If on a Winter's Night a Traveler

This whole book is less a novel and more an experience. It will constantly pull the rug out from under you, but in a way that feels playful rather than frustrating.

Calvino doesn’t just tell a story; he pulls you into the mechanics of storytelling itself, making you, the reader, both participant and subject.

It plays around with the idea of closure that leaves you yearning for more yet feeling satisfied with what you’ve been given.

I've never been so quickly hooked. Since the intro bade me consider the preconceptions and even physicality involved with embarking on a read, my consciousness re: the act of reading has exploded. Now I can’t help but adjourn from the commotion of the bus and give everything of myself to the tomes toted in my lap. Or perhaps the substance of the stuff is made in those moments where my gaze wanders?…sometimes both or neither

Anyway, this is mildly philosophical but so playful. How could I call its narratives a gimmick when Calvino is often anticipating and eluding my exact attitudes?

Nearly perfect but for hard and unfocused male gaze (unless you’re among those readers privately seeking this, too). I expect anyone who reads any fiction for any reason would find some resonance here