Marcovaldo

by Italo Calvino, William Weaver (Translator)

Marcovaldo is an unskilled worker in a drab industrial city in northern Italy. He is an irrepressible dreamer and an inveterate schemer. Much to the puzzlement of his wife, his children, his boss, and his neighbours, he chases his dreams - but the results are never the ones he had expected. Translated from the Italian by William Weaver.

Genres: Fiction, Short Stories, Italian Literature, Classics, Italy, Literature, Novels

128 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1963

About the author

Italo Calvino was born in Cuba and grew up in Italy. He was a journalist and writer of short stories and novels. His best known works include the Our Ancestors trilogy (1952-1959), the Cosmicomics collection of short stories (1965), and the novels Invisible Cities (1972) and If On a Winter's Night a Traveler (1979).

His style is not easy to classify; much of his writing has an air reminiscent to that of fantastical fairy tales (Our Ancestors, Cosmicomics), although sometimes his writing is more "realistic" and in the scenic mode of observation (Difficult Loves, for example). Some of his writing has been called postmodern, reflecting on literature and the act of reading, while some has been labeled magical realist, others fables, others simply "modern". He wrote: "My working method has more often than not involved the subtraction of weight. I have tried to remove weight, sometimes from people, sometimes from heavenly bodies, sometimes from cities; above all I have tried to remove weight from the structure of stories and from language."

Reviews

[John Mauro · Rating 5 out of 5]

See my full list of Favorite Cinnamon Rolls in SFF Novels at Before We Go Blog.

Marcovaldo is a pure and innocent man, captivated by the simple things in life. In this collection of short stories, Italo Calvino tells the tales of Marcovaldo as he experiences the four seasons living in a city somewhere in northern Italy, where the people of the city are more streetsmart and cynical than the innocent Marcovaldo, who always finds a way to turn an ordinary day into a magical fairytale.

Italo Calvino constructs this book to cycle through each of the seasons, with stories focusing on spring, summer, autumn, and winter, and then continuing on to the next year.

Each season, Marcovaldo is enraptured by one of life’s simple pleasures, often relating to unexpected natural beauty or delicious food. Marcovaldo is viewed as a simpleton by the more jaded people of the city. But he finds pure joy in the simplicity of seeing wild mushrooms growing by the street, country birds flocking around his urban dwelling, or sharing his delicious sausage with a young boy who doesn’t like his fancy but bland lunch.

Each story ends with a plot twist, very much in the style of a folk tale or fable, and Marcovaldo always proves to be a bit too naive for this cynical world. Still, his innocence is uncompromised by the time we start the next season.

This is such a delightful collection of stories, all written with simplicity and beauty. Marcovaldo is a wonderful and loveable character, and the writing style perfectly matches his innocent personality. Marcovaldo is my favorite Italian cinnamon roll. And if he had one, I’m sure he’d share it with all of us.

[Algernon (Darth Anyan) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Calvino has been on my radar for a long time, and I think I made a good choice in picking Marcovaldo for a first try. This is a small book, but it has a big heart. The stories are set in the poverty ridden early 1950's and follow up to the relative abundance of the 1960's. The immediate connections that spring to mind are the grand masters of Italian neo-realism: de Sica in "The Bycicle Thieves", Fellini in "Amarcord" and "Roma - Citta Apperta", Visconti in "Rocco and his Brothers" or "White Nights". Going further afield, similar explorations of the condition of the less fortunates members of society, I could mention Truffaut or Kurosawa in their contemporary films. What they share with Italo Calvino is the poetry angle, "diamonds in the rust" and all that jazz, the hope that springs eternal when you are down and the only way is up. If we take the quote by Thoreau about "the mass of men that live lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them" , it becomes clear that Calvino has taken this singing responsibility upon his shoulders, as he follows his Marcovaldo in his ordinary dreams of improving his life by outsmarting the system and in his stubborn perseverence to keep trying despite countless defeats. The book could be classed as comedy, the kind that made Chaplin famous for getting us to laugh and cry at the same time at the tragic clown who walks into the sunset with his too short, patched pants and his oversized shoes.

Subtitled "Seasons in the City", this collection of 20 short stories is tied together by the protagonists and the setting: Marcovaldo is a handyman (unskilled worker) in a big city, burdened by low pay, a querulous wife and six children. His background is not explicitly given, but he must have been born somewhere in the countryside and transplanted to the concrete jungle of big city. Witness his eternal fascination with nature:

This Marcovaldo possessed an eye ill-suited to city life: billboards, traffic-lights, shop-windows, neon signs, posters, no matter how carefully devised to catch the attention, never arrested his gaze, which might have been running over the desert sands. Instead, he would never miss a leaf yellowing on a branch, a feather trapped by a roof tile; there was no horsefly on a horse's back, no worm-hole in a plank, or fig-peel squashed on the sidewalk that Marcovaldo didn't remark and ponder over, discovering the changes of season, the yearnings of his heart, and the woes of his existence.

The first story sets the tone and the format for all the rest: the alienation of living in the big city, the poverty, the sudden glimpse of an opportunity for improvement (in this case a row of mushrooms appearing in the gutters of a tramway station), the enthusiasm and the impulsive action ( To Marcovaldo the gray and wretched world surrounding him seemed suddenly generous with hidden riches; something could still be expected of life, beyond the hourly wage of his stipulated salary, with inflation index, family grant and cost-of-living allowance.), followed by the Irony of Fate when his plans are crushed by the steamroller of Reality. From free-of-charge mushrooms, to a quiet night sleeping on a park bench, trapping birds on rooftops or stealing rabbits from a hospital, bee venom or sand baths treatments for arthritic pains, excursions in search of clean air or clean fish - everything poor Marcovaldo plans turns to dust in his hands. His children are not excluded from the family curse, I especially liked the one story when his older boy runs from home to spend a summer in the mountains with a herd of cattle. For all his poverty and bad luck, Marcovaldo is not a revolutionary, he doesn't plan to overturn the social order and he doesn't rant about the general injustice of life. Mostly he is sad and tired, his dreams mostly trivial and his moments of happiness cheap and fleeting. Here's an example:

He is sitted on a bench by an avenue, near the place where he works; since his house is far away and to go there at noon costs time and tram tickets, he brings his lunch in the box, bought for the purpose, and he eats in the open air, watching the people go by, and then refreshes himself at a drinking fountain. If it's autumn and the sun is out, he chooses places where an occasional ray strikes; the shiny red leaves that fall from the trees serve him as napkins; the salami skins go to stray dogs, who are quick to become his friends; and the sparrows collect the bread crumbs, at a moment when no one is going past in the avenue.
As he eats, he thinks: "Why am I so happy to taste the flavor of my wife's cooking here, when at home, among the quarells and tears, the debts that crop up in every conversation, I can't enjoy it?"

