I'd had this on the shelf for ages, but the death of its wonderful translator William Weaver (who also gave English speakers many of Calvino's works) inspired me to finally pick it up. It's wonderful; one of these modernist masterpieces that examine the perverse impossibility of free will by virtue of man's impossibility to do the things he seemingly wants to do and recognizes as best. Dry, absurd hilarity with a maniacal edge reminiscent of Dostoevsky or Gombrowicz. A delightful book.
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