A complex, perhaps troubling, work by Italo Calvino

This month’s Calvino Book Club title, where we’re prompted by the A Plunge Into Calvino podcast to read a specific work by Italo Calvino, is an interesting one for a number of reasons. Called “The Watcher”, it’s a long short story/novella of 73 pages (of smallish type!), here translated by William Weaver and it was first published in 1963. It’s a book linked to the realism which featured in his early works, although it’s clear at this point that he was moving away from that. The story is not that readily available; it appeared in a volume with two other stories, “Smog” and “The Argentine Ant”, in a US edition but I’m not sure if it’s currently available in this country. However, it’s definitely worth tracking down as there’s much to chew over after reading it…

The watcher of the title is one Amerigo, a young man who’s a member of the Communist Party. Post-War Italy is apparently opening up a little bit, with the chokehold of the Catholic Church being shaken a little. Elections are open to all, and although the old habits die hard, all of the parties are taking them seriously. Watchers from all parties go along to polling centres to supervise the voting and make sure all the correct procedures are followed. This is Amerigo’s role, but the location of the polling is rather unusual.

Cottolengo, also known as Turin’s ‘Hospital for Incurables’, is described as an asylum; having existed on the site for a long time, it houses all manner of human beings who can’t fit into normal everyday society and who are cared for by nuns. As the voting has been widened to include all citizens of Italy, those incarcerated in Cottolengo are also allowed to take part in the polls if they are deemed capable of understanding what’s being asked of them. So Amerigo and his equals from the other parties observe the process and try to make a value judgement as to whether the various participants really know what they’re doing.

And it has to be said that the whole situation has him frankly questioning the meaning of life and what it is to be a human. “Watcher” is a difficult book to read in some ways, as the people living in Cottolengo, who have various disabilities, are described in terms we would not use nowadays. It’s undeniable that people have issues of mental health, or physical restrictions, but our discussion of them nowadays is hopefully more sensitive. Amerigo describes in stark terms what he sees and is led to wonder how far inclusivity should go in our search to involve all in democratic processes. What are the dividing lines which should be drawn when deciding who is capable of understanding and who is not? Is it better to segregate those who can’t cope with everyday society, keeping them in safe surroundings where they might be better off?

“The Watcher” asks hard questions to which there are not obvious answers; and although nowadays we often try to integrate the disadvantaged into mainstream society, it has to be wondered how well people can cope with this. Certainly, in the education sector, I’ve seen children really struggling to deal with mainstream schooling and then flourishing in a specialist setting – it’s very difficult to know what’s best. Amerigo’s mood swings as he contemplates the process around him send him down some difficult routes, and Calvino’s writing style is quite different from usual as he captures those thought processes in long, often complex and lyrical sentences. His temperament is not helped by the complexities of his relationship with his current girlfriend, Lia; their communication is often poor, riddled with misunderstandings and it seems that in the mainstream world it is as hard to find meaning between human beings as it can be in Cottolengo.

It was a hidden Italy that filed through that room, the reverse of the Italy that flaunts itself in the sun, that walks the streets, that demands, produces, consumes; this was the secret of families and of villages, it was also (but not only) rural poverty with its debased blood, its incestuous couplings in the darkness of the stables, the desperate Piedmont which always clings to the efficient, severe Piedmont, it was also (but not only) the end of all races when their plasm sums up all the forgotten evils of unknown predecessors, the pox concealed like a guilty thing, drunkenness the only paradise (but not only that, not that alone), it was the mistake risked by the material of human race each time it reproduces itself, the risk (predictable, for that matter, on a calculable basis, like the outcome of games of chance) which is multiplied by the number of the new snares: the viruses, poisons, uranium radiation… the random element that governs human generation which is called human precisely because it occurs at random….

The world of Cottolengo itself is a fascinating creation, almost analogous with some of Calvino’s fantastic creations in his other fictions, particularly “Invisible Cities”. Here, he paints a place where the troubled can be cared for, kept safe from harm and given some kind of meaningful life. The question running through the book is one of agency; how much do the residents have, how much real understanding of the everyday life outside the walls of their world, and how much should they be involved in it. I don’t know that the book has an answer to that – we never learn the results of the election, and Amerigo doesn’t seem to come up with a solution – but “The Watcher” certainly provides much food for thought.

Although I know I’ve read this story before, it must have been pre-blog and I could recall nothing about it. However, I found it a fascinating and stimulating story, with some lovely writing and some really thought-provoking concepts being explored. The terminology *is* old-fashioned (and I can remember when we spoke like this) although, having said that, this might just reflect the character’s view and not necessarily that of the author himself. That’s by the by, really; I’m just glad to have been prompted into picking up another lesser-known Calvino and finding it as brilliant as his other writings. Can’t wait to see what the title is next month! 😀

“..the cemetery blossomed every night with wills-o’-the-wisp…” #calvinobookclub #theclovenviscount

2023 was a year where I spent many happy hours reacquainting myself with the works of Italo Calvino, many of which I hadn’t read in decades. It was of course the centenary of his birth, and Philip of the A Plunge into Calvino podcast hosted a Calvino Bookclub on Twitter/X where we read along with a work a month. It was great fun, so I was very pleased when he announced he would be rebooting this, starting with “The Cloven Viscount” for March. I suspect that I’ve only read this once, back in my twenties, so I was most interested to see what I would make of it!

First published in 1952, “Cloven” (here translated by Archibald Colquhoun) is generally collected with Calvino’s subsequent two novels “The Baron in the Trees” and “The Non-Existent Knight” into one volume under the umbrella title “Our Ancestors”; that’s the case with my old Picador edition. Up until this point, Calvino had been writing stories more rooted in realism, such as short stories and his first novel, “The Path to the Nest of Spiders”. However, his heart was obviously in what’s loosely labelled here as fantasy (thought it’s more like fairy tale) and with “Cloven” he took a step away from realism towards the great works he’s now best known for, which to my mind defy genre.