I found it easy to identify with the main character, not only because I'm a big fan of the Italian school of cinema: I grew up in a big industrial town, playing around construction sites and unfinished appartment blocks, craving a green park or a holiday by the seaside, alternatively freezing in winter and stifling hot in summer: In every human presence Marcovaldo recognized sadly a brother, stuck like him, even in vacation time, to that oven of cooked and dusty cement, by debts, by the burden of the family, by the meagerness of his wages. . Like him, I sought refuge from reality in the magic of the silver screen : For anyone who dislikes his home and finds it inhospitable, the favorite refuge on cold evenings is the movies. . As an Easter Egg for filmgoers, Calvino inserts in one of his stories a homage to one of the most famous cuts from La Dolce Vita , making Marcovaldo hold the lights for the filming of a scene with a diva splashing in a fountain at night.

As summer follows spring and winter follows autumn and Italian economy slowly gathers steam, Marcovaldo moves from a basement room to a rooftop one, acquires a motorcycle and starts going to the movies or to the supermarkets. The tone of the stories changes slightly, to a more overt condemnation of consummerism, city alienation and inequality: billboard signs that hide the stars and keep the family from sleeping, supermarkets full of products they can't afford and yet couldn't help coveting, Christmas holidays marketed to death, free samples of shady products that they don't really need, luxury restaurants with restricted access, and so on. But through all these stories of woe and sadness, Calvino manages to find a glimpse of beauty, a lyrical touch, a good word or a kind gesture. His development as a writer was also evident as I progressed through these seasons in the city, starting with stark, elegant neo-realism and later flirting with magical realism, supra-realism, urban fables and a few closing paragraphs that are an allegorical poem of the fight between light and darkness, life and death. Simply beautiful.

I guess I'll have to read now my other two books by him that are waiting on my shelves : Cosmicomiche and If On a Winter Night a Traveller.

[edit for spelling - 2016]

[Araz Goran · Rating 4 out of 5]

واحدة من أكثر الروايات التي أستمتعت بقرائتها وأنا منغمس تماماً في أسلوب كالفينو الهادئ البسيط , غير المتكلف في سخريته والتي كانت بمثابة جوهر الرواية، كالفينو يستخدم أسلوب فنان, يرسم رواية على هيئة قصص متعددة تتخذ من فصول السنة عنواناً للوحتها لترسم في الواجهة مشهداً طريفاً وسخرية لاذعة تنتقد الحياة العصرية الجامدة والمعيشة الإستهلاكية للمجتمع وعصر الآلات والضجيج والصخب ..


ماركو فالدو يتمرد على أسلوب الحياة ذاك، يفر من جحيم العالم المادي القاسي ، يحاول أن يقتبس من البساطة فناً جديداً لحياته بأدوات بسيطة تطغى عليها سذاجة مُرة وعفوية ناضجة , تحاول أن ترسم صورة الإنسان الحالي المحاصر بين أنياب الحياة الجديدة الموحشة...


إنه ليس تلاعب بالواقع بل هو هروب من قفص حديدي جامد صنعته لنا الحياة الجديدة، أسلوب العيش ببساطة, العودة إلى أحضان الطبيعة والإنسانية، جسدها كالفينو بـ رواية-قصصية بديعة للغاية..

[Steven Godin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Calvino's ecological allegories in the form of magical urban tales, takes a snippet of a story belonging to a season, and binds them into shape together to form the cycle of the seasons. Since all twenty of these very short stories feature the same character - Marcovaldo, you might just as well be reading a novella. Marcovaldo lives through the stories as the double of the writer, observing, reflecting and comparing in a perfectly detached way. He is a humble and romantic blue-collar worker lost in the big city, which perverts rhythms and obfuscates cycles. He is trapped in the unreality of this modern city and longs for nature, and nature rewards him in surprising ways. Mushrooms sprout out of the cement in 'Mushrooms in the City, the sky suddenly opens wide in 'Park-Bench Vacation', the moon shines brighter than the neon signs in 'The Moon and GNAC.' to name but a few.

Economic fragility and the shift from rural to urban life are the threads that tie each story together, with his strength being able to take the most mundane situations and put a fantastical spin on them. Not many others writers could pull off Calvino's intent. He has the style as well as the substance. What I admire with Marcovaldo is Calvino simply following his instincts as a storyteller and achieves a durable balance between the heritage of 20th-century Italian neorealism and a fabulous vision of reality. He truly believes reality is fabulous, but also likes to believe fables are true, put these two together, and it results in some wonderful and dreamlike episodes where he shines in a clever and witty way. There is also a cartoon element to these, with Calvino himself saying he borrowed some of the techniques from a comic strip.

Up until now I have found Calvino a bit of a mixed bag, loved 'Invisible Cities', but didn't care much for 'If on a Winter's Night a Traveler', with a few others in-between. Marcovaldo sits somewhere near the top of the middleground. It's better than I expected, but always carried with it a few niggles. Still, a decent read, and one that would especially suit the Calvino enthusiast. 3.5/5

[Sarah · Rating 3 out of 5]

First impressions matter.

For instance, my first impression of Calvino’s Difficult Loves was that I’d blindly stumbled into an experience I’d never forget. I was right: that book wrecked me a hundred times in eleven short stories. So many secret, achingly intimate moments.

In contrast, my first impression of Marcovaldo was that it was written by an entirely different author. Perhaps P. G. Wodehouse.

Please don’t get me wrong, I love me some Jeeves.
I just didn’t expect slapstick from Calvino, and I don’t like it from him, either.

Book/Song Pairing: Hootennany Italian Style (Lou Monte)

[Sandra · Rating 5 out of 5]

C’è una leggera brezza, un vento che viene da lontano, in cielo una luna splendente e Venere lontana, da sola, che esplode di luce; il vento si trasforma, diventa violento e strappa le foglie dagli alberi, le fa volteggiare mescolate con la pioggia, tanta acqua che ridà vita alle piante, fa crescere funghi e alla fine il vento conduce le foglie verso l’arcobaleno. Sono le ultime giornate di autunno, arriva l’inverno, la neve ricopre il mondo esterno e gli dà una forma strana, diversa, si crea una realtà difforme, un sogno che è fantasia. Qui vive Marcovaldo, che cammina sempre con il naso per aria, in compagnia della meraviglia e della curiosità per ciò che lo circonda, e con lui il lettore volteggia tra la musicalità dello stile e le invenzioni fantastiche, sempre con storie avventurose soffici e ovattate, delicate come seta, in cui le avventure si concludono con tragicomiche disavventure: perché l’avventura è vivere col naso per aria guardando le bolle di sapone o l’arcobaleno, le vespe o le beccacce, i gatti o un coniglio che scappa sui tetti; la disavventura è un lavoro da operaio, una famiglia da sfamare, una moglie che si lagna sempre, i debiti, la grande città industriale inquinata e già rovinata dal consumismo imperante, la malattia. Forse il libro non è più attuale come all’epoca in cui fu scritto, oltre 50 anni fa, ma…non è forse vero che siamo tutti dei Marcovaldo?

