading books? So in conclusion I'm not really sure I got the point of this book, and the moralization that somehow Mr. Palomar is sort of dead. Or perhaps it's one of those meta-books, but meta-books aren't so good and mostly get by on font choice like some of this author's other books.

I think The book raised some interesting points in passing is what I can say about it.

When I first picked this up, I had to admit that I was skeptical. I am a great fan of Calvino but was put off by books description. The shtick of the viewer controlling and describing everything seemed more like a gimmick than a legit novel. Boy, was I wrong. I have never been more interested in viewing Saturn or seeing Starlings in Rome than after reading this. Please, do not get me wrong; I know it is about more than that. The thing is, like Invisible Cities, this book wraps itself around your psyche, hijacks your thoughts and informs your dreams. Calvino went out with a bang.

Here is another great example of how versatile a writer Italo Calvino was. His work always had a philosophical side to it, and in Mr. Palomar that side almost takes over completely.

Mr. Palomar is the main character (in fact, one of the only characters) and the world simply befuddles him to an extent that he needs to find order and meaning in everything. His attempts are often very funny, but how they're all inevitably spoilt is even funnier. Probably the best example of this is the section entitled "The Naked Bosom" - Palomar tries to find a way to both not deny himself the natural pleasure of seeing a topless sunbather and not denying the naked sunbather digity and respect. His attempts cause him to pass by the sunbather so frequently that she gets up in a huff. Good intentions, bad implementation. The book circles around similar themes, but within many different contexts. Palomar looks at waves, rhapsodizes on mating turtles, examines the night sky, examines the patrons of a cheese shop, etc. Mr. Palomar is always in natural and real-life situations, but over-analyzing them to a degree almost of unreality. Though it sometimes reads like a very heady, and bordering on the pretentious, book, it's actually a very funny book about trying to find meaning in life, and the inevitable problems one will likely have in finding meaning all by oneself. It almost reads like a parody of intellectualism; of someone so thirsting for knowledge that they forget their very surroundings and paradoxically neglect themselves and others in the process. The more Palomar examines the world, the less he feels comfortable in it, and the further he seems to drift from people and society. By the end of the book, Palomar is in pretty bad shape in this regard, and the book's final sentence will either stun you or make you laugh very hard. Yes, there is a story (and arguably a plot) it's just told very unconventionally.

Some of the standout sections are "The Naked Bosom" (mentioned earlier, about the sunbather), "Marble and Blood" (about hidden guilt in a butcher's shop), and "Serpents and Skulls" (about interpreting ancient meanings). All of these are at once funny and profound. Through Palomar's search the reader gets a peek at some of the great questions and some controversial issues. How one deals with these questions and issues is something every reflective, for those fortunate enough to have time and resources for reflection, human being must wrestle with. In the end the book asks a big question: "How to deal with all of this?" It is doubtful that Mr. Palomar provides a good example, but it is entertaining to follow his steps through the maze of existence's puzzles.

The table of contents of this book are not where one would expect. They have been put to the back of the book as an index, and coded thematically and experientially. The index explains the structure of the book. I can't say I've seen this approach elsewhere, but it makes me wonder if Palomar is responsible for them - is the index part of the parody?

Palomar is experimental, funny, profound, unconventional, and at last entertaining and challenging to read. This pretty much sums up all of Calvino's books. He never settled on one approach or one style for too long. One never knows what they're going to get when one picks up a book by Calvino.

Italo Calvino's short novel, "Mr. Palomar" (1983) is a thoughtful, philosophical work, elegantly written. As is sometimes the case with novels of ideas, the book is static with little in the way of action, drama, or character development. It is meditative with an overabundance of factual minutae in places with the result that neither the story nor the ideas come through well.

There are, nevertheless, a few good scenes in the book, good use of irony and ambiguity, and some provocative ideas. Thus, at the conclusion of a chapter, presenting Palomar's reflections from his terrace, he observes that "[i]t is only after you have come to know the surface of things, that you can venture to seek what is underneath.... But the surface of things is inexhaustible."(p.55) This is stuff for thought. But it is buried here in too much tedium.

There is little in the way of plot in this book. Instead the book consists of a number of short vignettes, elaborately organized under an index at the conclusion. The vignettes involve the meditations of Mr. Palomar, named after the famous telescope, who is an observer of nature, people, and his mind. He is quiet and reserved and keeps aloof from the hurly-burly of the everyday. The episodes take place in various locations, the beach, Palomar's home, Paris, Japan, and elsewhere, and it may be that he is to be taken as a symbol rather than as a real character.

