The Obscure Reading Group discussion

This week's discussion covers the book's beginning through the end of Chapter Six (where, on the opposite page, you will see the chapter called "In a network of lines that enlace"). If you have read ahead, please make every effort to avoid discussing material in the second half of the book, as that will come under the "spoiler" category.

For this week's posts, it's wide open, as usual. To begin, I will kick around a few ideas and questions, which you can use or ignore:

It's well established that there is a "contract" between writer and reader any time a book is written and read. Certainly Italo Calvino plays on this as he openly addresses the reader and then gets playful (coy?) as he jumps from his narrator (I) to books that start but fail to continue.

What do you make of Calvino's idea and his style? What effect do they have on you as a reader? Can this be called "entertainment"? How about serious literature? And if not, why not?

What, in your opinion, is Calvino particularly good at? Not so good at?

Have you become invested in any characters in this first half of the book? The (ahem) plot, perhaps? Settings, maybe? How about descriptive flourishes?

What other books or writers is this similar to? And what authors or books might be polar opposites?

These are just starter questions, but you can make up your own questions, offer your own opinions, or go wherever you wish. After all, Italo Calvino certainly did! Now it's the readers' turn!

The book leaves me with questions including one related to the question of what other books is this similar to. First, can or should this book be classified as metafiction? Also, has anyone other than me in this group read any of the Thursday Next series of books by Jasper Fforde? If you have, there are elements of On a winter's night a traveler that Fforde seems to have been influenced by though I see no reference to Calvino in any biographical material about Jasper Fforde. Or, as is entirely likely, am I totally wacko?

I am thinking. I was invested from the get go. I tried stringing all the titles together to see if there was a common cord. Nope not that I could discern. Maybe in the end we will wake up and find it is all a dream. I am chasing a shadow . Calvino’s particular style , at least in this novel, doesn’t bother me. Reminds me of Christie, except she tied her novels up with bells and bows.

I’m enjoying the multiple sections on the meaning of stories, rather infinite meanings it seems. And I have found that I am smiling more as the chapters pass and I follow the patterns.

“Or perhaps the author still has not made up his mind, just as you, reader, for that matter, are not sure what you would most like to read....”

I find just as the stories start to interest me, our author ends them. To begin another. I’m guessing we could debate whether or not this device has the effect our author intended.

I should be making notes as I read, because I keep thinking, "That's interesting" etc etc, but my forgettory then forgets. What I am finding interesting is his ability to mess with my inner mind. In places, he moves us constantly back and forth from viewpoint to viewpoint, often within a single sentence, and my inner picture moves accordingly. Very clever...

To be honest, I'm not accustomed to reading in this way, where I'm not only reading the book ( usual standpoint) but also monitoring/ observing my relationship to the story. This is all very new to me, so if I clunk around a bit, please be patient. :)

I was instantly charmed when I started reading. It seems like the spiral of texts is taking us down a delightful rabbit hole! My thought was that Calvino is exploring the multitude of ways that readers interact with stories and books. He starts with the physical: the foray into the bookshop to obtain the book, overcoming the emotional and intellectual pull of the other texts there. He discusses the various locations and positions that are most conducive to satisfactory reading. He delves into the physical construction of books with the printing and binding problems, as well as separating uncut pages to reveal the text within.

His first "story" dissects the way we process a story as we read: our expectations and assumptions, our predictions and reliance on common tropes. He goes on to address the impact of author origin and history, the fluidity and evolution of languages (both living and dead), and the vagaries of translations. Throughout, he is constantly evaluating and examining the essence of stories.

I'm just starting Chapter 6, but I am fascinated by this book so far. I feel like there are so many layers here--I'm looking forward to what everyone else will see that I have missed!

Alison wrote: "I should be making notes as I read, because I keep thinking, "That's interesting" etc etc, but my forgettory then forgets. What I am finding interesting is his ability to mess with my inner mind. I..."

I like your "forgettery!" and will write more in my response. The way you describe his writing reminds me of watching artists paint or take photographs. Moving closer to the canvas or adjusting the camera, and then stepping back in a dance, they look about details and big pictures alike. I still don't know Calvino's overall "big picture," but that may his point.

Hello, Alison,

How fascinating when that inner mind is "messed with" because that leads to new ways to see the world. Well, that's been my experience. Even my language itself changes when I'm immersed in learning a new language or discipline, and unique verbal twists surface. That new interlanguage reveals part of what I already knew but also new concepts. Maybe Calvino is developing a new interlanguage for how we read.

My take on Calvino's relationship to us readers.
No matter what, he 1) "gets to us" or "gets us."

