If on a Winter's Night a Traveler - Italo Calvino

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“Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul.” // (pause – let that sink in) The soul of the person who wrote it, and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. // (pause, soft breath)

Tonight, we step into the strange, unfolding world of If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler, a literary masterpiece by Italian author Italo Calvino. // (slightly slower, dramatic – pause to let the name resonate)

Italo Calvino (1923–1985) was born in Santiago de Las Vegas and became a towering figure in post-war Italian literature. // (slightly faster) He is celebrated for his imaginative storytelling and playful experiments with narrative. // (pause – emphasize “imaginative storytelling”) This novel, published in 1979, // (slightly slower, awe in tone) challenges the very act of reading, drawing the reader into a labyrinth of unfinished stories, interrupted narratives, and unexpected turns. // (pause)

At its heart, this is a book about the experience of reading itself. // (pause) Calvino weaves a tale where you, the reader, are both participant and observer, discovering stories that begin and end in unexpected places, // (slightly mysterious, reflective tone) and always leaving you yearning for what comes next. // (soft, reflective pause)

Critics celebrated its ingenuity, praising how Calvino transforms the act of reading into an adventure. // (pause, let it resonate) Many readers were enchanted by the way the novel makes them aware of their own role in the story, blurring the line between reader and narrative. // (slightly slower, reflective) While its structure surprised and occasionally confounded, it quickly became a beloved classic, admired for its wit, imagination, and profound meditation on the joys and mysteries of reading itself. // (slightly slower, reverent tone)

So tonight, as you follow the Traveler through the fragments, interruptions, and surprises of these interwoven tales, // (slow, immersive) be prepared: this is not just a book to read. // (slight pause for emphasis) It’s a book to experience, a journey that will make you feel the thrill of discovery, the warmth of connection, and the deep, enduring magic of stories themselves. // (finish slowly, let the last line resonate)

Reading 1 (Part 2)

You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler. (pause – let that sink in) Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. (soft, reflective) Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. (slightly amused tone) Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” (pause – raise voice slightly for emphasis) Raise your voice—they won’t hear you otherwise—“I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” (slightly playful, dramatic) Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” (pause) Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone. (soft, resigned tone)

Find the most comfortable position: (slightly slower, inviting) seated, stretched out, curled up, or lying flat. Flat on your back, on your side, on your stomach. In an easy chair, on the sofa, in the rocker, the deck chair, on the hassock. In the hammock, if you have a hammock. On top of your bed, of course, or in the bed. You can even stand on your hands, head down, in the yoga position. With the book upside down, naturally. (pause, let imagery linger – slight playfulness)

Of course, the ideal position for reading is something you can never find. (pause, reflective) In the old days they used to read standing up, at a lectern. People were accustomed to standing on their feet, without moving. (slightly slower, historical tone) They rested like that when they were tired of horseback riding. Nobody ever thought of reading on horseback; and yet now, the idea of sitting in the saddle, the book propped against the horse’s mane, or maybe tied to the horse’s ear with a special harness, seems attractive to you. (pause – playful, whimsical) With your feet in the stirrups, you should feel quite comfortable for reading; having your feet up is the first condition for enjoying a read. (pause – soft emphasis)

Well, what are you waiting for? (slightly faster, engaging) Stretch your legs, go ahead and put your feet on a cushion, on two cushions, on the arms of the sofa, on the wings of the chair, on the coffee table, on the desk, on the piano, on the globe. (pause – playful, inviting) Take your shoes off first. If you want to, put your feet up; if not, put them back. (soft, humorous) Now don’t stand there with your shoes in one hand and the book in the other. Adjust the light so you won’t strain your eyes. (slightly slower, instructional) Do it now, because once you’re absorbed in reading there will be no budging you. (pause, reflective) Make sure the page isn’t in shadow, a clotting of black letters on a gray 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 white of the paper, gnawing at the shadows of the letters as in a southern noonday. (pause, slow, dramatic – emphasis on visual imagery)

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. (soft, playful, conversational)

It’s not that you expect anything in particular from this particular book. (slight pause) You’re the sort of person who, on principle, no longer expects anything of anything. (reflective, gentle tone – let it linger)

Reading 2 (Part 3)