The story is told with irony and I think the reader is meant to contrast the virtues of thought, restraint, self-sufficiency, and reserve in Mr Palomar with his alienation from the larger culture and with his aloneness and eccentricities. The stories follow a pattern in which Mr. Palomar's thoughts and experiences go radically off course as he is confronted with the reality of a world independent of his wishes.

As most reviewers have noted, the most memorable portion of this book is a chapter titled "The Naked Bosom" in which Mr. Palomar thinks about and responds to a topless sunbather on the beach. There is good irony here, a wry discussion of the relationship between the sexes, and a good illustration of how human sexuality stands outside of the order of nature, somehow, even to the most detached observer.

Unfortunately, the remainder of the book is much more slowly paced, loses itself in a welter of detail, and, for me, quickly becomes dull. I found that there just isn't enough to fasten upon here to make this book work successfully either as philosophy or novel.

The 27 reveries of Mr. Palomar are filled with paradox; in them we find gently profound ruminations on the cosmos as well as the embarrassments of ordinary human interaction. This is a book that makes us see the world around us in a different way.

Mr. Palomar, who shares the name of the observatory, is the emblem of the person as observer. Whether it is the ocean or the heavens, a cheese shop or an Aztec ruin, Mr. Palomar attempts to see and to comprehend what he sees. But the general theme of his attempts at observations is ultimately the failure, or at least the inadequacy, of his attempts.

Much of the book has an Aristotelian quality, which perhaps is not so surprising, considering that Mr. Palomar's enterprise, the attempt to understand the universe through careful observation, is Aristotle's approach at well. Much of the contemplation follows Aristotelian lines. Mr. Palomar is often immersed in Aristotelian efforts of categorization, of conceptually separating a part from the whole, and facing the question that looms so large in Aristotle: When can we derive the properties of the whole from the part, and when is the opposite true? Then again, the reader is reminded of Aristotle's "Parts of Animals" when Mr. Palomar describes the running giraffes and how each part of the giraffe's anatomy appears to be suited to a separate species, or when Mr. Palomar watches through his skylight as a gecko captures, ingests, and digests an insect.

But counterpoised with this, you have genuine "Walter Mitty" type moments when the real world interrupts the reverie. Mr. Palomar, waiting in a line in a cheese shop, is inspired by the actual cheeses he sees to construct a model world of cheese, and becomes so absorbed in this enterprise, that he at some point crosses over and mentally inhabits the model world. As in Thurber, the humor derives from the person who inhabits the imagined world having to deal with the sudden demands of the actual cheese shop.

One thing I recommend to a reader is, in reading through the sections (I guess one can refer to them as essays), to consider what causes Mr. Palomar to break off the contemplation. Sometimes, it is the intervention of the outside world. Sometimes it is that Mr. Palomar is overcome by a sort of vertigo at the immensity of space or time. Sometimes, Mr. Palomar hits upon a dualism, yes, we can view the object in such and such a way, but equally well in another way, and is unable to move beyond that point. By tracking these closing moments, one can best come to terms with Mr. Palomar's experience of failure.

In an afterword note, Esther Calvino asks the reader to think of this book as "not something Calvino started and left unfinished but simply as three stories written in different periods of his life." She gives good advice, but the sense that Calvino had something more, something bigger, planned for these stories pervades this tiny book. He definitely wanted to write a book about the five senses and interweave them in some way (as he did with other themes in previous books). In all of these stories the senses mingle sensuously with desire and sensuality (one can only imagine what he had in mind for the sense of touch). Here sense catalyzes desire, hidden desires, nameless primordial desires. But this book only contains a scratching of a surface, a deep misty lake that promises more. Unfortunately Calvino died before wrapping up the project. So here remains a sketch of what might have been. Sadly, stories published posthumously always seem to have a certain "not quite final draft" feel about them. Here sits another example.

Regardless, plenty of good Calvino exists here for ardent fans of his work. 1982's "Under The Jaguar Sun" is a great story about a couple vacationing in México. Taste awakens forbidden desires (the story begins with a very suggestive description of a "love" between a priest and a nun). The couple explore the ruins of ancient México, the local food (now an amalgam of national cuisines), and each other's bodies and psyches as they rip and tear their lusciously spiced food. But forbidden desires arise once again as they explore the history of human sacrifice and realize that eating mingles deeply with the sensual and the forbidden.