[Uhtred · Rating 5 out of 5]

Marcovaldo is a book that I read for the first time when I was 8 years old and then, at intervals of about 10 years, I have always gladly reread. I would say that it is therefore a book that has marked my career as a reader. At the age of 8, I saw things there, which although not the ones that hit me when I matured, remained impressed and I still feel them today. Calvino is a writer of the rare ones, of those who write profound and timeless stories, but with the style of fairy tales, so that his books can be read by both children and adults, sure that both will like them and sure at the same time that they will see different things, but always important and above all always current, just like all the books of the great writers. The issues that Calvino deals with are the hectic and dehumanizing life of the city, urbanization without rationality, without control, without order, growing industrialization and at the same time the poverty of the lower sections of the population, the difficulty of human relationships, all themes still very valid today. The complete title is "Marcovaldo, or the seasons in the city" and speaks of a common man, a worker from a city that is never said (but in those years the working city par excellence was Turin) who works for a company called SBAV, we will never know producer of what. Marcovaldo is in this urban context, but he is a Dreamer, one who observes the typical objects of the city but sees other things in them: the traffic lights, the billboards, the posters, the windows for him are other things, and instead the small manifestations of nature in the city attract him like magnets: the skinny birds, the dried leaves, an ant, an earthworm, a mushroom under a tree, for him are the signs that the seasons change and are the reason for great internal reasoning, which often lead him to reflect on his desires and his miseries. An ante-litteram Fantozzi, a non-adapted in the modern world, victim of everything and who therefore becomes in the eyes of the reader a loser, an anti-hero, or a hero like the Charlot of Modern Times. Marcovaldo's adventures are surreal, but always contain an element of reality; reality that is always the initial element of each chapter, that is Marcovaldo observes the change of seasons in the atmospheric signals and in the very small signs of animal and vegetable life that the city allows to survive and from there he starts with his dreams of a return to Nature, to then be unfailingly disappointed. It is certainly a melancholy book, just like Fantozzi's films and Charlot's stories. But it is also a humorous book, which uses humor to make you want to read the story to the end, to make you smile a little, but above all to reflect. Marcovaldo in his own way is a poet, bewildered, out of this world, but he is a poet: he tells us ecological poems, very current after fifty years, when for example he describes the beauty of the starry sky to his children, blinded instead by the intrusive luminous signs of the city, or as when, happy as a child, he tells us about the snowfall in the city. And Calvino (a true precursor of the times) also finds a way to insert the theme of DIY health cures, so current today, when in the episode "The care of the wasps" he describes us a Marcovaldo who discovered how to treat his rheumatism with bee venom and who, improvised as a doctor, instructs all his children to catch as many as possible wasps and to put them in some jars, until his son breaks one and all of them end up in hospital for the bites. A book that for me was, and is, a milestone.

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

Italo Calvino is always fun to read. While Marcovaldo does not have the Borgesian or post-modern tropes of Invisible Cities or If on a winter's night a traveller, it is a heart-warming collection of brilliantly crafted stories, the pinnacle achievement being the lovable naivete and inventive imagination of the titular Italian, Marcovaldo. The whimsy and lyricism of Calvino's prose is worthwhile enough to embark on the too-short modern voyage of this short book, though it has much else to offer as well.

The character of Marcovaldo is a man caught between two abysses. He lives in a northern industrial city of Italy in the postwar 1950's through 1960's (though the particular city is never mentioned, and likely is an imagined city, I imagined it as loosely based on the industrialized city of Turin) which bridged the eras of poverty with economic boom. Marcovaldo is the lovable-loser, a character trope very popular in post-modern/post-modern fiction, as a break with the great thinkers and heroes of previous literary movements and from the classical characters of Hamlet, Odysseus, etc. He works at a shipping firm, doing menial work which he does not enjoy but which puts meager food on his family's table. He has a wife and five children which share his whimsy and naivete, though they are much more accustomed to the modern world in which they live. Marcovaldo is torn between the world of beauty which he feels is impossible in city life, the beauty of nature and of romantic notions, and the world, the reality, which constantly makes demands on him, awakes him rudely from his reveries.

This Marcovaldo possessed an eye ill-suited to city-life: billboards, traffic-lights, shop-windows, neon signs, posters, no matter how carefully devised to catch the attention, never arrested his gaze, which might have been running over the desert sands. Instead he would never miss a leaf yellowing on a branch, a feather trapped by a roof-tile; there was no horsefly on a horse's back, no worm-hole in a plank, or fig-peel squashed on the sidewalk that Marcovaldo didn't remark and ponder over, discovering the changes of the season, the yearnings of his heart, and the woes of his existence.

Each story represents a short aphoristic anecdote, taking place in one season of one of the five-years encompassed in the collection (spring-summer-autumn-winter). Most stories are very short, and every one is charming in a whimsical if not magical way. A number of the stories stand out to me after having finished: Marcovaldo dreams of sleeping out beneath the stars, among nature, but after sneaking out with his pillow, he is held at bay by an arguing couple, then is distracted by a traffic light, the smell of a cabbage truck, etc. until he finally can get to sleep only to moments later be woken at dawn. Another story has him jealously hoarding the secret of some wild mushrooms growing along the road, only to find another has discovered them as well - he relents and invites everyone to join in picking them, only for everyone to get sick from the poisonous fungi. Marcovaldo's romantic imagination is constantly foiled by the reality in which he lives. Where he sees fresh, wild mushrooms he finds poisonous ones, where he sees a river surfeit with fish he finds them poisoned by an upstream paint company, a mountain escape is the grounds of a sanatorium, the romantic sleep beneath the stars: no sleep at all.

There are two layers to the message of Marcovaldo: on the one hand, Marcovaldo is representative of a flawed view of the world, and the unhappiness and disappointment inherent in unreasonable attachment to the past, or out of reach ideals. Sometimes I wish I had been born in 1900, gone to literary salons and fashionable soirees, rode in hansom cabs. But that is an overly romanticized vision of a past era, and era gone. And it is gone because the world I live in now is better, much more accommodating, far fairer, and people in general are better off. Sure I may never know what it's like to collect love letters in a small gilt-rim cigar box, or go to an illustrious debutante ball and gossip in the corner beside a girandola mirror, but on the other hand, t-shirts are so much more comfortable than those starchy collared shirts and breast-coats, so, there's that. While Marcovaldo's attachment to a natural world which is far beyond the city limits, and beyond his practical grasp, he is never disheartened, and that is what makes him so lovable. He is a fool, but a very lovable fool.