At 71 pages in my edition (admittedly with very small type), “Cloven” is really a novella and has a somewhat mediaeval setting. The story opens with Viscount Medardo travelling to fight the Turks on the plains of Bohemia; the battle is painted starkly and during the conflict, Medardo is literally cut into two lengthways by a cannonball. Miraculously, one half survives and this half a man returns to his country changed. With his missing half swathed in a billowing cloak, he brings terror to his people; cleaving living things into two, killing at will and exercising cruelty wherever he can, it’s obvious that the bad part of the man has survived.

Amazingly, however, it transpires that his other side is also still alive, and eventually makes his way home. This Medardo is good, yes, but unfortunately with a weakness that goes with the goodness. So he’s busily going around trying to make things better for the people, but not having the backbone to do so. Inevitably, both halves of the man fall in love with the beautiful Pamela, and although she prefers the good half, she’s being pressured into marrying the bad one. A crisis will be reached during the wedding day – but which half will Pamela marry, and is there any redemption possibly for this divided soul?

“Cloven” is of course a moral fable about human nature, with the ultimate conclusion being that we are made up of both good and bad aspects, a yin and ying which complement each other; and so nobody can be entirely good or entirely bad. (I’m not sure I necessarily buy that, if I’m honest – even if Hitler was good to his mother, I’m not inclined to think of him as anything else but evil incarnate). In Calvino’s story, both halves are lacking and it’s only by bringing them back together that anything can be done to resolve the situation. It’s a fairly simple message but so beautifully and elegantly told!

Calvino’s writing is a joy to read, and there are so many interesting elements built in. There is a leper colony, a kind of trope of mediaeval tales maybe, but Calvino handles it in an intriguing way, maybe offering some kind of hope to the sufferers. The character of Dr. Trelawney is perhaps a tribute to Robert Louis Stevenson; he enters and leaves the story via a sailing ship, surely a reference to Squire Trelawney from “Treasure Island”. And the presence of exiled Huguenots adds another aspect to the story, with their potential for friendshop with the local peasants, but a certain wariness between both camps.

My edition of “Our Ancestors” comes with a foreword by Calvino, and here he discusses the fact that he was using the fairy tale format to comment on his times. Certainly, the landscape he describes is based on his childhood home in San Remo on the Italian Riviera and I can see how its loss (which he refers to here) informed his story “A Plunge Into Real Estate” which I wrote about last year. Using a fantastic tale to comment on reality has a long pedigree, but I would argue that few have done it as deftly as Calvino does here.

“The Cloven Viscount” is a short, entertaining and rather thought-provoking tale, and while not necessarily of the same standard as his later writings, it certainly was an enjoyable read. Calvino relates how there was something of an outcry when it was published, as it was such a dramatic change in his style. Me, I’m glad he moved away from realism into exploring much more interesting forms of writing. I’m looking forward to continuing my rediscovery of his work this year, and hopefully all of the titles chosen will be as good as this!

My reading in 2023 – highlights and favourites! 😊📚

So here’s part two of my end of year posts, and I think this is likely to be the most substantial, as I take a look back on my year of reading. I always like to leave this as late as possible, as I’ve often found I read one of my favourite books of any given year right at the end! And I suspect that might have been the case if I’d finished “Chevengur” this year, as it’s a profoundly good book and I’m looking forward to getting back to it when my brain is up to it.

As you might know, I’m never capable of doing a single list of favourites; instead, I tend to pick themes from the year and so here goes! And please excuse any idiocy in this post as a result of Covid brain fog… 😕

ReadIndies

I was happy to once more co-host ReadIndies at the start of the year with Lizzy, and it was wonderful to see such a great range of publishers featured; we are both huge fans of indie presses, and so it’s lovely to see so many others joining in with our celebration of these champions of publishing! They truly do release the most interesting and unusual books, and I loved co-hosting!

A particular star of indie publishing for me this year has been Boiler House Press; they’ve put out some fascinating titles since launching their ‘Recovered Books’ series with the amazing “Gentleman Overboard” and I can’t recommend them highly enough. Do check out their books and you can get them directly here.

Events

I’ve taken part in a number of reading events this year, including WITMonth, German Lit Month, Czech Lit Month, lots of ones in November and Japanese Lit Month, to name just a few. All of these have been wonderful events, and having hosted myself I salute all those who organise these – thank you!

Simon and I co-hosted two excellent Club Reading Weeks this year, for 1940 in April and 1962 in October; both were wonderful fun! The years we chose had some absolutely brilliant books, and in both cases I was happy to be reunited with old favourite books and authors, as well as discovering new ones. Again, there were so many interesting posts from others and I loved hearing about what everyone was reading and enjoying! We always think these weeks are a low-pressure event and perfect for everyone to dip into at the level which suits them.

Poetry

I’ve been dipping back into quite a lot of poetry this year, particularly in recent months, and that has been amazing too. From Apollinaire to modern writers like Andy C Miller, translated poets such as Nora Iuga and Diana Manole, and old favourites like Simon Armitage, it’s been great fun, and a trend I hope will continue into 2024.

British Library Publishing

I can’t let this post go by without acknowledging how much I’ve loved what the BL have published this year. Their Crime Classics and Women Writers series’ have brought me so much pleasure this year, and more power to their elbow.

Trends in my reading

I’ve noticed this year that there are a number of what you might call trends in my reading; for example, I’ve read a lot of non fiction. I’ve not totted it up but it certainly feels like there’s been more than usual. Nature writing by authors like Robert Macfarlane; more politically angled books from authors like Alex Niven; works dealing with philosophy and philosophers such as Sarah Bakewell‘s; and of course old favourites like Perec and the OuLiPians. I enjoy non-fiction a lot – always have, really – and as I’m not always a fan of modern fiction, maybe this trend will continue.

I should pick out one strand of my reading which happened after I read Night Walking by Matthew Beaumont; that book had a really profound effect on me, leading me through a whole succession of other related works and it’s still informing my TBR. I suspect that I’ll continue to be influenced by it going into 2024.

