Italo Calvino
It is like wandering through the very fertile mind of Italo Calvino as he spies modern like an overly anthropological voyeur who sees beauty but can’t quite grasp it.
He starts with observations of his yard, moves to the particular spectacle of cities, and ends with endless, weighty pondering of the infinite.
Beautifully written, it’s like a twisted conversation with a fascinating and strange old uncle that you love, but you can’t quite figure out why.
Recommendation: Buy
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