First, to write in such a new way that people are intrigued, frustrated, anxious, on and on -- that's great! In various stages of this pandemic shutdown, so many of us have been living the same days over and again, so those aroused emotions are refreshing. Hence, "getting to us" may be a gentle shake-up we need. I loved the references to the page numbers on page 25 in my book: "Damn! From page 32 you've gone back to page 17!" This paragraph and the one following made me think of so many times in life in general and then in creative new endeavors. Those tortuous paths are inevitable, yet I often forget to enjoy them.

Second, like so many have communicated in earlier discussions, he creates a bond of "knowing" between writer and reader. I love how he creates so many intimate moments in that first chapter. From his directives, "Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought" he moves on to distract me with so many scenarios from yoga poses to cigarettes and ashtray within reach to his listed categories of books on shelves. At least for me, he expressed the experiences of starting a new journey, reading a book -- his book -- in this case.

I took notes on my Kindle, but I don't always know how to access them later. (Don't worry about explaining to me. I'll figure it out someday.) I then thought about another writer at one time and then another a few pages later; I'd write long-hand notes in my "reading notebook" but then couldn't find it because it was beneath all the books I pulled from the shelf (some I doubled and got them on Kindle, still trying to figure out how to access the notes). That's why I laughed outright when you wrote "my forgettory then forgets." What a fun reference to thinking! I may very well use that, and I'll always reference you, Alison.

Darrin wrote: "The book leaves me with questions including one related to the question of what other books is this similar to. First, can or should this book be classified as metafiction? Also, has anyone other t..."

Hello, Darrin,

First, I have added one of Jasper Fforde's books to my to-read list. As I'm new to him, however, do you recommend a title for a newbie to his writing? Hmm. . . I just thought about Calvino's observation in his first pages, ". . . you hope always to encounter true newness, which, having been new once, will continue to be so". I'd like to read with new eyes all the more, especially others' recommendations.

Ah, yes, I believe this is metafiction. The "you" becomes "I" even in these first chapters, and various times I found myself picturing not only the writer in my mind's eye but also myself because of that transitory "you." Also, a physical book (the connection between the author and reader) is woven through these first chapters and stories, so I maintain that this is one way to call our attention to the process of reading and writing.

Wow Jan, you said what I was thinking. I am not able to get my thoughts out, but that is exactly the way I feel about this book. I was connected from the first chapter. The way he weaves us through the labyrinth of the writer and reader are brilliant.

@Cindy, yes it definitely feels like Alice down the rabbit hole and chasing the Mad Hatter. Hmmm maybe Calvino is Carroll and taking us on another reading adventure. I wonder who will be the Queen of Hearts, maybe Ludmilla?

Hello, All,

Ken prompted, "What other books or writers is this similar to? And what authors or books might be polar opposites?"

Well, I'm not sure about the "polar opposites" yet, for I've spent much more time returning to other books when I've been reminded of styles or approaches. I'll address them only one at a time spread across this post but also responses to different group members over the course of this discussion.

"Don Quixote" was foremost in my mind, and I pulled this book from my shelf and began listening to an excellent recording (Geoge Guidall reading Edith Grossman's translation). Though I'd read many abridged versions or children's retellings when I was little, I first read this whole work as required reading when I was studying in Madrid. Not only do I return to the beauty of the full book and its many stories every time I revisit this, but I also return to my young self in a magical country.

So. . . . .

First, both refer to travelers and a journey. Even among our discussions, some of us have self-identified as travelers as well, bringing the readers a bit closer to the characters and writers. I laughed different times because Calvino's journey has to stop and start over and again because the physical book is poorly made or has missing pages. His character has to seek a full book, and that sets him on new "adventures." Well, the same is true for Don Quixote; he sets off on adventures but turns back far too many times because of his "misadventures." "Adventures and misadventures" is a common phrase for Don Quixote, but Cervantes also refers to himself as the writer who creates "verses and reverses" various times.

Second, Calvino and Cervantes address the readers directly in their first pages, and both bring humor to their introductions.

**In his prologue, Cervantes begins, "Idle Reader: Without my swearing to it, you can believe that I would like this book, the child of my understanding, to be the most beautiful, the most brilliant, and the most discreet that anyone could imagine."
** Likewise, Calvino's first chapter has a similar address: "You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's 'If on a winter's night a traveler.' Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought."
** Both of them set up great expectations for their book, and I take them both to be tongue-in-cheek. I love that about picaresque writers.

Additionally, they both build up extensive introductions to extremely simple settings: a house "somewhere in La Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember" and an unremarkable train station which has no name or seeming destinations.