Works in Translation

I’ve continued to read translated works this year, though perhaps in smaller numbers than previous years. I’ve definitely read less from the Russian, and I’d like to remedy that going forward. Calvino has featured strongly in my list of translated books, which leads me on to…

The Calvino Centenary

You can scarcely have missed the fact that it’s been the centenary year of the birth of Italo Calvino, as I’ve plastered it over the blog on many occasions! Calvino is one of my all time favourite writers and so I’ve spent happy hours over the year revisiting some of his works, several of which I’d not read for decades. It’s been a glorious experience, enhanced by the release in January of a new collection of previously untranslated non-fiction – which turned out to be magnificent. I also made rare podcast appearances on the A Plunge into Calvino podcast, which was fun!

Some standout works

As I said, I don’t pick a top ten list or anything like that, but I will mention some books which really stood out for me this year. First up is the aforemention “Night Walking“; a deep dive into the history and culture of those who exist in the darker hours, it’s so much more than it says on the tin and has sent me off down some wonderful rabbit holes, investigating other writers and books!

M. John Harrison‘s anti-memoir “Wish I Was Here” was as brilliant and completely individual as all of his books are; as usual, he completely redefines the genre in which he’s supposedly writing! I confess it’s made me keen to revisit some of his fictions and maybe I can make that a plan for 2024.

On the fiction front, I was bowled over by “Brian” by Jeremy Cooper, which has deservedly received wonderful acclaim. Cooper has been a favourite author for a while now, and this particular book demonstrates his brilliance and individuality as a writer.

Back to non-fiction, and Alex Niven’s “The North Will Rise Again” was a thoroughly fascinating read, something of a culmination of his thoughts in his earlier books; a radical look at how the country could *actually* be levelled up, rather some spurious Government plan which was never meant to work, it’s a really thought-provoking read.

And then there’s Calvino. I have (re)read so many brilliant works of his this year, but I have to say that going back to “If on a winter’s night a traveller”, the first book of his I ever read, was quite moving and profound. I saw levels and depths and meanings in it I’d never picked up before; perhaps my mind was really attuned to his writing this year; and I will always love this book.

*****

That’s probably enough now; I did say this would probably be a long post and I could just keep going on and on about the many and varied books from this year! Basically, I have just loved reading during 2023, and books have brought me real joy, mental stimulation and escape from the horrors of the world. Tomorrow I’ll consider where I might go bookishly in 2024, but if the reading next year is as good as 2023’s, I’ll be happy!!

“Times are hard everywhere!” #calvino #aplungeintorealestate #calvinobookclub

Just popping into the Ramblings today to share some thoughts on this month’s choice for the Calvino Book Club. As you’ll probably know, I’ve been sharing in some readalongs organised by the A Plunge Into Calvino podcast to celebrate the centenary of the birth of one of my favourite authors – Italo Calvino. I’ve gained much joy from revisiting some wonderful titles of his over the year, as well as rediscovering some new writings. This month’s work is appropriately enough the novella that gave the title to the podcast – “A Plunge into Real Estate“, published here as part of the “Difficult Loves” collection, and translated by D.S. Carne-Ross.

“Plunge” is an early work by Calvino, from 1957, and therefore from the time when he was producing more realistically based fictions. These writings cover a period when Italy was going through many post-War changes, and the story reflects that, telling as it does of the disastrous adventure in real estate undertaken by the Anfossi family. Told mainly from the point of view Quinto Anfossi, he and his brother have moved away from the family home, a town on the Italian riviera. Their father has died, there are crippling taxes of all kinds to be paid, and Quinto returns home to talk to his mother about this.

His town is going through an economic resurgence, with every bit of land being built on in an attempt to provide places for those who wish to visit the sea. The old is being knocked down, beautiful views lost, and frankly the constant development doesn’t seem to be doing much to improve the quality of life in the town. Quinto is a bit sniffy about it all; but there are those taxes… So he and his brother Ampelio agree to sell part of their land to raise money, and persuade their mother to go along with this. However, the only possible purchaser is a somewhat shady developer, Caisotti; the brothers enter into an agreement and this is where things begin to go horribly wrong…

I won’t say much more about the plot, but there really is an inevitability about the events! A contract which seems impregnible but isn’t; issues with slow, uninterested workers; delays in building materials; planning regulations; and the complication of an attractive young woman who works for the developer. It’s clear that the endeavour was doomed from the start but there’s a certain joy about watching a disaster unfold (one of Mr. K’s favourite films, “The Money Pit”, comes to mind!)

Quinto went home in a foul temper. It was not only his failure (once again) to make Caisotti pay up, but also the discovery that he was an old comrade in arms. A fine turn Italian society had taken! Two partisans, one a peasant, the other a student, who had taken up arms together in the belief that they were building a new Italy. And look at them now! Both accepting the world as it was, both chasing money. And they didn’t even possess the old bourgeois virtues; they were simply a couple of real estate sharks. It was no accident that they were in partnership and, of course, trying to swindle each other.

This aspect of the story is absorbing and entertaining in itself, and on the surface this is a story about a family selling land to pay taxes, a pluge into real estate which goes horribly wrong. However, underneath there’s a lot more going on. Calvino was already providing social commentary on the increasing commercialisation of the post-War years, particularly in some of the “Marcovaldo” stories, and the world he captures here is very much in flux. The rush to modernisation is obviously taking some people by surprise; and Quinto has several encounters with old comrades from the Partisan days of the war (a milieu very familiar to Calvino). There are hints of lost ideals, and also class issues; Quinto was a young, enthusiastic student in his Communist days but has most definitely become bourgeois now. Not everyone has, though, and there is definitely a feeling that there are lost chances and the wrong roads taken. The divide between Quinto and his roots is emphasised; although he’s drawn back to his home town, his current life is in the city, mixing with the intellectual set, writing for newspapers and he’s in many ways very detached from his old world.

The rancor in Canal’s voice was familiar to Quinto. He represented the old middle-class, conservative, honest, economical, undemanding, without much go or imagination, rather inclined to be stingy. For the last half century this class had witnessed changes that it had been unable to resist and had seen a new, traditionless class take the field. On every occasion it had had to give way, affecting an air of indifference but with teeth clenched.

