So, what should a review of Invisible Cities, by Italo Calvino be like? One thing’s for certain: It can’t be like any other review, because the novel (if one may still call it that) is like no other, either.
If that way of describing it sounds familiar, you’ve likely read my review of Confessions of a Mask, by Yukio Mishima. In that review, too, I had real trouble placing the work in a certain framework. Invisible Cities defies characterization. It’s what art should really be like: Focusing on affect, foregoing plot.
With these in mind, it will likely be no surprise to hear that I loved Calvino’s book. But reviews aren’t about what we like, but about why we like them. And so, in this review of Invisible Cities my goal – as with everything else I review – is ultimately to show you what the book feels like, rather than what it is.