Several paragraphs ensue, bristling with names of generals and deputies, (slightly faster, matter-of-fact) concerned with the shelling and retreats from the front, about schisms and unifications in the parties represented in the Council, punctuated by climatic annotations: downpours, frosts, racing clouds, windstorms. (pause – let the imagery land) All this, in any case, solely as a frame for my moods: (slightly slower, reflective) a festive abandonment to the wave of events, or of withdrawal into myself as if concentrating myself into an obsessive pattern, as if everything around me served only to disguise me, to hide me, like the sandbag defenses that are being raised more or less on all sides (pause – emphasize “hide me”) (the city seems to be preparing to fight street by street), the fences that every night billposters of various factions cover with manifestos that are immediately soaked by the rain and become illegible because of the absorbent paper and the cheap ink. (slow, contemplative)

Every time I pass the building that houses the Heavy Industry Commission (slightly slower – introduce character/location) I say to myself: Now I’ll go and call on my friend Valerian. (pause) I have been repeating this to myself since the day of my arrival. Valerian is the closest friend I have here in the city. (soft, reflective) But, every time, I postpone the visit because of some important assignments I have to take care of. (slightly faster, matter-of-fact) And yet you would say I apparently enjoy a freedom unusual for a soldier in service: (pause – reflective) the nature of my duties is not quite clear; I come and go among the offices of various headquarters; I am rarely seen in the barracks, as if I were not on strength in any unit; nor, for that matter, am I obviously glued to a desk. (slow, descriptive)

Unlike Valerian, who doesn’t budge from his desk. (pause – introduce contrast) The day I go up to look for him I find him there, but he doesn’t seem intent on government duties: he is cleaning a revolver. (slightly amused tone) He chuckles into his ill-shaven beard, seeing me. (pause, soft) He says: “So, you’ve come to fall into this trap, too, along with us.” (dramatic pause)
“Or to trap others,” I answer. (slightly quicker, wry)
“The traps are one inside the other, and they all snap shut at the same time.” (slow, cautionary) He seems to want to warn me of something. (pause)

The building where the commission offices are installed was the residence of a war profiteer and his family; it was confiscated by the revolution. (slightly faster, matter-of-fact) Some of the furnishings are gaudy and luxurious and have remained to mingle with the grim bureaucratic equipment; Valerian’s office is cluttered with boudoir chinoiserie: vases with dragons, lacquered coffers, a silk screen. (pause – let imagery linger)

“Who do you want to trap in this pagoda? An Oriental queen?” (playful, wry)
From behind the screen a woman comes: short hair, a gray silk dress, milk-colored stockings. (slightly slower, descriptive)
“Male dreams don’t change, not even with the revolution,” she says, and in the aggressive sarcasm in her voice I recognize my passing acquaintance from the Iron Bridge. (pause – let recognition land)
“You see? There are ears that listen to our every word...” Valerian says to me, laughing. (softly, with warmth)
“The revolution does not put dreams on trial, Irina Piperin,” I answer her. (slightly reflective)
“Nor does it save us from nightmares,” she retorts. (pause, tense)

Valerian intervenes: “I didn’t know you two were acquainted.” (matter-of-fact)
“We met in a dream,” I say. “We were falling off a bridge.” (soft, reflective – slight pause)
And she says: “No. Each has a different dream.” (pause – let it resonate)
“And there are even some who happen to wake up in a safe place like this, guaranteed against any vertigo...” I insist. (slightly dramatic)
“Vertigo is everywhere.” (pause – ominous) And she takes the revolver that Valerian has finished reassembling, breaks it, puts her eye to the barrel as if to see whether it’s properly cleaned, spins the chamber, slips a bullet into one of the holes, raises the hammer, holds the weapon aimed at her eye, again spinning the chamber. (slow, tension-building)
“It seems a bottomless pit. You feel the summons of the void, the temptation to fall, to join the darkness that is beckoning....” (pause – reflective, dark)

“Hey, weapons aren’t things to joke around with,” I say, and hold out a hand, but she trains the revolver on me. (slightly faster, anxious)
“Why not?” she says. “Women can’t, but you men can? The real revolution will be when women carry arms.” (pause – reflective, assertive)
“And men are disarmed? Does that seem fair to you, comrade? Women armed to do what?” (slow, questioning – let the weight sink in)

Reading 3 (Part 4)