I approached “Plunge” unable to remember anything about it; “Difficult Loves” is a volume of Calvino I bought many decades ago when I was first reading him, and I suspect I haven’t revisited it since. However, I’m mightily glad I was prompted to by the podcast; “A Plunge Into Real Estate” is a really thought-provoking look at lost ideals, disillusionment, the negative effects of rapid progress and how easy it is for human beings to be conned whilst in search of profit. An excellent piece of early Calvino and a wonderful way to wrap up reading for his centenary year!

To round off this post in Madame Bibi Lophile fashion, here are the wonderful Manic Street Preachers with a cover version of a song explaining how we have all become bourgeois….

 

“To hear the classics as a distant echo…” #italocalvino #calvinocentenary

Today is the centenary of the birth of Italo Calvino; you might have noticed him making many appearances on the Ramblings this year, and as I’ve made quite clear, he’s one of my favourite ever authors. I’ve enjoyed taking part in the monthly #CalvinoBookClub reads, and these have been focused on fiction. So to celebrate Calvino’s 100th birthday I though I would spend some time dipping into his essays, and decided they would potentially be drawn from a selection of collections:

These books have two different translators, and in the end my choices turned out to be a little more complex than I initially expected – more of which later… For now, here are some brief thoughts on the essays I read!

Why Read the Classics?

I couldn’t not choose this particular piece as it’s regarded as one of Calvino’s major essays, giving its title to one of these anthologies and also being reprinted on its own. I found it resonated particularly with me this time round, as one of the elements Calvino focuses on is how we read differently at different ages; his feeling is that our responses change when we read classics as older people, with the young simply absorbing like sponges and I tend to agree with that. Certainly, when I’ve gone back to books I read in my earlier years, I’ve found much more depth in them and I suspect that comes with experience. Calvino’s definition of a classic is also so interesting, with him eventually concluding that a book came become the reader’s own classic when it takes on a particular importance to them. So this was a really good essay to start with and yielded much more than I remembered!

In Memory of Roland Barthes

I was keen to revisit this essay, as when I last read it I would have known little about Barthes, and since that time he’s become one of my favourite authors. I found this essay particularly poignant, as Calvino relates his reaction to Barthes’ untimely death and how it tied in with his reading of Barthes’ final book, “Camera Lucida”, which had recently been released. It’s a moving piece of writing and as well as saddening me at the loss of Barthes, it also reminded me that I really need to pull “Camera” off the TBR.

Jorge Luis Borges

Borges is another favourite of mine, an author who I’ve only read properly in more recent years, despite having owned some of his work for decades. Calvino’s take on him is a really interesting one, exploring Borges in relation to his popularity in Italy and his influence on Italian writers. Calvino acknowledges the effect Borges has had on his own work, as well as praising the great man’s writing style – obviously time I went back to Borges too!

Borges is a master of concision. He manages to condense into texts which are always just a few pages long an extraordinary richness of ideas and poetic attraction: events which are narrated or hinted at, dizzying glimpses of the infinite, and ideas, ideas, ideas.

Charles Dickens, Our Mutual Friend

As I’ve been having a bit of a renaissance with the writing of Charles Dickens, I was keen to see what Calvino made of his work. He focuses on Dickens’ last completed novel here, and explores the genius of the Victorian author’s works as well as the increasingly dark turn his novels took. OMF is a book I’ve still to finish, and I may have to make it one of my serial reading projects going forward – Calvino regards it as a masterpiece, because of its “complex portrait of society and its class conflict”.

By Fotograf: Johan Brun, Dagbladet (Oslo Museum/Digitalt Museum) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Robert Louis Stevenson, The Pavilion on the Links

The final essay I chose was one on Robert Louis Stevenson, and in particular his short work “The Pavilion on the Links”. Now I was convinced I’d read this, but I suspect now that I haven’t – so I may try to get to it during November. Calvino discussed the different versions of the story which have been released, and defends it against detractors, considering it one of Stevenson’s finest. He reveals it as a story rooted in landscape, with several plot strands, in effect a huge game of hide-and-seek. Which does, of course, sound fascinating.

It’s obvious from my brief responses to Calvino’s essays that his non-fiction works are a rich seam waiting to be mined, and I could have read so many more, if time had not been against me, from this fertile ground. However, in the end I chose a few on writers or subjects which interested me, and I was reminded how much I enjoyed Calvino’s new non-fiction writing at the start of the year. Really, whatever he wrote interests me and stimulates my mind – he was such a wonderful author. So happy centenary birthday, Italo Calvino!

*****

I wanted to comment separately from my main post on the knotty subject of translation… Most of Calvino’s fiction was translated by the great William Weaver, and I love and respect his work on these. Since Calvino (and indeed Weaver) are no longer with us, later works have had other translators, most notably Patrick Creagh, Tim Parks and Martin McLaughlin. With the non-fiction collections things get more complex, and there is overlap between various collections. ‘The Literature Machine‘ (Creagh) came out in 1987, and was published in the US under the title ‘The Uses of Literature’ (which is why I have two copies of the same texts, as I didn’t check before I bought). ‘Why Read the Classics’ (McLaughlin) was published in 2009, and was a collection approved by Calvino’s widow, Esther.

Initially, I intended to read from these books, and firstly went with the Barthes piece from “Uses”. However, when I moved on to that version of “Classics” it somehow didn’t feel right, and I went back to the McLaughlin translation – and it was very different. Not only in terms of formatting, but in some places it seemed as if there were bits missing from the Creagh version, and this unnerved me a little. I have no Italian, and no Italian language versions to check against; so I dug about and found ‘Collection of Sand’ (McLaughlin), which *was* put out in Calvino’s lifetime in Italy, and contained the Barthes piece. Sure enough, when I made some comparisons it seemed that either Creagh had left things out or McLaughlin had put things in – and tbh the latter seems unlikely…

Now, I may be jumping to conclusions and perhaps the translators worked from different versions. However, this was enough to make me feel jittery about reading the Creagh versions and I stuck to McLaughlin. I don’t want to cast aspersions (and Creagh translated “Pereira Maintains”, which I loved); however, I think that, as much as possible, I will steer away from the Creagh renderings unless there is no alternative. Truly, translation really *is* a difficult topic!!!!