"A King Listens", dated 1984, speaks to the reader in second person (sometimes in a manner similar to "If On A Winter's Night A Traveler"). The king sits on his lonely throne trapped by necessity in his own palace. All he knows of the surroundings are sounds. They reverberate, echo, and thud all around him. Paranoid thoughts about the inevitable usurpation stew with the sounds. Suddenly a woman's voice sings out, but he can only hear her. He wants to experience her as a person, not just a voice. Which leads to one of the best lines in the story: "And so, when a desire to be fulfilled presents itself to you at last, you realize that being king is of no use for anything." The senses again awaken desire.

"The Name, the Nose", from 1972, switches contexts abruptly between a French parfumerie (where the saleswomen erotically encircle the cherished patron), the dank smoky aftermath of a rock concert, and a battle between two early humans (this episode evokes "Cosmicomics"). All of the men in the story come to know a woman only by her smell. The singular smell of each woman ignites desires. Strange ineffable and mad desires. The story itself remains a little indescribable.

So taste, hearing, and smell all get represented here as awakening desire or as a source of desire. And desire weaves through this book like a sinuous thread. It interconnects the stories and provides glimpses of a whole. That is mainly why Esther Calvino's advice remains hard to follow. Something more wants to bubble up from beneath this collection. Because of this, thinking of these stories as three disparate entities poses a stiff challenge. So we're faced with a nagging feeling of incompleteness. Here possibly sits the "lost" or "unfinished" Calvino book. Which inevitably leads to lonely abstract thinking about what Calvino had in mind. And so on...

Still, "Under The Jaguar Sun" will doubtlessly please many Calvino fans. It contains plenty of good, not outstanding, examples of Calvino's work. It also unfortunately leaves behind it a sadness of unfulfilled possibilities. Thankfully Calvino stayed around long enough to write numerous masterworks. This probably would have been another one.

This book collects three of Calvino's last stories, originally planned to be a set of five, each focused on one of the five senses. One of the world's most original and sensitive storytellers, he will be solely missed.

"Under the Jaguar Sun" presents a married couple whose vacation in Mexico is punctuated by the powerful flavors of the local cuisine. Before the trip is over they discover that the spicy food whets their appetite for passion as well as for dining. In "A King Listens" the proud ruler, constrained by the obligations and dangers of his office, finds his only real source of information is his hearing. The ambient sounds of his palace, and the voices inside his own head are all that he can depend on. Finally, "The Name, the Nose" shows us a collage of desperate swains trying to seek out a woman whom they can identify only by her fragrance. As in "Jaguar" Calvino touches on the relationship between the senses and sexual desire, but this tale also carries a different message - one that seems to hint darkly at the author's own coming demise.

For those unfamiliar with the work of this master of postmodern literature, these three stories are probably not the best introduction. The quiet intensity of Calvino's voice is there, and his style is as pristine as ever, almost a prose poetry; but while the stories feature at least a couple of genuine surprises, they fall short of the knockout power that distinguishes his very best work. By focusing so strongly on the senses, he underplays what are probably his greatest strengths - in-depth logical analysis and exquisitely ironic humor. Fans will surely appreciate one last opportunity to experience Calvino's skill, but others should probably start with one of his more revolutionary works if they want to see why he is so greatly admired.

As the author's widow explains in the epilogue, Italo Calvino once got it into his head to write a book about the five senses. He dabbled on and off in this project until he died, producing three short stories. With his usual magical delicacy, Calvino explored taste, hearing and smell with a rare skill.

The title story tells of a young couple vacationing in Mexico, where they explore ancient ruins, hear of the history of Oaxaca, and discover new erotic dimensions as they try the local food -- spicy, rich, and almost intoxicating, the food helps link them back to one another.

"A King Listens" is a more experiment story, with no real plot and a second-person narrative ("You are the king; everything you desire is already yours"). A king sits on his throne, alone in a giant hall, alienated from most of his palace and everyone in it. But he hears a woman singing, strange whispers, a prisoner scrabbling against a wall, and much more, which are his roads to the outside world.

"The Name, the Nose" is a tragic tale in the tradition of Poe, but in more lush language. A man danced with a masked lady at a ball, falling madly in love with her -- but he can only identify her by her perfume. He desperately searches a parfumerie for the right scent, thinking of the night when he met her... and is shocked when he discovers where she is, and who the masked figure with her is.