Finally, as you know, there are many references to the missing pages or transplanted chapters of Calvino's book. Well, Cervantes also had a "twist" in the first pages with a sample of "versos de cabo rato" or "lines with unfinished endings" as he wrote:

If to reach goodly read-
oh book, you proceed with cau-,
you cannot, by the fool-,
be called a stumbling nin-.
But if you are too impa-
and pull the loaf untime-
from the fire and go careen-
into the hands of the dim-
you'll see them lost and puzz-
through they long to appear learn-.

Please know: the poem continues on; I have only the first two sentences above. Also, notice how Cervantes gives the book its own character? Well, that's the case for Calvino, too. As you can guess, "Don Quixote" is my favorite book.

Oh, there are so many more parallels I saw: lists of books, pursuit of a lady, on and on. I like to think that Calvino would sit at a cafe table with me, sip espresso or wine, and talk about how much he, too, loves "Don Quixote." I'd have to write out my questions in advance, for I'd be tongue-tied and star-struck but oh-so-happy to listen to his words.

Well, I'll continue to respond to different posts later today or tomorrow. Right now it's time for my morning coffee, preparations, and then a visit to my library which opens today!

Keep writing and reading, Everone!

Darrin wrote: "The book leaves me with questions including one related to the question of what other books is this similar to. First, can or should this book be classified as metafiction? Also, has anyone other t..."

If on a Meta's Night a Traveler. Yeppers. If ever there was one. I've heard (or shall I say Sseen) Jjasper Fforde's name, but never read his work.

Sandra wrote: "“Or perhaps the author still has not made up his mind, just as you, reader, for that matter, are not sure what you would most like to read....”

I find just as the stories start to interest me, our..."


We all know someone (usually in family) who loves to tease. I see Calvino a bit this way. "Look at my talent for hooking you, you little fishy, you," he seems to be telling readers with each new "book's" nascent plot.

Then he pulls the seabed from under you.

Alison wrote: "I should be making notes as I read, because I keep thinking, "That's interesting" etc etc, but my forgettory then forgets. What I am finding interesting is his ability to mess with my inner mind. I..."

Your" forgettory forgets"? I like that one. Sounds like you had some Lewis Carroll with your morning tea. Or coffee. Or Danish, if its Copenhagen outside your window.

Cindy wrote: "I was instantly charmed when I started reading. It seems like the spiral of texts is taking us down a delightful rabbit hole! My thought was that Calvino is exploring the multitude of ways that rea..."

Good points here, Cindy. Your take gives Calvino's process a logical progression, which is saying something, given a reader's initial reaction might be, "This is chaos!"

It isn't. And the fact that it isn't forces the reader not just to enjoy passively (one of reading's pleasures) but to engage in a challenge (a quite different pleasure of reading). Some readers prefer one to the other, but the Reading Rewards Tent is a big one.

Jan, I like your unexpected parallel to Cervantes. Don Quixote is a bit of a picaresque, and one trait of picaresques is that they jump from place to place, leaving behind characters met at an old location, constantly introducing new characters, settings, and situations. As readers, we "follow the adventures of..." a character (usually roguish) and enjoy the unfolding, meandering, traveling plot.

What if the roguish character here was the author pulling strings behind the curtain? "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!" the Wizard once said -- only ensuring that we'd pay that much MORE attention.

Ken wrote: "Jan, I like your unexpected parallel to Cervantes. Don Quixote is a bit of a picaresque, and one trait of picaresques is that they jump from place to place, leaving behind characters met at an old ..."

Hello, Ken,

Ah, yes, I love the picaresque stories along with their authors. With both Calvino and his predecessor Cervantes, I maintain that they are the roguish characters - or at least among the roguish characters - in their respective books. Like the "picaro" in a bullfight, each comes in to weaken the bull's neck before the matador (we the readers?) enter. It's gruesome, yes, but chaos and pain are part of the society the characters must face.

Here's another reference to Calvino inserting himself as a character. From page 9 in my edition:

"On the contrary, he is known as an author who changes greatly from one book to the next. And in these very changes you recognize him as himself. Here, however, he seems to have absolutely no connection with all the rest he has written, at least as far as you can recall. Are you disappointed? Let’s see. Perhaps at first you feel a bit lost, as when a person appears who, from the name, you identified with a certain face, and you try to make the features you are seeing tally with those you had in mind, and it won’t work. But then you go on and you realize that the book is readable nevertheless, independently of what you expected of the author, it’s the book in itself that arouses your curiosity; in fact, on sober reflection, you prefer it this way, confronting something and not quite knowing yet what it is."