Thoughts on September, plus October plans! 🎃🍂🍂

It was inevitable, really, that September would be less of a bumper reading month than August was; after all, going back to work was always going to mean less hours for reading, and although I would like to read during all of my free time, that isn’t always practical! However, it has been a very satisfactory month of books, which some really wonderful titles and a pleasing range of authors and works. Here’s what I read, and the pile is actually larger than I thought it would be!

Of course, I didn’t read all of the Proust – but am happy to have reached the end of the second volume. The rest of the month was an interesting mix of poetry, new books for blog tours, something for the Czech Literature month and of course the wonderful “Mr Palomar” for the #CalvinoBookClub read.

You might notice that several of these books are still to be reviewed, and also that I am edging into 1962 territory! This is because I have got so ahead of myself, and am still catching up on reviewing, that I have had to begin reading for our #1962Club a little bit early! But I am hoping to take a short trip away during October, so having some reviews scheduled and standing by will be very handy!

As for plans – well, as mentioned above, I’m very much looking forward to co-hosting the #1962Club with Simon at Stuck in a Book, and this runs from 16-22 October. There is a fascinating array of titles to choose from, and I have been struggling with my decisions about what to read. You can guess some of my choices from the above picture, but you’ll have to wait to read my thoughts on them! ;D

The above pile features some titles I picked up on a quick trip to the local Oxfam book shop earlier in the month – the Middlemarch book was a serendipitous find, as I’ve heard such good things about it, and the Thoreau title ties in with another little pile of possibles from the Big Book stacks:

I call this my Nature Reading pile and I would love to get to some of these, particularly as Autumn beckons (I love Autumn!)

Apart from this, I’m trying to be fluid about what I’ll read during October. With the nights drawing in, there is the temptation to wallow in classics like Dickens, and of course I have my serial reads of “Dombey and Son” and “Middlemarch” to carry on with. I also have a review book or two to cover, and whatever the monthly title is for the #CalvinoBookClub. Apart from that, it will continue to be a case of following my whims and picking up whichever book takes my fancy!

What about you? Have you exciting reading plans for October?? 😀

“…stick to what I see.” #calvinobookclub #mrpalomar

I have to confess that I got a little emotional last week, on 19th September, when I was reminded by #BookTwitter peeps that it was the anniversary of the death of Italo Calvino. He died back in 1985 and the day I found out is etched in my brain (as I recalled when I made a guest appearance on the A Plunge Into Calvino podcast). I’ve had an intellectual crush on him since I first read “If on a winter’s night a traveller“, and so in 1985 I was very, very excited as a new Calvino title was coming out in translation soon; that book was “Mr. Palomar” (translated by William Weaver) and it turned out to be the last of Calvino’s books published in his lifetime. I revisited this one briefly in the early days of the blog, but I was pleased that Philip at the podcast chose “Palomar” as this month’s Calvino Book Club read; I’ve found that my recent re-reads of the great author’s works have revealed so much more than my earlier explorations, and I approached this one hoping that would be the same!

“Mr Palomar” is a collection of pieces about the thoughts and adventures of the titular character. ‘Adventures’ is perhaps too strong a word; as is stated early in the book:

A nervous man who lives in frenzied and congested world, Mr Palomar tends to reduce his relations with the outside world; and to defend himself against the general neurasthenia he tries to keep his sensations under control insofar as possible.

So the short pieces, each with a title like ‘Reading the wave’. ‘The contemplation of the stars’, or ‘From the terrace’, allow Palomar to contemplate the world, elements within it and the meanings of things. His musings are often debunked with a little wry humour from the author, but it’s clear that the man is something of an overthinker! The story sequence progresses through overarching categories, with three overall sections subdivided into sets of three stories, each with a subtitle gathering them together. Yes, we’re dealing with an Oulipian writer, but this structure never gets in the way of the beauty of the stories.

..in his desire to avoid vague sensations, he establishes for his every action a limited and precise object.

Mr Palomar takes his name, of course, from a favourite telescope, and certainly in the beginning sections of the book this is very relevant. He takes a close up, precise look at things, trying to pin down what he sees as a kind of way to control nature and the world around him. Hence his attempt in the first piece to try to observe a single wave; but of course it is impossible to see just one, or indeed to contain the sea (and the world!) as everything is interconnected. So Palomar continues to train his telescopic eye on a variety of everyday phenomena and keeps trying to focus on the singular and individual; however his vision is constantly swept up by the universal. Whether a wave or a blade of grass, he can’t see them except in relation to all other waves and grasses.

As you read through the stories, they gradually take on a wider view of things; Palomar observes the stars in the sky, the roofscapes of the city, and in the final sections of the book ‘The Silences of Palomar’ his viewpoint becomes wider. In his search for the individual, he stars to realise that the individual *is* universal. While observing a Japanese sand garden, surrounded by a large group of tourists who totally obliterate the ability to use the place as intended i.e. to meditate, he sees the mass of humanity as a collection of grains of sand – and so maybe the point of his explorations is to reveal that we are all one, interrelated, and will stand or fall together. Palomar’s journey seems to have been one of seeking to find the perfectability of the real world, and inevitably failing.

If this sounds heavy or complex, of course it’s not – we’re reading Calvino with his light touch on the heaviest of subjects. The writing can be so lyrical, for example the breathtakingly beautiful and evocative descriptions of the city skyline and upper areas. And as I mentioned, there is plenty of wry humour in the book; Palomar regularly attracts the attention of others because of his odd behaviour. Whether making a bit of a spectacle of himself whilst star gazing, or unintentionally behaving suspiciously whilst trying to decide the best way to react to a sunbather with a bared breast, Palomar is something of a loveable bumbler.

