Le città invisibili

Le città invisibili[Ebook] ➢ Le città invisibili By Italo Calvino – Heartforum.co.uk Kublai Khan does not necessarily believe everything Marco Polo says when he describes the cities visited on his expeditions, but the emperor of the Tartars does continue listening to the young Venetia Kublai Khan does not necessarily believe everything Marco Polo says when he describes the cities visited on his expeditions, but the emperor of the Tartars does continue listening to the Le città PDF/EPUB ² young Venetian with greater attention and curiosity than he shows any other messenger or explorer of his So begins Italo Calvino's compilation of fragmentary urban images As Marco tells the khan about Armilla, which has nothing that makes it seem a city, except the water pipes that rise vertically where the houses should be and spread out horizontally where the floors should be, the spiderweb city of Octavia, and other marvelous burgs, it may be that he is creating them all out of his imagination, or perhaps he is recreating fine details of his native Venice over and over again, or perhaps he is simply recounting some of the myriad possible forms a city might take.

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 Le città PDF/EPUB ² trilogy , the Cosmicomics collection of short stories , and the novels Invisible Cities and If On a Winter's Night a Traveler His style is not easy to classify; much of his writing has an air reminiscent to th.

Le città invisibili PDF ã Le città  PDF/EPUB ²
    Le città invisibili PDF ã Le città PDF/EPUB ² be, the spiderweb city of Octavia, and other marvelous burgs, it may be that he is creating them all out of his imagination, or perhaps he is recreating fine details of his native Venice over and over again, or perhaps he is simply recounting some of the myriad possible forms a city might take."/>
  • Paperback
  • 165 pages
  • Le città invisibili
  • Italo Calvino
  • English
  • 03 October 2019
  • 9780156453806

10 thoughts on “Le città invisibili

  1. Violet wells says:

    ...A five star review...

    I hate flying. The claustrophobia of it. So usually when I return to Italy after visiting London I catch the train to Paris and then the night train to Venice. That’s my little extravagance. I catch the night train to Venice and not Florence for one moment. The moment of walking out of the station of Santa Lucia and beholding the Grand Canal. I sit on the steps and let all the activity on the canal wash through me. I’m not sure why this moment means so much to me. It’s not a moment I can or even want to explain. I remember a line from a novel I read where a character gazing out at the Grand Canal says, “I keep wondering when all this will happen to me.” Perhaps that’s it, Venice articulates some deep desire we all have or evokes a memory of something that has never quite happened.

    Reading this for a second time is a bit like visiting Venice for a second time. A little bit of the magic fades but in compensation you notice lots of wonders you missed the first time. I read it in English this time. Now and again the writing seemed a bit clunky – “The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here.” That “if there is one” is a bit of an eyesore. But it’s no less clunky in Italian - L'inferno dei viventi non è qualcosa che sarà; se ce n'è uno – you can’t blame the translator for translating it word for word instead of trying to improve the fluency of Calvino’s prose. .

    This is probably the greatest book ever written about tourism, about the urge to escape the confines of where we live. Essentially Marco Polo is a tourist. And we all as tourists need an audience to show the images of our travels to. Kublai Khan is the audience, the vicarious tourist. He’s also a warlord, and by inference every warlord intent on conquering new territory is a tourist and every tourist is a warlord in embryo. We all want to conquer new lands. We’re all hungry for new discoveries, new exotic possessions. But we all eventually have to go home. Calvino is constantly making the point that every city is essentially what we bring to it. He’s brilliant at capturing the deep division of perspective between the tourist and long term inhabitant. Florentines are famous for never looking at the city’s monuments. It’s become how they distinguish themselves from the tourist. They turn a blind eye. They stare at their phones while walking across Piazza della Signoria. Venice has almost been turned into a romance theme park – it’s called upon to provide a standard collection of microwaved emotions as efficiently as an atm provides cash. One of the wonders of Venice now is the people who live there. You need them to understand something of the true nature of the city. To get behind the postcard façade. There are times when it’s much more rewarding to watch a man bump a barrow down the steps of a nondescript bridge than gaze blankly at the façade of San Marco. Sometimes it’s these kinds of details that bring a place alive for us. Calvino’s deployment of these telling details is probably this book’s most stellar achievement and what makes it such a joy to read.

    ...An alternative four star review...

    Calvino is one of the sacred cows of literature. He’s one of those writers who we’re tempted to pretend to like more than we really do, like Proust and Joyce, for fear of revealing some intellectual inadequacy. Interestingly for me, Virginia Woolf still isn’t one of these scared cows. When people don’t like Woolf they have more of a license to vent their scorn. It still hasn’t been officially recognised that Woolf is a great writer, by men at any rate. Often when there’s a list of the best novels ever written Woolf won’t feature at all, or if she does it’ll be her lesser but easier books like Mrs Dalloway or A Room of One's Own that makes the list. (To be fair her genius is recognised in Italy and France; it’s in the UK she tends to divide opinion.)

