I can’t even begin to wrap my brain around how Calvino put this novel together; it doesn’t even seem possible that this book actually exists. Yet, like schoeblintsjia, it does exist.
And now I want to meet professor Uzz-Tuzii and study dead literature written in a dead language for a dead university department because why not?
There’s really no good way to keep a story interesting when the two lovers finally express their feelings for each other and spend the next month being all happy. The tension and drama from the previous 200 pages deflates like a sad balloon. Charlotte tries by here and there confusing the dialogue of the two so you’re not sure who’s talking, but she only does it a few times.
Let’s get back to the good stuff.