a section from If On a Winter's Night a Traveller by Italo Calvino:
take your shoes off first. if you want to, put your feet up; if not, put them back. adjust the light so you won’t strain your eyes. make sure the page isn’t in shadow, a clotting of black letters on a grey background, uniform as a pack of mice; but be careful that the light cast on it isn’t too strong, doesn’t glare on the cruel whit of the paper, gnawing at the shadows of the letters as in a southern noonday. try to foresee now everything that might make you interrupt your reading. cigarettes within reach, if you smoke, and the ashtray. anything else? do you have to pee? all right, you know best.
it’s not that you expect anything in particular from this particular book. you’re the sort of person who, on principle, no longer expects anything of anything. there are plenty, younger than you or less young, who live in the expectation of extraordinary experiences: from books, from people, from journeys, from events, from what tomorrow has in store. but not you. you know that the best you can expect is to avoid the worst. this is the conclusion you have reached, in your personal life and also in general matters, even international affairs. what about books? well, precisely because you have denied it in every other field, you believe you may still grant yourself legitimately this youthful pleasure of expectation in a carefully circumscribed area like the field of books, where you can be lucky or unlucky, but the risk of disappointment isn’t serious.
so, then, you noticed in a newspaper that If on a winter’s night a traveller had appeared, the new book by Italo Calvino, who hadn’t published for several years. you went to the bookshop and bought the volume. good for you.
in the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. following this visual trail, you have forced your way through the shop past the thick barricade of Books You Haven’t Read, which were frowning at you from the tables and shelves, trying to cow you. but you know you must never allow yourself to be awed, that among them there extend for acres and acres the Books You Needn’t Read, the Books Made For Purposes Other Than Reading, Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong To The Category Of Books Read Before Being Written. and thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of the Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. with a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive New And You’ll Wait Till They’re Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come Out In Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody’s Read So It’s As If You Have Read Them, Too.
eluding these assaults, you come up beneath the towers of the fortress, where other troops are holding out: the Books You’ve Been Planning To Read For Ages, the Books You’ve Been Hunting For Years Without Success, the Books Dealing With Somebody You’re Working On At The Moment, the Books You Want To Own So They’ll Be Handy Just In Case, the Books You Could Put Aside Maybe To Read This Summer, the Books You Need To Go With Other Books On Your Shelves, the Books That Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified.
now you have been able to reduce the countless embattled troops to an array that is, to be sure, very large but calculable in a finite number; but this relative relief is then undermined by the ambush of the Books Read Long Ago Which It’s Now Time To Reread and the Books You’ve Always Pretended To Have Read And Now It’s Time To Sit Down And Really Read Them.
with a zigzag dash you shake them off and leap straight into the citadel of the New Books Whose Author Or Subject Appeals To You. even inside this stronghold you can make some breaches in the ranks of the defenders, dividing them into New Books By Authors Or On Subjects Not New (for you or in general) and New Books By Authors Or On Subjects Completely Unknown (at least to you), and defining the attraction they have for you on the basis of your desires and needs for the new and the not new (for the new you seek in the not new and for the not new you seek in the new).
take your shoes off first. if you want to, put your feet up; if not, put them back. adjust the light so you won’t strain your eyes. make sure the page isn’t in shadow, a clotting of black letters on a grey background, uniform as a pack of mice; but be careful that the light cast on it isn’t too strong, doesn’t glare on the cruel whit of the paper, gnawing at the shadows of the letters as in a southern noonday. try to foresee now everything that might make you interrupt your reading. cigarettes within reach, if you smoke, and the ashtray. anything else? do you have to pee? all right, you know best.
it’s not that you expect anything in particular from this particular book. you’re the sort of person who, on principle, no longer expects anything of anything. there are plenty, younger than you or less young, who live in the expectation of extraordinary experiences: from books, from people, from journeys, from events, from what tomorrow has in store. but not you. you know that the best you can expect is to avoid the worst. this is the conclusion you have reached, in your personal life and also in general matters, even international affairs. what about books? well, precisely because you have denied it in every other field, you believe you may still grant yourself legitimately this youthful pleasure of expectation in a carefully circumscribed area like the field of books, where you can be lucky or unlucky, but the risk of disappointment isn’t serious.
so, then, you noticed in a newspaper that If on a winter’s night a traveller had appeared, the new book by Italo Calvino, who hadn’t published for several years. you went to the bookshop and bought the volume. good for you.
in the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. following this visual trail, you have forced your way through the shop past the thick barricade of Books You Haven’t Read, which were frowning at you from the tables and shelves, trying to cow you. but you know you must never allow yourself to be awed, that among them there extend for acres and acres the Books You Needn’t Read, the Books Made For Purposes Other Than Reading, Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong To The Category Of Books Read Before Being Written. and thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of the Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. with a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive New And You’ll Wait Till They’re Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come Out In Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody’s Read So It’s As If You Have Read Them, Too.
eluding these assaults, you come up beneath the towers of the fortress, where other troops are holding out: the Books You’ve Been Planning To Read For Ages, the Books You’ve Been Hunting For Years Without Success, the Books Dealing With Somebody You’re Working On At The Moment, the Books You Want To Own So They’ll Be Handy Just In Case, the Books You Could Put Aside Maybe To Read This Summer, the Books You Need To Go With Other Books On Your Shelves, the Books That Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified.
now you have been able to reduce the countless embattled troops to an array that is, to be sure, very large but calculable in a finite number; but this relative relief is then undermined by the ambush of the Books Read Long Ago Which It’s Now Time To Reread and the Books You’ve Always Pretended To Have Read And Now It’s Time To Sit Down And Really Read Them.
with a zigzag dash you shake them off and leap straight into the citadel of the New Books Whose Author Or Subject Appeals To You. even inside this stronghold you can make some breaches in the ranks of the defenders, dividing them into New Books By Authors Or On Subjects Not New (for you or in general) and New Books By Authors Or On Subjects Completely Unknown (at least to you), and defining the attraction they have for you on the basis of your desires and needs for the new and the not new (for the new you seek in the not new and for the not new you seek in the new).
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your thoughts will be read and appreciated, thanks for taking the time x