On the other hand, there is a tension between the advantages of industrialization and the beauty and benefits of naturalization. Calvino is far from supporting an unindustrialized world, one without cities, one made for the Marcovaldos of the world; but he is also condemnatory of the excesses in industrial cities: pollution, traffic, waste, blind consumerism. The character of Marcovaldo is deliberate in his ridiculousness, but so are the many citizens of the silly city somewhere in Northern Italy. Those who resist industrialization seem as ridiculous as those who violently support it. Calvino sees it as an inevitablity, though one which requires a better balance. Cannibalistic consumerism infringes on the natural beauty, but it is capable of a beauty of its own, and the urban images which Calvino fills these pages with illustrate that potential beauty.

Marcovaldo went back to look at the moon, then he went to look at a traffic light, a bit farther on. The light flashed yellow, yellow, yellow, constantly blinking on and off. Marcovaldo compared the moon with the traffic-light. The moon with her mysterious pallor, also yellow, but also green, in its depths, and even blue; the traffic-light with its common little yellow. And the moon, all calm, casting her light without haste, streaked now and then by fine wisps of clouds, which she majestically allowed to fall around her shoulders; and the traffic-light meanwhile, always there, on and off, on and off, throbbing with a false vitality, but actually weary and enslaved.

The city has a coldly modern art to it, a "false vitality" - it is art, it can only imitate life. To Marcovaldo there is not value to this false beauty, it is unnatural and mechanical. But Calvino's descriptions of it show that though it does not fit the ideal, there is some art to be had in the man made world. Man is like the traffic light in the city, morning:on, evening:off, in to work then back to home, enslaved to routine, chained to the consumerism which drives him. The city is not an ugly place, but rather is the prison of a stifling life. Marcovaldo, for all his dislike of the city, is not an unhappy man, though he is plagued by modern troubles, and though he is constantly made the fool of his own gambits, he is a many happy in his childhood-in-middle-age. He has not lost the innocence of youth, not lost that vitality or winsome hope for adventure, invention, imagination. Though Calvino supports a sojourn in nature, he does not completely condemn the world which is reality, the world with winking traffic lights. More important that escaping the city is escaping routine, being spontaneous, being enthusiastic, loving life for what it has to offer and not grudging it for what it lacks.

[Vonia · Rating 4 out of 5]

I actually really liked this one, more than I expected. This is my second from Italo Calvino, and although this is a far difference from ".... If on a Winter's Night a Traveler", it was almost as great, in different ways. Nice to find an author than can write well in multiple genres/styles.

"Morcovaldo" ["The Seasons in the City"] is a collection of vignettes, connected but separated by seasons and time.

"Marcovaldo is an unskilled worker in a drab industrial city in northern Italy. He is an irrepressible dreamer and an inveterate schemer. Much to the puzzlement of his wife, his children, his boss, and his neighbors, he chases his dreams, but the results are never the expected ones."

I especially liked that Morcovaldo was a realist, even a pessimist, as opposed to the typical Panglossian. Like me, he does not have the easiest life; after years enduring this, he has understandably become bitter at times, somewhat cynical. The important thing, however, is that every so often he has a unique ability to notice the small things in life; to zoom in on a small beauty in his surroundings and allow it to bring him as well as those around him great happiness, even if it is only temporary- until work the next day. Like me, he may not be what is defined as 'happy" overall, but definitely can be "distracted" to have frequent, significant periods of temporary happiness. Which is sometimes all we can do.

My favorite vignettes were:

Park Bench Vacation
[He sleeps on one on a summer night when he tried of the crowdedness of his own place with his wife and children. Alas, various mishaps prevent him from getting any sleep at all. Had a few laughs. Almost Charlie Chaplin style.]

The Lunch Box
[Wonderful, eloquent, tangible, descriptive personification with his lunch box/bento box. Includes more than visual; explores the nostalgia, as well as the meaning behind it (his wife makes it with love every morning for him.)]

The Wrong Stop
[Mesmerizing descriptions of seeing the city as if it came from a dream; Morcovaldo has recently seen a film delivering the beautiful scenery in Calcutta. Amidst the thick fog in his own country, he begins to see, in the nothingness, the beauty- all in his mind's eye. What do you know, at the end of his trip, he accidentally boards a plane leaving for Calcutta.]

Morcovaldo at the Supermarket
[Along with his family, they discover that it is inescapable to follow the movements exhibited by the richer, more successful class shoppers, as they are drawn to various products, ever more than they intended. Ask desire Marcovaldo's extreme lack of funds. As they float in the blue called denial, it is not until the supermarket closes that they magically find their way out, forced to pull themselves away from the items in the cart, resisting like magnets.]

[Emiliya Bozhilova · Rating 4 out of 5]

Градът не е за мечтатели като Марковалдо. Небето е ниско, Луната и звездите са заглушени от мигащи неонови реклами и светофари, в шума от трафика не се чува и птичка, бетонът и асфалтът воюват с всяко зелено стръкче. Марковалдо не е градска птица, но е хванат в капана му, и няма нито сили, нито енергия да побегне или да се бори, а не иска и да се примири. И все пак кроткият, отнесен и разсеян многодетен баща, затънал в дългове, бедност и затъпяващо ежедневие като работник в склад успява да намери общ език със своя град, без да иска нещо повече от вида на дърво в парка, разхождаща се улична котка или пълната луна. Марковалдо е поет на секундното щастие, успявайки да го разтегне така, че да запълн�� всичките 24 часа на денонощието. Мило, безпомощно, но изпълнено с достойнство и доброта непораснало дете.

Итало Калвино преплита хумор, сюрреализъм и реализъм с теми като бедността, бясното консуматорство, безсмислено високата стресова скорост на живот, унищожаването на природата, градската самота. Подходът му не е социално критичен, а поетично-съзерцателен. Всеки разказ навява едновременно усмивка, въздишка по някоя от вечните житейски теми, и малко тъга.

Герои като Марковалдо са невероятни. В смисъл - не е вероятно да оцелеят дълго в днешния град и да запазят ведрата си усмивка. Но е хубаво да се чете за тях.


***

▶️ Цитати:

🚃 “Спокойната луна, която излъчваше безметежно сияние и от време на време величествено намяташе върху раменете си тънките пера на минаващите облаци, и неврозният светофар, който си играеше на включ-изключ, включ-изключ, престорено бодър, а всъщност уморен и поробен.”

🚃 “Марковалдо наблюдаваше снежния човек. “Ето, в тази белота не личи кое е от сняг и кое - покрито със сняг. С едно изключение: човекът. Защото е ясно, че аз съм аз, а не този тук.”

🚃 “…отгатна във възела от линии долу тъмните очертания на своя квартал и той му заприлича на оловна, замряла пустош, осеяна с гъстите люспи на покривите и с дрипите от пушек, развени по комините.”