I'm not going into pages from "Don Quixote" right now, but there were numerous self-references, even during the book-burning when Cervantes refers to his own writing being destroyed. It was shocking and amusing both. He, too, inserted himself as a character.

* * * * *
Who was it that wrote about the chaos? I have a few more minutes to respond to people before I leave for personal adventures today.

Who nominated this book for our current discussion?
Thank you. Well done you! (smile)

I know where the novel is going having read it before, so I can't comment on my theories there but it's interesting reading it again. I'm finding snippets of the fiction bits return to me in fragments, the bridge, the spies, etc., and less so of the chapters in-between (despite the fact I find them more entertaining, and did so the first time too). It's only confirmed how different this is from Calvino's other novels.

Carol wrote: "I am thinking. I was invested from the get go. I tried stringing all the titles together to see if there was a common cord. Nope not that I could discern. Maybe in the end we will wake up and find ..."

Hello, Carol,

"The way he weaves us through the labyrinth of the writer and reader are brilliant." I like your metaphor of the labyrinth for a physical reality we need to conquer. Then again, I like your reference to a dream (inside our minds) and then your question regarding a shadow -- something between tangible and fleeting. That's how I felt reading this: "Oh good, we're in a bookstore, and we have more characters," or "Take note of the train station" and then a surprise when other times Calvino breaks the fourth wall in the middle of that story.

I never thought about stringing the titles together. That would be a fun, meandering poem or start of one. You're right, the initial stringing-together doesn't make sense, but then again this book doesn't make a great deal of sense. For quite a while, my friend Elizabeth would summarize her emotions at the end of each week and add a Saturday line to an evolving poem. Because everything was unprecedented, moving into ever-twisting surprises, her poem did not make sense at first. THEN the patterns started to emerge, or at least we readers could begin to relate.

Cindy wrote: "I was instantly charmed when I started reading. It seems like the spiral of texts is taking us down a delightful rabbit hole! My thought was that Calvino is exploring the multitude of ways that rea..."

Yes! I agree, Cindy. You wrote about how Calvino ". . . starts with the physical: the foray into the bookshop to obtain the book, overcoming the emotional and intellectual pull of the other texts there. He discusses the various locations and positions that are most conducive to satisfactory reading." Imagine what he might write about our books in their various forms today. I like to think that he'd appreciate them and have fun exploring contemporary "vessels" for stories. I just looked up brief facts about his life to find that he'd died in 1985 from a cerebral hemorrhage in Siena. Ah, that brought a wistful sigh. Such a fine, probing, and clever mind he shared.

Like you, I've continued to be charmed just like I did in my first reading. When I got into excerpts or paragraphs that did not follow that, I simply assumed "Hang in there, Jan. In the next pages or even in the next sentence, he'll bring you back to delight."

Your references (along with others' ) to Lewis Carroll are wonderful. I don't think we'd still enjoy that work today if it was loveliness only. There were many dark undertones, even tragic folly, in that tale. Yet another book will come down from my shelves today. I now have quite a pile on my desk.

Matthew wrote: "I know where the novel is going having read it before, so I can't comment on my theories there but it's interesting reading it again. I'm finding snippets of the fiction bits return to me in fragme..."

Based on your and others' earlier comments, I purchased some digital Calvino books; I'll begin "Marcovaldo: Or, The Seasons of the City" soon. I liked his reference to the Italy of neo-realistic movies (1950s) early on, so I suspect I'll be looking for some movies to supplement my reading. (smile)

Without giving any spoilers, do you have favorite quotes or passages from the first half of the book?

I love the way Calvino plays with what is real and what is fiction. The book readers (narrator and Ludmilla) are fiction, but within the story, they are the real and the other book beginnings are fiction, but maybe not because we now have Marana and Flannery and whether the fake books are real or the real books are fake. In short, the real and the fictional keep becoming interlaced and the dividing line becomes more and more obscure. Even the characters inside the "books" keep recurring, but in different guises, so that you begin to ask who is the real Zwida, the real Kauderer.

I have no idea where this is going and admit to having spurts of great interest and spurts of complete boredom. One of the more interesting things is how he mirrors your own thoughts, as you are thinking them. I am listening to an audio along with reading this (which I have never, ever done before), and then I come across this:

“Listening to someone read aloud is very different from reading in silence. When you read, you can stop or skip sentences: you are the one who sets the pace. When someone else is reading it is difficult to make your attention coincide with the tempo of his reading: the voice goes either too fast or too slow.” I was thinking this exact thing as I was listening to this being read, and had just commented the same to my poor husband, who is also being subjected to this mechanical voice reading what I am reading, but not in sync with me.