Italo Calvino was obviously a guy who liked to dabble in magical realism, and "theme books" -- tarot cards, magical cities, and the unfolding of the universe. So it's a shame that he never finished "Under the Jaguar Sun." While delightful as a collection, it makes you think of how wonderful "Sight" and "Touch" would have been.

And the way he writes is suitable to each story -- the first is hot and passionate, the second is steady and slightly dull, and the last one is ornate, gothic and blue. Calvino even drops some hints as to what the stories should be about, even when it's obvious; the king in the second story even describes his palace as "all whorls, lobes; it is a great ear." Subtle, huh?

But he can't hold back his natural flair for description in any of these stories. Even though sight isn't explored in this book, we get intricate descriptions of ballrooms, rock orgies, and "a theatre-church, all gold and bright colours, in a dancing and acrobatic baroque, crammed with swirling angels, garlands, panoplies of flowers, shells." His prose can be almost intoxicating.

Calvino's stories about three of the senses are all beautiful, each in a unique, spellbinding way. A must-read for lovers of the magical-realist maestro.

I'm a Calvino mark. Simply said, I love the man's writing! This, however, is a mixed bag, in my opinion. A truly interesting theme (stories about the senses) the only one I really liked was the story dealing with the sense of smell ("The Man, The Nose" I believe.) Its not that the others weren't imaginative or beautifully crafted, but I just felt as if something didn't click for me. The first two tales about the sense of taste and the sense hearing were a little too... self-indulgent, perhaps? It is somewhat difficult to articulate. All in all, this is suitable more for the true Calvino fan, rather than as an introduction or the casual reader. The one lasting impression I drew from the collection was, "What about sight and touch?" Maybe next time around.

A collection of 3 short stories. Each deals with one of the senses and were going to be part of a projected suite with, presumably, some kind of framing device. Calvino was one of those happy people that can write works that stretch the intellect without altogether sacrificing story, plot and characterisation. The middle tale ('A King Listens') is unsuccessful, ending up as nothing more than an experiment - who knows whether it would have improved had he time to revise it, it was the last thing he wrote before his death. But the opening and closing stories are much better, especially the latter ('The Name, The Nose'), although still not prime Calvino (try 'Adam One Afternoon', 'Invisible Cities' or 'If on a Winter's Night a Traveller' if you're new to the writer and want to know what his talents can *really* produce). 'Under the Jaguar Sun', the title story set in Mexico, deals with taste and develops the idea of human relationships as a form of canibalism in which we digest our partner to taste their thoughts, feelings, desires and wishes in order to make them part of ourselves. 'The Name, The Nose' takes three characters (a Proustian aesthete, a prehistoric apeman on the verge of walking upright and a drug-addled rock musician) that are all in love with an unknown woman identifiable only by her scent, eventually discovering that she has died since making love with them. Despite the differences in the characters, their tales are interlinked surpringly smoothly and satisfyingly. However, due to its posthumous nature, the book is very short, only 83 pages of big type, and so can only be recommended to Calvino fans.

Obviously Gadda's novel is not the usual crime novel. Basically it's a literary masteripiece which happens to be *also* a crime novel. In it you have everything you usually find in a "classical" whodunit: a victim, a detective, some suspects, police inquiry, and the culprit. But these things are no more than a pretext for such an immense writer like Gadda to talk about Fascist Italy and the city of Rome (Gadda was born in Milan, but he chose to move to Rome and knew the city and the surrounding area incredibly well). Then you have his gift for language, his corrosive irony, his restless intelligence, his deep understanding of the human mind (also with a lot of psychoanalytical insight). Plus a wealth of references to Italian and Latin literature (such as the Retalli family, whose names echo those of Aeneas' family in Virgil' Aeneid). Plus a wide knowledge of Italian geography and anthropology. Not bad for a man who had graduated in engineering!
Somebody complained about descriptions. Well, actually those descriptions, which seem pointless at a first reading, are the plot itself. In the novel, if you read it carefully, you are even told who really killed the rich signora of Via Merulana (btw, a street which really exists in Rome, though at n. 219 there is a shop, not a block of flats). But everything is shown obliquely, indirectly, through allusions and hints that you may easily miss on a hurried reading. I'd say that this is a novel that unfolds reading after reading--just like all real masterpiece.