🚃 “Погледът на Марковалдо шареше наоколо и диреше бавното изплуване на един различен град - град на коли, люспи, възли и жили под онзи на боите, катрана, стъклото и мазилката."

🚃 “Кaква полза от избора на пътища за хващане, като навред се виждаше все същото равно поле, покрито с ... мъгла?”

🚃 “…мъглата бе завзела града - гъста, мътна мъгла, която обвиваше предметите и звуците, смачкваше разстоянията в пространството без измерения, сливаше светлините в тъмното и ги превръщаше в сияния без форма и място. [...] Нещата съществуваха едва в необходимия си минумум."

[MihaElla · Rating 5 out of 5]

Beautiful collection of 20 very short stories. Tiny bits of stories. Each one is crafted special and a delicacy to savour. I am greatly impressed with the amazing turn and twist of each story at its finish. The reading reads seriously at the beginning yet by the very end of it I am bursting out in a cascade of laughter, though the seriousness does not vanish from my countenance.

The life of Marcovaldo has its seasons, same as fruits, flowers and advertising. His life and his living around it, is not new in its essence, that would be a philosophy for fools, yet it is new in the sense that it lets loose many of the things that are old.

He is really a hearty man, and I like the play of his personality, both in private with his family, and in public, within social and work environments. To put the matter wrong is to say that these tiny bits of stories are a study of human nature. Human nature is a thing that everyone can understand. What these deal with is what humans have to deal with, the differentiations, the twists and turns of this eternal play of life. The key to unlock this blockage is sympathy, but what is most important is that sympathy does not actually mean feeling with those who feel, but rather suffering with those who suffer. And it is inevitable, under such an inspiration, that more attention is given to the awkward corners of life than to its even flow.

By reading it I have gained both in sympathy and brotherhood with Marcovaldo. This is a good thing, but indeed it is not universally good 😉

[George K. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Βαθμολογία: 9/10

Αυτή η μικρή συλλογή είκοσι διηγημάτων αποτελεί την πρώτη μου επαφή με το έργο του Ίταλο Καλβίνο. Το βιβλίο το αγόρασα χθες μαζί με το "Οι πρόγονοί μας" (είναι ένας τόμος που συγκεντρώνει τρία βιβλία), ενώ εδώ και αρκετό καιρό έχω δυο από τα πιο πολυδιαβασμένα έργα του, το "Αν μια νύχτα του Χειμώνα ένας ταξιδιώτης" και "Τα Κοσμοκωμικά". Μιας και πήρα την απόφαση να γνωρίσω επιτέλους αυτόν τον συγγραφέα, σκέφτηκα ότι το συγκεκριμένο βιβλιαράκι θα ήταν το ιδανικότερο ξεκίνημα. Πόσο πολύ το ευχαριστήθηκα! Από την πρώτη κιόλας ιστοριούλα είχα κατασταλάξει στη βαθμολογία που θα έβαζα στο βιβλίο: Πέντε αστεράκια! Ο τρόπος γραφής του, η μαγεία που κρύβεται πίσω από την κάθε πρόταση, οι περιγραφές του, η όλη ατμόσφαιρα παραμυθιού, η εναλλαγή των εποχών, τα ανθρώπινα μηνύματα... Είναι ένα βιβλίο αστείο και συνάμα μελαγχολικό, πέρα για πέρα ανθρώπινο, γεμάτο εικόνες και συναισθήματα. Όλες οι μικρές ιστορίες έχουν κάτι να πουν, κάτι να δείξουν, ειλικρινά δεν βρήκα ούτε μια που να μην μου αρέσει έστω και ελάχιστα. Κάτι μου λέει ότι θα τον λατρέψω πραγματικά τον Καλβίνο...

[Mevsim Yenice · Rating 4 out of 5]

Calvino'nun tarzını çok oyuncu, zorlama ve yorucu bulanların (hemen söyleyeyim ben onlardan değilim, Calvino deyince saygı duruşuna geçenlerdenim) seveceğini düşündüğüm, Calvino'yla barışmalarını sağlayacak, sade, akıp giden, keyifli kısa öykülerin bulunduğu öykü kitabı.

Marcovaldo, şehrin gürültüsünden, koşuşturmasından, zorluklarından ve onun getirisi olan uykusuzluk, huzursuzluktan bıkmış, sessizliği özeleyen bir romantiktir adeta. Mevsimler geçer, şehir dönüşür, sesler değişir ama romantiklik bakidir.

Ben yine de Calvino'nun Calvinoluk yaptığı metinleri yeğliyorum...

[cypt · Rating 5 out of 5]

Markovaldas - tas skurdžius iš italų neorealizmo, tas tėtis, kurio dviratį pavogė Dviračių vagyse. Bet gal dar labiau jis man priminė poną Julo iš Jacques'o Tati komedijų: jam vis nesiseka, jis dažnai lieka toks, kaip iš Martinaičio eilėraščio, "pats savęs nesupratęs" ir visada, visada grįžta ten, iš kur pradėjęs. Gal dėl to tie apsakymai (knygoje jų 20, kiekvienas eina paeiliui Pavasaris-Vasara-Ruduo-Žiema ir taip pereini 5 Markovaldo ir jo šeimos metus) eina lengvai ir vis ratu kaip sena gera slapstick komedija.

Kita vertus, ko nėra slapstick komedijoje, bet kas yra grynai to meto itališka - tas skurdas, tai, kad didžiosios dalies apsakymų ašis - Markovaldo bandymai susiveikt ką nors pavalgyti. Ar pagauti migruojantį paukštį, ar pavogti triušį iš gydytojo kabineto, ar per stogą susimeškeriot upėtakį iš restorano, ar pasigaudyt žuvų kažkokioj nelegalioj vietoj. Graudžiausias, kur jau vos užteko valios pastangų nemesti knygos: kaip Markovaldas, žmona ir visi 20 jo vaikų (ne 20, bet daug, nepamenu kiek) laisvadienį eina į prekybos centrą, seka žmones, kurie kažką perka, ir patys stumdo tuščius vežimėlius, nes neturi pinigų. Ir Calvino, kaip ir turbūt gyvenimas, nesigaili - neatsiranda niekas, kas staiga, kaip koks Dulinskas, apmokėtų jiems šventinį vežimėlį, jokia stebuklinga aplinkybė iš pasakų, kad jie bent ką nors iš to prekybcentrio išsineštų. Žiauriai nekenčiau Calvino pabaigoje, bet gal ne jo, o gyvenimo.

