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sam_bizar_wilcox 's review for:
If on a Winter's Night a Traveler
by Italo Calvino
I feel a little bit ashamed by having been swept up in this novel; I had thought, after reading just Invisible Cities that I understood Calvino's schtick, and I found it repetitive or tedious. I had also thought that I'd outgrown postmodernist writing. Reader, I was wrong.
I am struck by Calvino's ability to switch between various styles, as the crux of the novel is that each time a story starts, it will inevitably get lost. Calvino tries his hand at writing from various pseudonyms, creating little starts that burst off the page, only to trail off, leaving the protagonist, the second-person reader, fumbling, trying to pick up the pieces of what's left and track down the rest of the story--finding so many other stories instead.
Reading is an act of surrender. The reader must completely offer themself to be at the mercy of the writer, and through this surrendering the reader usually gets something: a story, an entertainment, a new insight, wisdom, something. But here, Calvino offers an invitation to see the process of surrendering unfold, to center his narrative on the various ways the reader and the author are in a push-and-pull relationship over control of the novel. He engages with the issues of translation, with censorship, with academic criticism. But all is in the process of showing the way the book mediates between reader and author, where the distinctions collapse, and where the reader and author both hanker for self-effacement.
In other words, I adored it.
I am struck by Calvino's ability to switch between various styles, as the crux of the novel is that each time a story starts, it will inevitably get lost. Calvino tries his hand at writing from various pseudonyms, creating little starts that burst off the page, only to trail off, leaving the protagonist, the second-person reader, fumbling, trying to pick up the pieces of what's left and track down the rest of the story--finding so many other stories instead.
Reading is an act of surrender. The reader must completely offer themself to be at the mercy of the writer, and through this surrendering the reader usually gets something: a story, an entertainment, a new insight, wisdom, something. But here, Calvino offers an invitation to see the process of surrendering unfold, to center his narrative on the various ways the reader and the author are in a push-and-pull relationship over control of the novel. He engages with the issues of translation, with censorship, with academic criticism. But all is in the process of showing the way the book mediates between reader and author, where the distinctions collapse, and where the reader and author both hanker for self-effacement.
In other words, I adored it.