Among my favorite bits so far are the opening salvos about readers and books. I think the first chapter is priceless.

On the other hand, this book might be too much for my aging mind.

I agree with Sara that the first chapter is priceless. It gives you a foretaste of Calvino's multilayered approach to this book.

Recall how it began: “The novel begins in a railway station, a locomotive huffs, steam from a piston covers the opening of the chapter, a cloud of smoke hides part of the first paragraph.”

Right from the first line, Calvino merged the reader’s experience of reading a novel with the world of the novel itself. I believe it sets the meta-fictional nature of this novel. As we read on, we hear him commenting on what we ought to do when we read (“In reading, therefore, you must remain both oblivious and highly alert...”). How interesting that we are reading Calvino’s book, within which is featured a book and its reader, and within the latter is a commentary that reflects on the reading experience. As Jan pointed out, "this is one way to call our attention to the process of reading and writing."

This is my second read of this book and my head is swimming again, albeit a little less. You have no idea, dear Obscurists, how much your contributions are helping me to navigate the book this time round.

I'm so glad to hear so many are enjoying this and understanding and seeing patterns and order in the chaos. Although I came to this read armed with a figurative vice to keep my mind open, it has been a constant, page-by-page struggle.

I loved the first chapter and the first story, but since then it has gone downhill for me, becoming more and more difficult to pay attention. I find after I read and re-read and try not to miss anything, I've still forgotten it all by my next reading session. (I think that's because I'm not seeing the pattern for it to stick to.)

I can't decide if I don't care cuz I don't get it or I don't get it cuz I don't care. But I'm very interested to keep reading everyone's thoughts, and I'll be mostly keeping my mouth shut! :-)

To some extent the thing that keeps my interest going is the interaction between the narrator and Ludmilla. Without that...with only the omniscient narrator, I think the book would begin to be just too pedantic and clever. This story of the readers search is what gives the book any semblance of a plot, and a plot is absolute crucial to me. In all this chaos, I keep coming back to the "search plot" to maintain the sense of order.

I gave up trying to "not miss anything" Kathleen because the only way I am making it through this is if I just treat it as a bit of fun and come away with whatever I come away with. I will also be fairly quiet and let all the erudite minds here steer me toward the deeper meanings (if they are there). I feel like I ought to sit down and try to answer Ken's "starter questions"...I actually wonder if I could.

I have found that I am enjoying the reading more as I read further into the book. As Sara wrote above, I’m very interested in the narrator and Ludmilla’s search and the multitude of discoveries they/we are making along the way. I have been saving some of my favorite sections in my status updates here at GR and have post its in my book.

I find that I can’t attempt to understand the overall meaning of this book but I am finding it easier and easier to enjoy it. I loved the narrator’s visit to the publisher and the “possible” statement of the perpetrator. It seemed to be a statement on the futility of fame and a “let’s get real” statement about the whole industry. There are nuggets and nuggets throughout this book. If I tried to save them all it would create another book. Then Calvino could laugh, or smile knowingly, at or with me.

I’m quite certain I will need to read this again.

I'm finding the same, Sue, particularly being only halfway through. I wonder if we'll have a clearer idea at the end? So far I'm loving being thrown into all these different worlds, even if being dragged out of them prematurely is frustrating.
My favourite story opening so far I think is the first one...I wish we knew what all that business was with the suitcases! Yet I also love the mystery around the vanished Cimmeria. Calvino wrote that so well that I had to Google it to make sure I didn't have a gap in my general knowledge of history!

After reading 4 chapters and feeling just as Sara and Kathleen do, I have decided not to continue, as I don't have the patience to go on when I hit the boring parts. I did very much love the first chapter about books and readers and found the quote from Sara about listening to someone read very interesting, as that is just how I feel about audio books. I am simply not willing to do the work it will take to read and understand further. I know, my loss entirely. However, I will follow the discussion with interest and keep quiet.

Totally understand, Diane. Early on I felt similarly but then somehow the book grabbed me. That’s the strange unknown about books, isn’t it.

I'm sorry you are dropping out, Diane, but I also completely understand. It becomes a question of how many false starts you can endure. Having made the first 6 corn rows, I am determined to plow the entire field.

I found that I was completely invested in the first few book beginnings, and then less so because I knew they would be fragments and end suddenly. I also thought that the titles might have some meaning if strung together, but I am now wondering if they do but there is something missing that will be supplied by the end to make them make sense. I am going to be in a rage if none of this comes together in the closing. I am not a fan of absurdity without any ultimate explanation...that always seems a cheat to me.

