In If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino, I honestly didn’t know what I was getting into at first. The novel immediately addresses “you” as the reader, which felt strange but also kind of cool. It made me feel involved in the story in a way that most books don’t. Instead of following a single main character in a clear plot, I was suddenly part of the narrative. At the same time, it was a bit disorienting because I kept waiting for a “normal” storyline to begin.
What makes this book so unique is its structure. Every time a new story starts, it pulls you in with a completely different setting, tone, and genre. Just when things get interesting, it cuts off. Then the novel shifts back to the Reader trying to find the rest of the story. At first, I found this creative and exciting. It felt like opening ten different books at once. But after a while, it became frustrating. I realized how much I rely on closure when I read. I like knowing that if I stay invested, I’ll get answers in the end. Calvino doesn’t really give that satisfaction, at least not in the way we expect.
I also noticed that once it becomes clear that the “Reader” character is male, the second-person narration feels less universal. In the beginning, “you” felt like it could be anyone. But when the book reveals that this Reader is a man, it shifts the dynamic. I felt slightly distanced from the role I was supposed to step into. Ludmilla, the Other Reader, is interesting because she seems to genuinely love reading for its own sake. However, I sometimes felt like we only see her through the male Reader’s perspective. Even though she has her own opinions, the story still centers him.
The ending surprised me because it felt very traditional compared to the rest of the novel. After so many interruptions and experiments with form, the book closes with marriage. In a way, it almost feels ironic. After constantly denying us complete stories, Calvino still gives us a neat conclusion for the main characters. I’m not sure if that was meant to be comforting or slightly mocking.
Overall, I’m still deciding how I feel about this novel. I admire how bold and different it is, and I liked how it made me think about why I read and what I expect from fiction. At the same time, I sometimes missed the emotional depth that comes from staying with one story for a long time.
Discussion question: Do you think the frustration of unfinished stories adds to the meaning of the novel, or does it take away from your connection to it?
2 replies on “When a Book Won’t Let You Finish It”
“Overall, I’m still deciding how I feel about this novel.” What I can tell you is that the ending(?) of the novel(?), precisely after all the experimentation, invites us to question traditional endings. In all fiction, there are degrees of arbitrariness that we consume, sometimes consciously and sometimes not. For example, in Romance languages, the gender distinction between pronouns manifests itself differently, which, in the case of translation into English, undoubtedly opens up other possibilities. But, again, within certain rules of the game.
I also noticed that once the reader was established as a man, I lost some of the connection I’d felt with the reader before. I think the frustration of the unfinished stories adds to the meaning of the novel rather than taking away from it: the frustration that we feel from the lack of closure for any of the books further emphasizes the priority we often place on having a conclusion or an end goal, and once we are able to do things for the experience, that frustration goes away.