By Fotograf: Johan Brun, Dagbladet (Oslo Museum/Digitalt Museum) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Inevitably, I found it impossible here not to conflate author and character; Mrs Palomar and a daughter are mentioned, which ties in with Calvino’s family structure, and Palomar as the observer, keeping something of a distance, reads to me like Calvino himself, who as an author preferred to keep a low profile. Certainly, the ending lines are poignantly powerful – I shall say no more, but it made me even more emotional about the author than I was.

A model is by definition that which works perfectly; whereas reality, as we see clearly, does not work and constantly falls to pieces; so we must force it, more or less roughly, to assume the form of the model.

Whether contemplating the universe, or considering the different varieties of cheeses, Palomar could perhaps be the ultimate observer, locked in a world of his own and trying to find harmony in his surroundings. Was this book perhaps Calvino’s final statement of his philosophy? I don’t know – however, I do know that once again I’ve pages of notes from a re-read of one of his works, and I’m seeing so many more layers in it than I did on my previous visits. The book has an index at the end, and a note on the structure which breaks down the pieces into sections exploring visual experiences, anthropological elements and more speculative experiences (those which explore the cosmos, as Calvino states). But consistent to all is human curiosity, the need to observe, contemplate and try to make sense of life. “Mr Palomar” is a beautiful book, and a fine one to stand as his last published work – his too early death was a great loss to world culture.

*****

As I mentioned earlier in the year, in my review of “The Written World and the Unwritten World“, I was excited to find that it featured two previous untranslated pieces featuring Palomar; and the notes tended to indicate that there were a whole series of these. This does rather reinforce my feeling that the character was a stand-in for the author, and I can only hope that one day more untranslated musings of Mr. Palomar will make it into English!! 😀

 

Summer’s end, plus autumn plans! 🍂🍂📚📚

August has been an odd kind of month, particularly weather-wise – in this country, at least, we’ve not had the huge heat we had earlier in the year and some of the days have been quite fresh (which I haven’t minded, as I actually don’t enjoy the heat that much). So as we draw nearer to the end of summer and autumn comes into sight, I must say I’m not entirely sorry! However, on the reading front, August has been quite magnificent as you can see from this rather large pile!!!

It has indeed been a heck of a month for reading, and I have absolutely loved the variety of works I enjoyed. I must point out that I only read the first four chapters of “Dombey and Son”; although of course I read the whole of “Hard Times”. There’s been plenty of wonderful classic women’s writing from Russia, England, Japan and America; GA crime; poetry; non-fiction covering all manner of topics; and of course a stupendous re-read of one of my favourite books ever, “If on a winter’s night a traveller“. Not a dud or a dull moment in there!! And yes, I have a lot of catch-up reviewing to do…

With the return to work looming, I expect September to be less of a bumper month for reading, although I *do* have plans! First of all, there is the read for the #Calvinobookclub. I must admit to having been very pleased when it was announced this would be “Mr Palomar“; this was the last novel published in the author’s lifetime, and the first I was able to buy on publication, so it has a special place in my heart. Again, this is a title I’ve re-read in the time of the blog, but it was some time ago; so I’m very keen to see what I think of it!

As for other plans, my head has been very much in OuLiPian mode recently, and when I was shuffling the book piles recently I came across a batch of exciting titles:

I’ve had these for a couple of years, and when having a flick through was ridiculously excited to find that one contains a piece written by Calvino about how he structured “If on a winter’s night a traveller” – so I may have to be spending time with some of these lovelies.

And then there are the Big Books! I have been threatening to share more about these on the Ramblings, and this particular current obsession was fuelled by embarking upon “Middlemarch” and also watching the videos of Benjamin McEvoy. I was so inspired by his encouragement to read big classics that I went on a rampage through Mount TBR and gathered together a couple of towering piles of chunksters and classics which are still waiting to be read – and a huge and scary heap they make!!

Here’s the left pile:

And here’s the right:

I think if you click on them you’ll get a bigger view…

Now, these *do* look a tad intimidating; but in my current frame of mind, I am feeling the urge to get some of these classics read, and certainly the serial reading option is helping so far. The first book of “Middlemarch” was wonderful, and I have also embarked on “Dombey and Son” (thoughts on the first four chapters to follow). Of course, this is something of a long-term project; but if I can read some of these alongside other, shorter books, I shall finally be able to enjoy books I’ve had lurking for so long. Anyway, that’s where I am at the moment with the plan – we’ll see how it pans out…

Any other plans for September? Well Stu is hosting a Czech Literature Month and I intend to take part in that if I can; and in fact, a new arrival this week would fit the bill perfectly:

Apart from that, I shall start planning for our next Club Reading Week; I’ll be co-hosting this with Simon from Stuck in a Book from 16-22 October, and the year we’re reading from this time is 1962. I already have some ideas about suitable titles and it should be such fun!

So what about you? How was your August, and what are looking to read as we move into autumn?? 😀😉

“…confronting something and not quite knowing yet what it is.” #calvinobookclub

When Philip at the “A Plunge Into Calvino” podcast announced that the August read for the Italo Calvino bookclub would be “If on a winter’s night a traveller” I was in two minds about whether I wanted to read this again. I’ve always reckoned it to be my favourite Calvino book, and I have a long history with it, back to the time I first read it and it completely changed the way I thought about books and reading. However, it felt as if I’d re-read it fairly recently (certainly within the time of this blog) and so I wasn’t sure if I was in the right headspace to revisit a book which meant so much to me. However with a little encouragement from Philip I decided that I would, and to make the reread even more special I indulged myself by sending off for a lovely Everyman hardback edition (translated by William Weaver) which I thought might make the reread even better. Well, whatever edition I chose to read the revisit was something else, as I’ll try to convey in this post!