So many great observations. I don’t know yet what I think. I don’t necessarily like books pretending to be novels that are attempting to be philosophical. Don’t get me wrong. I like discussing the ideas Calvino writes about, but usually in a close look at the characters and their behaviors. I agree with all who have said the prose delving into the varied reactions readers have to a book—choosing one, buying one, how to read one—quite interesting. I also agree with those who are frustrated: therefore, I am fence sitting.

Diane, I understand, but he really gives you a nice stopping point if you don’t want to read more. Your job as a reader is finished for now.

If on a winter's night a traveler

Other readers have referenced Alice and her rabbit hole. In this story, it is more "through the looking glass". The outsider, a minor cog in "the organization", enviously watches the locals in the mirror over the bar. "All the lives I could have led begin here;" The story is dense with atmosphere. I found this great illustration by Nai Zakharia. (Her name could have been a character in the book.)



https://cargocollective.com/nzakharia...

Calvino, Carroll, Cervantes, those C’s weave alluring stories.

It's a good time to have a last name beginning with "C." ;-)

Ginny wrote: "
If on a winter's night a traveler


Other readers have referenced Alice and her rabbit hole. In this story, it is more "through the looking glass". The outsider, a minor cog in "the organization..."

Hello, Ginny,

What a wonderful image this is. The woodcut's details double when looking at the whole image: a woman's face forms from a thread of smoke which becomes a reflection in the sea, the clock is in the sky and on the wall both, and so on. Very cool. I also find woodcuts to be fascinating. I'll try to find ways to copy-->paste some of my favorite images.

I notice how you identify the "outsider" (who could be Calvino) watching the other characters. I take him to be agitated when he seeks out Ludmilla but finds all the others who come with her. Ludmilla comes with Lotaria, their professor, and all those other characters. As soon as he (as "You" here) tries to reach Ludmilla, he discovers he's been "betrayed" not only by the book but also by another Reader, whom he wants to connect with. In my book's page 45, the narrator writes,
"You are hurt. Another cruel shock: the book that seemed so promising broke off; the telephone number that you also believed the beginning of something proves to be a dead end, with this Lotaria who insists on questioning you. . . . 'Ah, I see. Sorry.'”

True, Ludmilla then picks up in the very next sentence, so we readers are pivoted again, and the narrator goes into the story. Dang! I wish he would have been bolder, but I admire him for trying when he asks, "Is this novel really the kind you like?" before he makes time before taking the chance to ask in a "warm, winning, insistent" voice to meet her. Again, Dang! She then leads him down another trail with another character. Ah, but I honestly cheered on the narrator, awkward but still earnest as of page 46. No, this is not a traditional novel; still, for me, I came to picture the narrator as the actor or storyteller throughout each chapter. His "performance" role changed, but his character was a constant for me.

* * * *
I like how you started with the idea of the "Through the Looking Glass" and your explanations of the mirror. This was one of the ideas I had when reading, and I thought often of Jorge Luis Borges and his ongoing personal reflection (literal and figurative). In Borges' "Labyrinths," the first words are:

"I owe the discovery of Uqbar to the conjunction of a mirror and an encyclopedia. The mirror troubled the depths of a corridor in a country house on Gaona Street in Ramos Mejía; the encyclopedia is fallaciously called 'The Anglo-American Cyclopaedia' (New York, 1917) and is a literal but delinquent reprint of the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica' of 1902."

That's from the first page of his book; further down on that same page, Borges writes "We discovered. . . that mirrors have something monstrous about them." Borges makes inanimate objects come to life (or become characters), and Calvino does the same with the book that introduces him to others. The mirror and the book are full of insight, though, different from a chair or coat. Well, that's what I thought along the way.

Were you the reader who mentioned labyrinths? I need to return to find that comment. * * * Well, I'm going to continue to read entries and respond to a few each day. Ah, to have a whole day of reading and discussion; that would be wonderful.

Have a good day!

Carol wrote: "Calvino, Carroll, Cervantes, those C’s weave alluring stories."

Completely true, Mr. Craft! (smile)
As I read comments and return to the different books, I wonder if Calvino not only communicated with other writers but also wrote alongside them, practicing new prompts, writing pastiches of earlier works, and who knows? Such creative openness may have been part of their productivity.

Carol wrote: "Diane, I understand, but he really gives you a nice stopping point if you don’t want to read more. Your job as a reader is finished for now."

Good Morning, Carol,
I imagine Calvino expressing something similar. Some of these pages seem more like written letters, and your gracious response would be "at home" in an old-fashioned hand-written letter.