And I am not surprised Calvino extolled Gadda. Gadda is a slightly greater novelist than Calvino. Ehm, did I say "slightly"? I should have said "decidedly"! Obviously Calvino is one of the greats... but good ol' uncle Carlo Emilio is one of the "greatests". I am afraid, though, that some of his greatness may get lost in translation, though he has been "rewritten" by such a fine translator as William Weaver.

It's a pity Gadda's other masterpiece, his essay Eros and Priapo, a bewildering but absolutely brilliant psychonalysis of Fascism (told in a baroque mix of styles), hasn't been translated into English. Heh, this ain't a perfect world, folks...

A philosophical novel...murder mystery, this baroque, caustic, and ultimately poignant work has been lauded by no less than Italo Calvino, whose introduction alone is worth the cover price. Carlo Emilio Gadda--in this and in his only other published novel, _Acquainted With Grief_--concerned himself with the exploration of the interrelatedness of things, the never-ending, kaleidoscopic complexities of life, the myriad, frequently interrelated causes that converge to produce every effect. He was also vehemently anti-fascist, as his outraged--and hilariously scatological--rants against the Mussolini regime attest (Gadda started the novel soon after the close of WWII). More delightful still is Gadda's playful love of language, captured brilliantly in William Weaver's translation. (Why do so few translators, of any language, produce work as stylistically and linguistically rich as Weaver's? His work is consistently brilliant.) This is a fantastic novel. Do yourself a favor and buy a copy. Then thank whichever god you believe in that George Brazilier has for so many years kept this masterpiece in print, to the enrichment of us all.

I read the book in a new and good Dutch translation, that tries to render Gadda's use of dialects. The book has an interesting beginning and seems to be a detective work, but then Gadda looses himself in endless descriptions and the crimes are not solved at all. In the end the reader is left with a unsatisfactory feeling.

First off, DO NOT READ THE $#%@ing INTRODUCTIONS. This is not an easy book to get through - but it's much harder to get through when the introductions reveal the ending and deprieve you of your (much needed) motiviation to plow through this text. Am I the only one who thinks we need more Afterwords? The main reason I bought the book was for Italo Calvino's introduction - and even in the introduction the book sounded boring.

Here's the problem: You have a typical literary crime novel drowning in what appears to be an encyclopedia. You have sprawling descriptions of cities, metal processes, historical respectives, a minor treatise of pastries, etc. And occasionally, there plot plods drunkenly on. It is so bad that the real investigation does not get underway until will into the second half of the book. Oddly, despite the piles of description in the text, you get no real sense for anyone in the book.

It reads like the Italian answer to Joyce's Ulysses only something of a story.

The sentences in this book are verbal labyrinths- by the time you finish a sentence, you forgot were it began and how it related to the sentence in front of it or how it related to the novel.

Here's an example of the actual text (and yes, this is one sentence):
"A majolica pan, as if from a clinic of the first category, was set on the brick floor, and not even near the wall: and neither did it lack some undeciphered content, on the consistence, coloration, odor, viscosity, and specific weight of which both the lynx eyes and bloodhound scent of Ingravallo felt that it wasn't necessary to investigate and analyze: the nose, of course, could not exempt itself from its natural functioning, that is from that activity, or to be more accurate, the papillary passivity which is proper to it, and which does not admit, helas, and interlude or inhibition or absence of any kind from its duty."

All that is too say: There's poo in the bucket and it smells quite bad.

If you're looking to read 300 pages of jammed meandering narrative like that above, this is the book. The jammed style isn't accidental, you get the feeling it is supposed to be humorous and makes typical references to the joys of a young buxom girls. The joke, however, becomes tedious within two minutes. And then you start wondering: Is this a joke? Was he getting paid by the word? Did the author enjoy peculiar snacks, such as mercury thermometers?

The beginning is promising: one day a rich lady in the Via Merulana, Rome 1927, is robbed and a few days later the throat of another lady living in the same building is cut. Are these crimes related? Who did it? It is up to don Ciccio to solve this.

This looks like the start of a detective, but the book is not a detective. The investigations by the inspector and his colleagues are used by the author to give (beautiful) descriptions of anyone and anything the investigators meet on their way, be it a fellow inhabitant of the Via Merulana or a bunch of chicken running in front of a train. The book also contains a lot of non too flattering references to Mussolini, for whom Gadda has created a whole bunch of inventive nicknames.

My biggest problem was that after about half the book all descriptions start to be more of the same: they are beautiful, clear, inventive and therefore suprising, but there is not really a storyline.

So all in all: beautiful descriptions, less interesting as a book.