O mieliausias apsakymas - kaip Markovaldas pradeda rūpintis darbe vargstančiu augalu ir šis per naktį sulapoja, belekiek paauga, tampa tikru medžiu. Skaitai ir supranti, kad čia juk pats Markovaldas, tas augalas, užsigrūdęs į kampą, amžinai alkanas tiek maisto, tiek dėmesio. Jie važinėja kartu per miestą mopedu, Markovaldas bando pagirdyti jį gyvu lietum ir gyvu oru. Aišku, viskas baigiasi ten, kur ir prasidėjo, o pradžia buvo tokia:

Tai buvo vienas tų žalių lapuočių, laikomų viduje, tiesiu ir laibu kamienu, nuo kurio į visas puses ant išstypusių kotelių žėlė blizgūs dideli lapai; trumpai tariant, vienas tų augalą primenančių augalų su lapo formos lapais, kurie anaiptol neatrodo tikri. (p. 89)

Kaip ir turi būti (bent jau italų neorealizme), Calvino ne tik socialiai skausmingas, bet ir labai poetiškas. Kažkokia teisinga literatūra, graudinanti, bet tarsi to nesiekianti, neužsibrėžusi spausti iš tavęs kiekvieno įmanomo ašaros lašelio. Kad ir tas apsakymas apie prekybos centrą:

Kiekvieną mielą dieną tviskančios parduotuvių vitrinos vos spėdavo veržliai pražysti: kadaruodavo rausvos dešros, porceliano lėkščių bokštai siekdavo lubas, audinių ritiniai išskleisdavo įmantrias drapiruotes it povai uodegas ir štai - vartotojų minia jau veržėsi vidun naikinti, kapoti, maigyti ir griebti visko, kas po ranka. Visais šaligatviais ir portikais nusidriekdavo ilgiausios eilės, įsiverždavo pro stiklines parduotuvių duris ir apraizgydavo prekystalius, stumdydavo alkūnėmis it stūmokliais kaimynams į šonkaulius, vartokite! Žmonės čiupinėjo prekes, dėdavo atgal, vėl paimdavo, plėšdavo viens kitam iš rankų, vartokite! Šokdino perbalusias pardavėjas, versdavo išskleisti ant prekystalių baltinukus ir patalynę, vartokite! Spalvoti siūlų kamuoliukai sukdavosi it vilkeliai, gėlėti popieriaus lakštai gagėdami plasnojo sparnais ir vyniojo pirkinius į paketėlius, paketėlius į paketukus, paketukus į paketus, kiekvieną perrišant dailiu kaspinėliu, ir - pirmyn! Paketai, paketukai ir paketėliai, krepšiai ir krepšiukai verpetavo prie kasų lyg didžiulėje eismo spūstyje, rankoms rankinukuose įnirtingai ieškant piniginių ir pirštams piniginėse įnirtingai ieškant smulkių, kol tankioje svetimų kojų ir paltų skvernų girioje už rankų nebelaikomi vaikai pasiklysdavo ir paleisdavo dūdas. (p. 96-97)

O čia apie kalėdines dovanėles, aktualu :D

Pramonės ir prekybos pasaulius nėra kito tokio palaimingo ir puikaus laikotarpio metuose kaip Kalėdos ir prieškalėdinės savaitės. Gatvėmis vilnija virpantys dūdmaišių garsai; anoniminių akcininkų bendrovės, dar vakar panirusios į šaltus faktūrų ir dividendų skaičiavimus, atlapoja širdį jausmams ir šypsenoms. Pagrindinis direktorių tarybų rūpestis dabar - suteikti džiaugsmo artimui pasiunčiant dovanų ir sveikinimų atvirukų tiek dukterinėms įmonėms, tiek pavieniams klientams. Kiekviena įmonė jaučia pareigą įsigyti didžiulį prekių asortimentą iš kitos įmonės, kad vėliau padovanotų jį dar kitoms įmonėms, kurios savo ruožtu perka iš kitos įmonės dovanų asortimentus dar kitoms įmonėms. (p. 126)

Kaip Undinė Radzevičiūtė, tik kad 60 metų anksčiau. Ir kažkaip tikriau ir liūdniau.

Viena vertus, aišku, toks saviapgaulinis comfort-gestas: kol perki dovanėles, vartoji, varinėji prekybcentry su pilnu krepšeliu, tol širdies neskauda, viskas fainai, grįžti, paskaitai "Markovaldą" ir brauki ašarėlę, o paskui vėl planuoji, kokią silkę gaminsi. Bet vis tiek, kita vertus, nėra taip, kad viskas būtų kaip buvę, vis tiek geri tekstai, kaip "Markovaldas", kažkaip nutarkuoja širdį. Paskui ir atsiranda dulinskai ir "Vaikų svajonės". Ne veltui ir Markovaldo vaikai paskutiniam apsakyme, pasiskaitę knygų, nusprendė dovanoti dovanėles vargstantiems vaikams; tėvas išgirdęs galvoja: taigi jūs patys tie vargstantys vaikai. Norisi galvot, kad yra ir gražių kapitalizmo pusių ir žmogus ten kažkur vis tiek vis dar yra. Vot kiek prisimoralizavau skaitydama gerą, gražią, labai kalėdišką knygą.

[Margarita Garova · Rating 5 out of 5]

Малкият човек в лошия град, който навсякъде вижда късче забравена природа. Умилителна книга, без да е сантиментална. Общият работник от улица "Панкрацио Панкрациети"със свадлива жена и шест деца живее в комично взаимодействие с авторитети, по чаплиновски. Не съм чела нищо подобно досега, но нещо от този комизъм ми напомня непохватните чудаци от пиесите на Теди Москов.

[Angelina · Rating 4 out of 5]

Марковалдо, симпатичният неудачник, който вижда света през други очи и някак си успява да намери малки пъстри прозорчета насред сивите стени и еднообразието. Марковалдо, който умее да цени малките радости - шепата гъби, поникнали кой знай как до спирката, любимата пейка в близката градинка, пухкавия нов сняг, звездното небе нощем, саксийното растение за което се грижи всеки ден. Марковалдо, с когото непременно трябва да се запознаете, особено когато Нева Мичева толкова се е постарала да ни го представи в целия му скромен блясък.
Това беше една много приятна първа среща с Калвино и със сигурност няма да бъде последната.

[Matthew · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was trying to write about cold weather. Since I was struggling, I set down my pen and opened this book and was amazed to read this:

"Cold has a thousand shapes and a thousand ways of moving in the world: on the sea it gallops like a troop of horses, on the countryside it falls like a swarm of locusts, in the cities like a knife-blade it slashes the streets and penetrates the chinks of unheated houses."

There! Simultaneously familiar and new. That is how it is done, Calvino. No wonder I read you with such delight!

Here is the beginning of another story in this book:

"The city of cats and the city of men exist one inside the other, but they are not the same city."

What a marvelous opening!

You are a joyful writer Calvino, because you never fail to be excited by common things.