Very pretty Everyman hardback…

“Traveller…” was first published in 1979, and when it was recommended to me by a colleague of Mr. K’s, it was in terms of “If she likes books about books, she’ll love this” (they were not wrong…) In simple terms, the book tells the story of a Reader who is trying to read “If on a winter’s night a traveller”, the new book by Italo Calvino. He negotiates the snares of the bookshop to buy a copy, settles down to begin the book and is captivated by the first chapter. However, here his problems start… The book is faulty, with the same section bound into the volume over and over again. He returns to the bookstore to try and get a replacement copy, but is told that mistakes at the printers mean that this is not the Calvino and so he is provided with what is supposed to be the correct book. He and a fellow Other Reader (who receives a name, Ludmilla) try to carry on with their reading…

Alas, this is the first of a chain of faults or issues which results in the Reader never being able to read more than a chapter of a book before being interrupted; and the adventures of the Reader, the Other Reader and several other characters in pursuit of the finished book, or indeed any finished book, become wilder and wilder. Alternating numbered chapters and titled stories take the external reader on a labyrinthine journey through countries, times, political situations and all manner of dramas – will the Readers ever catch up with the book(s) and how on earth is Calvino going to finish the story!?

That’s perhaps a slightly surface level look at what this book is about, because frankly it would probably take me a week’s worth of long post to get anywhere near discussing the many levels of what is a quite dazzling and multifaceted book, and as far as I’m concerned a work of genius. It was my first experience of any kind of metafiction, and the first page still leaves me breathless – the opening sentences sets the tone:

You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice—they won’t hear you otherwise—“I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone.

This chapter goes on to relate how you (is this you, the external reader, or the Reader who will become the protagonist of the story??) have made your way through the stacks of books in the bookstore fighting for your attention, triumphantly bringing home the Calvino; and it’s a chapter which will resonate with any book obsessive! And the opening lines of the first of the sub-stories, ‘If on a winter’s night a traveller’ does the same thing:

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. In the odor of the station there is a passing whiff of station café odor. There is someone looking through the befogged glass, he opens the glass door of the bar, everything is misty, inside, too, as if seen by nearsighted eyes, or eyes irritated by coal dust. The pages of the book are clouded like the windows of an old train, the cloud of smoke rests on the sentences. It is a rainy evening; the man enters the bar; he unbuttons his damp overcoat; a cloud of steam enfolds him; a whistle dies away along tracks that are glistening with rain, as far as the eye can see.

Again, the novel is talking about itself, and this was a revelation to me. But it needs to be recognised that first and foremost, “Traveller” is a book about reading, the importance of books and reading, and how each reader is an individual with an individual response. The framing device employed here allows Calvino to explore a rich selection of different stories and indeed different types of storytelling (I keep coming back to what a remarkable storyteller he was, don’t I?) Each novel ‘beginning’ is stylistically different; for example, the narrator of “Leaning”, an invalid by the sea, is very precise, trying to control what he sees as chaos around him; and “Around” struck me as somewhat Borgesian; whereas the opening title story is more of a spy story. Calvino’s playfulness comes to the fore here, and I couldn’t help thinking he was having great fun with all these different styles of storytelling.

…you seem to be lost in the book with white pages, unable to get out of it.

You might ask whether it’s a little annoying just having fragments to read but I don’t find this so. Each story breaks off at a pivotal point leading the Reader (and this reader!) very much wanting to know what happens next. Yet somehow the fragments manage to be complete within themselves. As I’ve mentioned, the range of stories is really varied: from spy style narratives through tales of country feuds, a love triangle in revolutionary times, a murder mystery, a tale of a man being pursued by ringing telephones, a Japanese setting to a surreal tale of non-existence, the fertility of Calvino’s brain is stunning. Interestingly, one strand of the book explores the idea that all stories come from one source, with a Father of Stories being sought – I rather think Calvino could qualify for that role!

These individual tales are counterpointed with the chapters about the Reader; as the book progresses, his search for a complete book become as wild and fantastic as some of the stories themselves – which could be (fictional) life imitating art and who knew that reading could be so dangerous! It’s worth noting that this multifaceted narrative involves Calvino the actual author (or does it?), his representative in the book, the Reader, the female Other Reader, the selection of characters in each sub-story and of course the External Reader – yourself! Despite the potential for an overcomplex book, Calvino as always handles his material with a brilliantly light touch.

Another fascinating aspect which is much to the fore in “Traveller” is that of the concept of authenticity, with sub-plots concerning conspiracies, political shenanigans, censorship and whether it matters who actually wrote the book. A translator called Ermes Marana appears at junctures, and seems to be responsible for all manner of falsifications, so much so that certain regimes are hunting him though he’s remarkably elusive. If I’m correct, Calvino’s personal belief was that the author should be fairly invisible, a preference echoed by the Other Reader, Ludmilla, and maybe in our modern world of unlimited visibility we need to remind ourselves that it’s the text that matters. There’s a eerily prescient element recurring in the narratives too, where Calvino introduces bookish technologies which can imitate the style of authors so that computers can write books – another version of the Death of the Author, maybe, and rather pre-empting modern AI!! Calvino also tackles the issue of the sheer amount of books being published, something also very relevant nowadays with our modern publishing methods and plethora of texts appearing left, right and centre…

…the author of every book is a fictitious character whom the existent author invents to make him the author of his fictions.

One of the most interesting chapters for me was the one which was narrated as if from the diary of the author Silas Flannery, one of the writers who recurs throughout the book. This particular chapter really allowed Calvino to explore so many elements of writing and reading and books, and with his need for seclusion and a certain anonymity, I couldn’t help reading this as a sly self-portrait of Calvino himself. Certainly, one of the paragraphs from Flannery’s journal seems to relate to what we might be reading at the moment…

The romantic fascination produced in the pure state by the first sentences of the first chapter of many novels is soon lost in the continuation of the story: it is the promise of a time of reading that extends before us and can comprise all possible developments. I would like to be able to write a book that is only an incipit, that maintains for its whole duration the potentiality of the beginning, the expectation still not focused on an object. But how could such a book be constructed? Would it break off after the first paragraph? Would the preliminaries be prolonged indefinitely? Would it set the beginning of one tale inside another, as in the Arabian Nights?

