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- Sales Rank: #1586979 in Books
- Published on: 1979
- Original language:
Italian - Number of items: 1
- Binding: Hardcover
Customer Reviews
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
By David Beeson
I've already provided a review of the English language version, which I repeat below. But if you can read the original version, I strongly recommend: it's far more striking and moving. For instance, "lo scrivibile che attende d'essere scritto, il narrabile che nessuno racconta" has real poetry, above all in the balance between the two thoughts, a symmetry which avoids complete symmetry. In the English translation, it becomes "the writable that waits to be written, the tellable that nobody tells." That "waits" doesn't work, does it? But "is waiting", which works far better, would lead to "that nobody is telling", which is awful... The horrors of translation...However, the content and structure of the book can be enjoyed in the translation too. And here's what I feel about it:Novels about novels, or novelists, tend to be turgid – a tedious exercise in navel-gazing, they are usually self-indulgent and unappealing. That is emphatically not so for Italo Calvino’s 'If on a winter’s night a traveller'.That’s because in Calvino’s book, what he explores is the act of communication between writer and reader – in which the reader has an essential a role to play. Indeed, the novel is that most unusual thing, a second-person narrative: you the reader play the leading role in it (though sadly that’s you, the male reader – perhaps, in his defence, catering for a reader of either gender would have been too difficult).You are trying to read a novel, specifically If on a winter’s night a traveller. But there’s been a terrible mistake in its printing: after you’ve read enough to gain a taste for it, you find it’s interrupted. And back at the bookshop, what you’re given as the continuation is, actually, quite another book. Which again is interrupted after the first chapter.And so it goes on. You go from publisher to critic to translator and, ultimately to the writer, constantly seeking the next part of each of the books you start, each of them interrupted, always at a tantalising point. In the course of this quest, in which you’re joined by a fascinating female reader and her sister, the first gentle and self-effacing though just as assertive as the other, who is forceful and hot-blooded, you take us all through a voyage of discovery of what it is to write, and read, a novel: the feeling, for instance, that it might be preferable only ever to start a book, because as the novelist advances, all the options opened by the beginning are closed off. That impoverishes you the reader (see? you’re always in the frame.)Each of the ten individual novels that we – that you – start to enjoy is compelling. All are mysteries of some kind: a subversive movement that has persuaded a narrator to an exchange of suitcases at a station, a femme fatale who may be seducing a narrator into assisting with her clandestine plans, a call to answer a ringing phone in a house that is not the narrator’s though the call is for him… All these tales promise interesting developments, though we the readers, or rather you the reader, soon learn to distrust such promises.Are all these narrators the same narrator? Perhaps but perhaps not. If there is one consistent thread running through all the narrations, that’s you, the reader.So the structure works. It’s a romp, often highly humorous, through the creative process, in which the writer is a character in his own novel, and the reader is as much so. At which point, the exploration isn’t simply the navel-gazing of the novelist describing novel-writing, but focuses on the relationship between the writer and the reader, creating a fictional space between them.When I add that the ending is a jewel, wrapping up the whole story neatly and, above all, with great wit, launchng yu back on the track of the unfinished narration, what could possibly hold you back? An outstanding novel by one of Italy’s finest novelists. And the fact that it’s about novels works perfectly.Not a word to say against it.
1 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
By Marinella
I was introduced to Se una note d'inverno un viaggiatore by my Italian teacher, who gave the class a few pages from the opening chapter, which talks about the process of choosing books and reading them with an intriguing originality and humour. How easily you can recognise the feelings Calvino describes that you project on to books you haven't read, from I Libri Che Hai Intenzione di Leggere Ma Prima Ne Dovresti Leggere Altri to Libri Che Hai Sempre Fatto Finta D'Averli Letti Mentre Sarebbe Ora Ti Decidessi A Leggerli Davvero. I thought this was a book to Leggere Davvero.I had enjoyed Il Sentiero dei Nidi Di Ragni and Marcovaldo and started this book with a sense of pleasurable anticipation. A traveller on a railway station, waiting for an encounter with a mysterious character who doesn't appear - a cliché situation perhaps but your attention is held. The pleasure lasted for about 25% of the Kindle edition, and then in spite of myself I began to get slightly irritated, and dare I say it bored. I could cope with the breaking off of a narrative and plunging into another and the way this seemed to create a mystery that the reader has to unravel. Who are the characters? Why are they there? Are they who they say they are? and and then you as reader are pulled into the story. I expected that, but I began to feel I couldn't keep track of the different strands, of the different characters who are woven into a series of stories, but are they all really part of the same narrative? Is there a grand plan behind the story within a story, the writer who is writing about another writer? Too many names, too many twists, too many ideas, too many characters to care about any of them.There are sections of the book that could come from articles in a literary magazine. Calvino explores an interesting idea about writing or reading , or rather endlessly throws ideas at us, from something relatively simple to understand - "la differenza tra il vero e il falso è solo un nostro pregudizio", to a string of sentences where I wonder what the hell does that mean? For example, we are to imagine ourselves, Lettore o Lettrice, in bed with our partner: "Qual è il tema centrale che ritorna nelle vostre variazioni e modulazioni? Una tensione concentrata a non perdere niente del proprio potenziale, a prolungare uno stato di reattività, a profittare dell’accumulazione di desiderio dell’altro per moltiplicare la propria carica? Oppure l’abbandono più arrendevole, l’esplorazione dell’immensità degli spazi carezzabili e reciprocamente carezzevoli, la dissoluzione dell’essere in un lago dalla superficie infinitamente tattile? In entrambe le situazioni certamente non esistete che in funzione l’uno dell’altro, ma, per renderle possibili, i vostri rispettivi io devono anziché annullarsi occupare senza residui tutto il vuoto dello spazio mentale, investirsi di sé col massimo d’interessi o spendersi fino all’ultimo centesimo." Intellectualised sex? Doesn't work for me.Is this a writer in love with his own voice? Carried away by the flow of words? I think if I had read it when a student I would have lapped it up as exciting, as innovative, as a sort of meditation on the process of writing and reading. Probably not understanding very much, but still, entranced by the fluency of Calvino's writing. Maybe I'm too old now, maybe my mind is no longer flexible enough to follow what has been called a post-modernist novel. I struggled on until I had read 70%, when, feeling guilty and heretical, I finally gave myself permission to give up. I decided this was turning into a rather self-indulgent writer's logorrhoea - a stream of consciousness that I no longer have the patience to read. Italians love talking, they have an enormous facility with words, and if you watch interviews with Calvino on Youtube, it's obvious he is so full of ideas that the words come pouring out, and I think that is what is happening in Se una notte d'inverno. He has so much to say about the process of writing, maybe even of living, but is it all just parole, parole, parole…? And am I falling into the same trap? Yes, so I'll stop.You, Lettore o Lettrice, may do better. Forza!!
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
By Amazon Customer
as expected
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