[Amaranta · Rating 4 out of 5]

Una lunga favola, creata da venti piccoli episodi per raccontare Marcovaldo, uomo buffo e il suo rapporto con la natura e la città, con una famiglia altrettanto curiosa.
Storie tenere che regalano un sorriso, insieme alla meraviglia di sentirsi di nuovo bambini. Calvino parla alla parte più piccola di noi, per riscoprirla, a fondo, intera.

[Mark André · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was going to give it four stars, or maybe even four and a half, but the final story was so brilliant I bumped it up to five! Strange, curious, ironic, fun. Noteworthy. Recommended for serious minds.

[Asma · Rating 3 out of 5]

A series of eccentric and unfortunate events...

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

Here's a book I knew I would like the minute I held it in my hot little hands. For one thing, it's short - 120 pages, fairly large print. For another, it's symmetrical - 20 stories, 5 for each season of the year. And finally, having read one story from it in a seasonal collection already, I knew it was both magical and sarcastic, a combination as golden as snide and abstract are shit. (Ok, it could be argued magical and sarcastic and snide and abstract are po-tay-to and po-tah-to, but let's not split hairs here.)

It took me three weeks to read Marcovaldo, because almost every story made me want to go back and read it again, not because it was hard to understand but because I wanted to experience the reading of it again. This is truly a book to savor. Some of the short stories (none are over 10 pages, most clocking in under 5) are merely funny in a subtle way, like "The Wasp Treatment" and "The Lunch-Box." Some, like "The Forest on the Superhighway" and "Smoke, Wind, and Soap-Bubbles," are caustic commentaries on industrialized society. Others - "The Good Air" and "The Wrong Stop" come to mind - are visceral, haunting journeys of Marcovaldo, a man who wants to see through the churning gears into a natural world that he's never seen except in fancy, and his family into a consumer culture they don't understand but charge dutifully into. Some reach almost terrifying levels of dementia, when the line between romantic idealism and harsh reality blur with Marcovaldo and his already-jaded family stuck at the borderland - see "A Saturday of Sun, Sand and Sleep" and "Marcovaldo at the Supermarket."

And then there are "The Moon and GNAC," "The Rain and the Leaves," and "Santas Children," the centerpieces of the book which do all of these things. All three come toward the end of the book, after the tone, setting, and characters have been subtly put into place. They have a few things in common - all have a conflict between the family unit and corporate culture, with the same winner each time; they each reflect an urbanization of myth, with neon lights and potted plants replacing cosmos and beanstalks; and each presents a subtle, heartbreaking moral judgment on the society they are set in and the losses man has swallowed in achieving it.

[Arwen56 · Rating 3 out of 5]

Non sono una estimatrice di Calvino, ma a Marcovaldo sono davvero affezionata. L’ho letto a scuola, la prima volta, accompagnata, nel mio procedere, dal puntuale, quieto e preciso commentare della mia insegnante di letteratura italiana delle medie. Grande donna. La persona giusta al posto giusto, mi sento di dire. L’ho ripensata spesso. Credo di doverle molto in termini di amore per la letteratura. Temo sia ormai morta, ma non ho modo di sapere cosa ne sia, oggi, di lei. La ricorderò sempre con grande affetto, perché è stata, senza alcun dubbio, uno dei riferimenti più importanti nella mia vita scolastica.

Tornando a Marcovaldo, è un libro che non posso definire “bello”, letterariamente parlando, ma che ha un suo fascino. Questo strano personaggio, un po’ ingenuo, un po’ malinconico, un po’ favolistico, ci racconta di cosa sia l’insoddisfazione. Non ambisce, no, a fare rivoluzioni, a cambiare le cose, a rivoltare la vita. Ci racconta delle sue inquietudini, che, a volte, sono quasi un nulla … impalpabili come ali di farfalla. E’ inadeguato, Marcovaldo, a vivere, però vive. Subisce, ma è sempre pronto a ricominciare. Non si sa da dove venga, né, esattamente, dove voglia andare. Ma intanto viaggia. Non so se, leggendolo ai giorni nostri, sia ancora possibile trovarne la magia. Non ha effetti speciali da proporci, né risposte precise al “male di vivere”. E’ anche parecchio “datato”, direi. Però la scrittura è impeccabile. E’ riposto nel mio cuore come quelle vecchie fotografie in bianco e nero, ed un po’ ingiallite, che ti ricordano un tempo ormai scomparso. E che, quando le guardi, sorridi.

[Ermocolle · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ho incontrato Marcovaldo a scuola, come tanti di noi, e mai dimenticato.

Questo sognatore, malinconico il giusto, che cerca di sfangare le giornate barcamenandosi in una città ostica dalla quale cerca sempre di fuggire con la fantasia e l'amore per la natura e le cose semplici.

Ma si sa che anche la natura ha i suoi risvolti amari e non tutte le buone intenzioni né le idee originali vanno a buon fine.

Tutti questo fa di questi racconti di vita una lettura divertente e disincantata, un buon approccio con Calvino e il suo stile.

[Мария Змийчарова · Rating 5 out of 5]

Марковалдо стана и си облече ризата и панталоните.
– Къде тръгна? – попита го жена му, бдителна дори насън.
– По улицата минават крави. Отивам да видя.

Злато! Златен човек е човекът, който чува крави в просъница и тръгва след тях. И който се сеща с умиление за дома и жена си, докато отваря канчето с обяда, който тя му е сипала. И който, разочарован, че не е успял да осигури на децата си вълнуваща изненада, решава поне да поразходи някое от тях с триколката като извинение.
Малък човек, сив град, скучно, бедно, безсмислено битие – нищо подобно. Приключение след приключение, вълнуващи срещи, тръпки на всяка крачка –такъв е животът, стига само да го виждаш такъв.

Златен Итало Калвино с неговите кучета, "на които нищо човешко не е чуждо", и "нежния поглед на животновъда, който успешно съчетава в един и същ душевен порив обичта си към животното и предвкусването на печено" и "Растението (викаха му просто така, като че ли каквото и да е по-конкретно име бе излишно в среда, където само на него се полагаше да представлява растителното царство)",
– Харесва ли ви тук?
– Да.
– Защо?
– Няма пазачи. Можем да късаме цветя, да хвърляме камъни.
– А дишате ли, дишате ли?
– Не.
– Но въздухът най-сетне е пресен...
Измляскаха:
– Къде ти. Няма вкус...
...

Златна и Нева Мичева, с нейните "зелениш" и "се въвира", и "шумол", и "Марковалдо заследи и настигна едно от тях, но забеляза, че не е одевешното", и "Луксопер", "Чистотин" и "Плакнибръз"...

Благодаря!