As I revisited “Traveller” I had to keep stopping and taking a breath to let myself properly digest what I’d just read and make sure I didn’t gobble it down. Although I’ve read this book several times, my last visit was actually in the very early days of this blog, about 11 years ago, and I am certainly reading Calvino with much more attention nowadays. Each re-read of this book brings out more depth and layers, and I was consistently struck by how clever it is – even as you are drawn into and involved with each tale, Calvino constantly reminds you that this is a construct, distancing you from the narrative you’re enjoying but never making it any less compelling. Yet I found I had forgotten the specifics of some of the books the Reader was trying to read and at times felt as if I was encountering the book for the first time, which was quite marvellous. The ending knocked me out completely; I was wondering how Calvino could end such a book, which had become wilder and wilder, but he did it brilliantly and I was left wanting to go back to the start and begin reading all over again!!

In reading, something happens over which I have no power.

Mr K’s colleague was right about this being a book about books, as at the heart of “Traveller” is, I think, the importance of storytelling in our life. Calvino’s audacious explorations of reading and writing and why we do both are thought-provoking and unforgettable. The continuing sequence of issues getting in the way of the reading shows how dependent we are nowadays on many other entities to hear those stories – publishers, printers, bookshops, translators, censors… The element of translation was particularly interesting, with one of the stories depending entirely on the ability of a professor of a dead language to translate a book accurately, and this did remind me of how much I rely on translators (thank you, William Weaver, for all the work you did for Calvino’s books.)

Minerva, original Picador, Vintage editions

I’ll stop here before this post gets any longer, though I am so knocked out by my re-read that I could go on forever (and my book hangover is going to take ages to go away). “If on a winter’s night a traveller” is absolutely dazzling in its conception and execution; an unbelievably clever and complex yet completely readable book, a real masterwork. I have nothing but sheer admiration not only for the fertility of Calvino’s mind, thinking up each of these potential stories, but also his skill in constructing such a narrative. Since I first encountered this book, I’ve read all manner of OuLiPo works using constraints, meta techniques and the like, and I suspect that’s led me to revisit “Traveller” with greater experience and understanding. I probably responded more to it on an emotional level back in my twenties; now I’m looking at it with both emotions and intellect; certainly, I made dozens of pages of notes/quotes while I was reading it, and I could have stuffed this post with quotations. “If on a winter’s night a traveller” is definitely one of the most important books in my life, to which I hope I’ve done justice here, and my re-read has made me appreciate it even more. Perhaps I should spend the rest of the year reading nothing but Calvino….

*****

I wrote this review ‘blind’, you might say, straight after finishing the book, without reading my previous post on it, nor the introduction to the Everyman edition. So what you have above is my unfiltered response! On the subject of the Everyman, it made very easy and pleasant reading – their hardbacks are comfortable to hold, pages flop open nicely, and I was relieved not to have to risk my fragile and a bit crumbly original Picador which is old but precious!

However, I did notice a slight difference between some of my editions. In both the Picador (from 1982) and the Everyman, the contents page and the book itself has the ‘ordinary’ chapters given as Chapter one, Chapter two etc. However, the Minerva and Vintage editions simply have 1, 2, 3 etc. A minor point, maybe, but I wonder why?

July thoughts and August plans… 📚📚📚🚂

July is always a bit of an odd month for me; working in a school as I do there’s always a mad panic to get everything done before the end of term and then the sudden relaxation when the summer holidays hit! This year was no different and things were particularly intense leading up to the break – which may be why I lost myself in books so much whenever I could find the time. Anyway, here are the books I read during the month and a wonderful selection they were too!

As you can see, this is quite a chunky pile and I should say upfront that I have *not* read the whole of “Middlemarch“. After a lot of umming and ahing, I have decided to read it serially (more of which in a later post) and so I have read the first book! The rest of the month was a wonderfully mixed bunch – “Night Walking” was of course an epic read, and caused some of the subsequent reading; then there was classic crime, humour, travel and nature writing, poetry, plus a title which defies description! A highlight was my re-read of “Invisible Cities” by Calvino – what a genius that man was!

August is when I traditionally pop to the Midlands to visit my Aged Parent and also the Offspring, and hopefully this month will be the same (although it may be a slightly truncated trip this year because of other commitments). However, train travel is great because I can read up a storm – hurrah! I’ve tended to take a chunkster with me on my travels in the past, but am not sure what I’ll read this time round – but let’s explore some possibles…

First up, August is, of course, Women in Translation month, hosted by Meytal Radzinski. I read WIT books the year round, but it’s always nice to focus on them particularly during the month. I have, as usual, pulled together a bunch of possibles (some of which, I hate to confess, have been on the pile for a couple of years) and there are some interesting titles featured:

Another reading event which takes place in August is run by the LibraryThing Virago Modern Classics group, and it’s called “All Virago/All August“. The idea is to read lots of Virago or related books although I never stick to one thing for a month. However, I still have plenty of unread books from the publisher lurking on the shelves and this one caught my eye:

I was reminded of Mew when she was mentioned in the interesting Sky Arts progs on the reopening of the National Portrait Gallery; it’s a bit of a chunkster, which I’ve meant to read for quite some time, but we’ll see how things go…

Apart from that, I’ve ended up with a big pile of possibilities following my reading of “Night Walking“; that book sent me off on several tangents, and I’ll share my thoughts about the book itself and the two titles it prompted me to pick up during August. However, I still have this little pile to consider:

Some of these would be re-reads, some I have to confess are recent purchases, and they’re all very intriguing.

The August title for the Calvino Book Club read has been announced and it’s “If on a winter’s night a traveller” which was, of course, my first ever Calvino! I’ve re-read it several times, including during the time of the blog, but I think I shall give it another revisit. I’m seeing so much more in his other titles, so it will be interesting to discover what I feel about the book in this light! 😊

And finally, I’m left with these chunky titles which were possibles in my end of June post, to which has been added an even chunkier title which I mentioned at the start of this post. I do want to get back into reading chunksters…

All of them are very tempting. Plus there are a good number of British Library Crime Classics and British Library Women Writers waiting too. Even with it being the summer holidays, I am going to struggle to read everything I want – I shall no doubt have to give up sleeping!

So, do any of the above take your fancy? And what are you planning to read during August?? 😊🤔