Sara wrote: "I'm sorry you are dropping out, Diane, but I also completely understand. It becomes a question of how many false starts you can endure. Having made the first 6 corn rows, I am determined to plow th..."

I like your metaphor about plowing the field and honestly laughed when re-reading it. Maybe you are a bit like the narrator who will go to a bookstore, then a university, and then on and on to find out a book's meaning. Then again, the narrator also becomes enchanted by another reader along the way. Is that like you? I'm a bit of both. (smile)

I like that Calvino presented a non-traditional book, some chapters which I like better than others. In some ways, he reminds me of Jorge Luis Borges in this particular book. Those two authors were contemporaries (so I've learned), and I like to think that they corresponded with each other; I go a bit further and imagine that they wrote long letters and sent manuscripts or short reflections in the mail.

I also found two more books by Calvino that I'll be reading later this summer: "Marcovaldo" and "The Baron In The Trees." I understand that they are more traditional in style. The process of reading something new, discussing with others, and then discovering new books are invaluable.

On your note Jan, it's worth noting that Calvino was a member of the Oulipo gang of crazy writers doing crazy things. By putting constraints on literature, could one make literature more creative? That's the general idea. Or, as founding member Queneau put it, "rats who construct the labyrinth from which they plan to escape."

Queneau himself wrote a "novel" comprised of the same scene (an argument on a bus) 99 times, rewritten each time in a different style. Or Perec, who wrote "A Void", a whole novel without the letter "e" used once. Originally written in French and someone was mad enough to translate it into English!

These Oulipians were having fun, maybe at our expense.

This may all have been fun for them, but does it have any lasting value to us as literature?

Sara wrote: "This may all have been fun for them, but does it have any lasting value to us as literature?"

I believe so. The novel has gone through numerous changes throughout its lifespan, and I believe it will only continue to survive (and thrive) as people push the boundaries and see how far it can go. After all, that's the most exciting thing about the novel: that there are no rules, that there are no limitations. I certainly wouldn't be reading today if novels were only being written as they were in 19thC. For me, personally, the most exciting thing about the novel is its, seemingly, boundless scope.

Lois wrote: "I'm finding the same, Sue, particularly being only halfway through. I wonder if we'll have a clearer idea at the end? So far I'm loving being thrown into all these different worlds, even if being d..."


Good Morning, Lois,

What do you think is in the suitcase? Considering the missing information so far and new rules, I suspect it's perfectly fine for us to speculate about what is left unsaid/unwritten. I've written various notes that speculate that torn-out chapters, maps, and perhaps whole books are found inside the suitcase. Then again, I've wondered if Ludmilla is the writer behind the chapters he can't find. I know I'm taking liberties with the story, but it seems to be a bit of a treasure hunt where searching for the gold becomes meaningful even if I never "find the X."

I honestly laughed when I read that you looked up Cimmeria because I did the same. I also returned to the chapter when he tries to impress Ludmilla, and it was funny to see how he scrambled to impress her:

"You say: 'Well, look, the mystery, in my opinion, is this. It’s a Cimmerian novel, yes, Cim-mer-ian, not Polish, and the title and the author aren’t the ones they say. You didn’t realize? Let me tell you. Cimmeria, two hundred and forty thousand inhabitants, capital Örkko, principal resources peat and by-products, bituminous compounds. No, this isn’t in the novel . . .' A silence, on your part and hers. Perhaps Ludmilla has covered the receiver with her hand and is conferring with her sister. She probably has ideas of her own on Cimmeria, that one. God knows what she’ll come out with. Be careful." Then he follows her to the university -- and the search for "gold" continues.

Calvino's "country" was imaginary - again a parallel to Borges' willingness to take us to imaginary lands completed with fictional anthropologists, scholars, and published texts. If you are interested, read Borges' "Labyrinths" which reflects the complex human person. I do, however, recommend reading it in a course or with an in-person discussion group. What is real? What is fictional? What do we make up, and can we create a physical reality based on what we invent?

Matthew wrote: "... After all, that's the most exciting thing about the novel: that there are no rules, that there are no limitations. I certainly wouldn't be reading today if novels were only being written as they were in 19thC. For me, personally, the most exciting thing about the novel is its, seemingly, boundless scope."

This is fascinating, Matthew! If by boundless scope you mean subject matter, I completely agree. And I certainly welcome and want to try a variety of styles, and I suppose style could be considered the handling of the subject matter. I am grateful for the ability the novel gives writers to experiment, but for me, the style can't hold my interest on its own unless it's used in a way to interest me in the subject matter. (I'm sure there are exceptions!) That is what will vary from reader to reader, and why I'm glad there is such a variety out there.