[qwerty · Rating 5 out of 5]

Είναι μια σειρά από όμορφες ιστορίες που τις θυμάμαι με μια γλυκιά νοσταλγία. Είναι παιδικά παραμυθάκια που η αξία τους έγκειται στην απλότητά τους και στην έλλειψη επιτήδευσης στο ύφος.
Αυτό είναι που μου άρεσε στον Italo Calvino, αυτό ακριβώς που μαρτυρά και το μικρό του όνομα. Αυτήν τη γλυκιά απλότητα που βρίσκει κανείς συνήθως σε ιταλικά καλλιτεχνικά δημιουργήματα, είτε αυτά είναι συγγράματα, είτε ταινίες. Με τον ίδιο τρόπο που μόνο ένας Ιταλός θα μπορούσε να συλλάβει το σενάριο για την ταινία "Η ζωή είναι ωραία", μόνο ένας Ιταλός θα μπορούσε να γράψει τέτοια διηγήματα ανάλογης ομορφιάς.
Λάτρεψα το χαρακτήρα του Μαρκοβάλντο, την αφέλειά του και την αγαθότητά του. Με γοήτευσε η αγάπη του για τη φύση και με συγκίνησαν οι προσπάθειες εύρεσης της φύσης έστω και σε αυτές τις πολύ μικρές εκφάνσεις αυτης σε μια μεγάλη και χαοτική πόλη. Όλα αυτά τα καμώματά του μου δημιουργούσαν ένα χαμόγελο στα χείλη στη διάρκεια της ανάγνωσης, όχι μόνο επειδή κάποια από αυτά είναι αστεία, αλλά επειδή αβίαστα χαμογελά κανείς διαπιστώνοντας την αφέλεια και τον αυθορμητισμό στα καμώματα ενός μικρού π��ιδού.
Το πιο πιθανό, λοιπόν, είναι ότι όχι μόνο ένα παιδί, αλλά και όποιος κρύβει μέσα του ένα παιδί μπορεί πολύ εύκολα να αγαπήσει αυτό το βιβλίο.

[Emmapeel · Rating 3 out of 5]

Da piccola piangevo spesso per cose che gli altri consideravano poetiche o divertenti, tipo il circo, i film di Charlot o i fumetti di Paperino. Con Marcovaldo andò allo stesso modo: troppo forte l'aura di povertà, le minime vicende da umiliati e offesi, quel sentore di cavolo bollito e stanzette stipate di figli con il bagno in fondo al ballatoio che trasudavano da ogni pagina. Mi disperavo per le sue disavventure, sentivo il peso di quell'ingiustizia esistenziale, avrei voluto salvarlo da quella città orribile e grigia piena di rumore, picchiare il vigile, la padrona di casa, il caporeparto, il commendatore e gli altri prepotenti che lo vessavano quotidianamente. Insomma, io questo libro l'ho odiato a pugni stretti, come solo sanno fare i bambini. Maledissi la maestra che ce l'aveva appioppato e tutti quei piccoli bugiardi leccaculo che scrivevano chebellomarcovaldo! nei temi, mentivano e lo sapevo. Speravo di rileggerlo con gli occhi della saggezza, del disincanto e della maturità ma purtroppo le reazioni sono state identiche ad allora, con l'aggravante che nel frattempo i commendatori sono ormai praticamente estinti (un po' anche i capireparto, a pensarci bene). Adesso esco e vedo se riesco a picchiare almeno un vigile.

[Neringa · Rating 4 out of 5]

Kadaise galvojau, kas būtų, jeigu kas nors animacinį veiksmą perkeltų į literatūrą? O Calvino „Markovalde“ būtent tokį ir sukūrė. Patenkame į laiką ir erdvę, kur niekas neprasideda ir nesibaigia, kur nėra mirties, o iš aukštai kritęs vėl gali pakilti ir eiti lyg niekur nieko. Ir tai šitaip skiriasi nuo literatūrinių stebuklų! Ir principas dar visai kitas: it komiškame Jacques'o Tati pasaulyje dar šypsomės ne iš geraširdžio neprisitaikėlio tipažo, bet iš to, kokioje absurdiškai bruzdančioje realybėje jis veikia, kaip iliuziška apsvaigti nuo miesčioniškos gerovės. Markovaldo pasaulis nepritampa prie neoninės modernizacijos ir fabrikų rutinos, nostalgiškai ir graudžiai primena paprastų dalykėlių prasmę.

Gražu ir liūdna skaityti. Markovaldų nuotykių galėtų būti begalybė.

[arcobaleno · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ma esiste ancora la natura?
Venti racconti uniti dallo stesso protagonista: un uomo semplice con una famiglia numerosa e una vita grama. Ma Marcovaldo è un sognatore con un cuore di bambino: trova la bellezza e la poesia nelle piccole cose, quelle nascoste dal caos cittadino e invisibili ai più.
I racconti affascinano per l'atmosfera sospesa da favola, per la magia, per la tenerezza e la malinconia, per la capacità di fermarsi a guardare le foglie che cadono, uno spicchio di luna, un arcobaleno dopo la pioggia.

[Tsvetelina Mareva · Rating 5 out of 5]

Поредното бижу в поредицата за кратки разкази на любимото издателство Жанет-45 с великолепния превод на безупречната Нева Мичева. Сборникът с разкази ни среща с чаровния неудачник Марковалдо и многочисленото му семейство, който всекидневно се бори с неволите, дълговете, сивотата на големия град и еднообразната си работа. Въпреки абсурдните ситуации, в които изпада, печели симпатиите с по детски наивния си и чист поглед към света. Очароват го привидно обикновени и незначителни неща като гъбите, поникнали в оскъдната трева на спирката, луната, закривана от рекламно пано, саксиеното растение на работното място. Човекът, откъснат от природата, крачещ ден след ден сред бензинови изпарения, бетон, небостъргачи и синтетични материи. Познато, нали? А е писано през 60-те год. на миналия век. Много топли и трогателни истории, с които Калвино ме спечели и се нарежда до любимия Будзати. Разказът "Луна и няк" е един от най-силните, които съм чела изобщо. Калвино и Будзати открих и опознах благодарение на Нева Мичева, за което много ѝ благодаря.

[Vasko Genev · Rating 5 out of 5]

Чудя се с какъв суперлатив да започна... Гениална!
Малко са книгите, които могат да те разсмиват така. Марковалдо успява да открие природата и цялото чудо на Вселената в рамките на един град. Смогва да удволетворява необходимостите на семейството и да живее толкова свежо, въпреки ужасното им икономическо състояние.

Перфектно се допълват "Погрешната спирка" с "Любовта е сляпа" от Човекът вълк - Борис Виан и "Марковалдо в супермаркета" с "Екстаз" от Едноминутни новели - Ищван Йоркен.

ПП. В десетката сред свежите книги. Правя асоциация със "Сватовникът от Перигор". Макар да са толкова различни една от друга, мисля че двете книги ги свързва гениалния хумор и живота в "изолация" :)