To be honest, though I'm glad it's not the case, I have to say I would probably still be reading today if novels were only written as they were in the 19th century. :-)

Ken wrote: "This week's discussion covers the book's beginning through the end of Chapter Six (where, on the opposite page, you will see the chapter called "In a network of lines that enlace"). If you have rea..."

Good Morning,

You asked about the characters, plot, and setting. I imagine the narrator following after Ludmilla personally but hoping for a full book (perhaps as a reason to please her). From page 45 in my book,

"You understand by now that Ludmilla, for all her mild manner, likes to take the situation in hand and decide everything herself: your only course is to follow her.

"You arrive punctually at the university, you pick your way past the young men and girls sitting on the steps, you wander bewildered among those austere walls which students’ hands have arabesqued with outsize capital writing and detailed graffiti, just as the cavemen felt the need to decorate the cold walls of their caves to become masters of the tormenting mineral alienness, to make them familiar, empty them into their own inner space, annex them to the physical reality of living. . . . In any case, nobody knows the department you are looking for, they send you from the basement to the fifth floor, each door you open is the wrong one, you withdraw in confusion, you seem to be lost in the book with white pages, unable to get out of it."

I love this description because it captures the state of being new in a world of ideas, concepts, and all the corresponding debates and discoveries. A new country or a college campus? Both can reflect this process - and add any other role you wish. I honestly admire the narrator for going to great lengths for Ludmilla.

Ah, but then as Chapter 6 begins, I sigh because the hopeful but naive reader/writer/narrator has perhaps gone too far in this pursuit: "Now you understand Ludmilla’s refusal to come with you; you are gripped by the fear of having also passed over to 'the other side' and of having lost that privileged relationship with books which is peculiar to the reader: the ability to consider what is written. . . . " (115). I'm still interested in the book at Chapter 6, but I want the narrator to have personal illumination as he keeps getting in "deeper" to this story.

What do you all think of the settings and characters? I take the extra lectures and tales as stories within stories, and the narrator (who increasingly looks more like Calvino in my mind's eye) is the main focus.

I've had many debates about style v plot v character, I think everyone is completely different in their preferences (which allows for brilliant debate!). You're right though, I probably would still be reading too, even if we only had those big baggy 19thC tomes.

Matthew wrote: "On your note Jan, it's worth noting that Calvino was a member of the Oulipo gang of crazy writers doing crazy things. By putting constraints on literature, could one make literature more creative? ..."

Ah, thank you, Matthew! I've enjoyed the SPiL society meetings (based on the Oulipo writers) that I've attended, but we had to cut back on our meetings as most of us are teachers in ever-pivoting digital worlds. I've had great fun with those writers, and I marvel at how enlightening our meetings have been - even in our recent Zoom meetings. I'm aware of what I don't know yet, but I become happier each time I learn something new. Do you belong to a similar writing group?

Per your question: Yes, I maintain that literature is one of the Arts and promotes growth when tested, experimented upon, allowed to "fail" sometimes, and interactive. Going back to my favorite, "Don Quixote," Miguel de Cervantes broke rules in his time, too. In addition to addressing the readers in new manners, inserting himself in the story, and including different genres, he captured so much of the Spanish world's mundane and -- ahem -- "less-than-ideal" people living in villages, cities, and farms. He revealed more than heroism. Perhaps that's because he lived so many different "lives" and found himself challenged by the Inquisition. He didn't follow the popular heroic tales of knights; in fact, he parodies them. He allowed for fanciful imaginings, even if they are in the mind of Don Quixote alone.

In one discussion of that book (I'll always return to discussions of my favorites), a friend noted, "We would never have had Gulliver if there had not first been Don Quixote." So, yes, reading "If On a Winter's Night. . . " is valuable. Calvino wrote other books, too, so he is more than this one compilation alone. I'm looking forward to reading them.

. . . . And now it's on to planning summer courses for me. (sigh)

Matthew wrote: "I've had many debates about style v plot v character, I think everyone is completely different in their preferences (which allows for brilliant debate!). You're right though, I probably would still..."

Where did they come from in terms of inspiration and motivation? Did those novels challenge the status quo? Please know: I'm asking in earnest. I enjoy learning more from all of you as you share your reasons and insights.

Sara wrote: "This may all have been fun for them, but does it have any lasting value to us as literature?"

I vote, "yes" and point to our ongoing discussion and questions for a start. Something unsettles us? Sometimes art is meant to provoke or even disturb us. Here's wishing you a fine day! -- Jan