    So Invisible Cities vs The Waves. Invisible Cities is absolutely brilliant and inspired for the first fifty pages. But then it wanes a bit, gets a bit repetitive. Seems odd to say about a book of only 145 pages but might it have been better had it been a bit shorter? The contents page has the appearance of some mathematical formula, like a star map, so perhaps there’s some hidden genius in the design of this book. But if there is I didn’t get it and nor did anyone else judging by the few reviews I’ve read. It felt to me like the number of invisible cities we get was random and some were uninspired. If you took a single page out of The Waves it would collapse. You could take ten pages out of Invisible Cities without it being noticed. Also now and again Calvino is perhaps guilty of the kind of vacuous platitudes you’ll find strewn throughout the pages of The Alchemist. “Falsehood is never in words; it is in things.” That kind of thing. Looks great if you skim read it; becomes only a half-truth if you stop to think about it. So for me, The Waves wins over Invisible Cities in a heavyweight wrestling match.

    ...Back to tourism...

    Once upon a time the world was getting smaller. Now it’s getting bigger again as terrorism creates more and more no go areas. You could say terrorism is a war on tourism. It’s diminishing one of the biggest cultural phenomenon of our times. That’s probably the most significant change terrorism is making to the world. It’s making us think twice about travelling. I watched a heartbreaking report from Aleppo last night –a once magical town that none of us will ever see again. How long before it becomes one of Calvino’s Invisible Cities?

  2. Riku Sayuj says:

    Invisible Cities; Imagined Lives

    Marco Polo was a dreamer. He had great ambitions - wanting to be a traveller, a writer and a favored courtier. He wanted to live in the lap of luxury in his lifetime and in the best illustrated pages of history later. But he could only be a dreamer and never much more. Was it good enough? He never travelled anywhere and spent his life dreaming away in his Venice and is remembered to this day as the greatest explorer and travel writer of all time. How did that come about? It is a tale about the triumph of imagination over experience.

    In Venice, that city of water, a network of canals and a network of streets span and intersect each other. Marco Polo was traveling in a little boat in that Venice and thinking of the Marco Polo he was meant to be when his imagination began to soar. All the travelogues he wanted to write started coming to his mind. A whole book of descriptions, all made of poems that would describe the beauty of this city like those waves reflecting it in varied shapes among their ripples. He watched the people moving along the streets, each eye seeing the same city differently, dependent on the angle of observation, and speaking in a language of symbols and images that is more powerful than words can ever be. The river is the story, the river is the book, arranged in perfect sinusoidal waves of its own and choosing as its reader the greatest of all appreciators, the book catches the splendor of the city and reflects it for your patient eyes in a sort of primitive cubism, leaving it to you to make out all its meaning and all its poetry and to see ultimately yourself in that reflection of all the cities that imagination could possibly build.

    He started going on long voyages into his own mind, into the reflections of Venice, and into the reflections of those reflections. And then he wrote them down and he spoke of them and he sang of them. Men stopped to listen. They paid to hear him, first with time, then with gold, then with diamonds and great honors.

    The Venetian was soon summoned to the court of the great Kublai Khan, who was also a dreamer. He envisioned himself to be the greatest of rulers, his kingdom expanding and pouring over the whole vast world until all the world was under him. He knew that information was power and he wanted to know of every single city under him, and of every city that was to be under him. ‘On the day when I know all the cities,’ he thought, 'I shall be able to possess my empire, at last!’ He wanted Marco polo to be his eyes and ears and sent him off, with instructions to visit the most far flung and exotic provinces and to understand the soul of every city and to report back to him.

    Marco Polo bowed every time and with great aplomb set off for his great voyages. Next week he would be in his beloved Venice, dreaming up the world, a world more real than reality, with all the ingredients needed to construct a city - memories, desires, signs, skies, trade, eyes, sounds, shapes, names and the dead. He spoke of old cities with gods and demons in it, of cities yet to be, with airplanes and atomic bombs coloring their movements, and of cities that should have been, with happiness and sorrow apportioned in balance. What separates the dream’s reality from the dreamer’s reality? He pondered on this mystery with every city. Maybe all successful men dream our lives as it should be while rotting in some sewer and maybe all unhappy men dream their unhappiness in life while rotting in some palace? Maybe we can only continue our chosen destinies and everything else is a dream. It is only invisible cities we can construct. And we can reflect on them only through imagination, and fiction. He knew his cities were real.

    It took many years for the Great Khan to realize that Marco Polo wasn't describing cities so much as the human mind and experience. He realized that every city, whether imagined by Marco Polo or constructed by planned blueprints or grown from slow accretion are all dreams given shape by human hands, by human ambition, by a desire for a future that can be shaped. In fact, Marco Polo’s cities started to seem to him more real than any he knew to be real. He learned that if men and women began to live their ephemeral dreams, every phantom would become a city in which to begin a story of pursuits, pretenses, misunderstandings, clashes, oppressions, and the carousel of fantasies would stop.

    Khan now knew how to travel, to really travel. He could now accompany the great explorer in his prophetic journeys. He could describe cities to Marco Polo and he could listen to him, even as he filled in the details. They could sit together in the courtyard and be silent and still travel through the most exotic and most truthful of cities.

    Then came a day when Marco Polo had to inform the Khan, ‘Sire, now I have told you about all the cities I know.'

    'There is still one of which you never speak.'

    Marco Polo bowed his head.

    'Venice,' the Khan said.

    Marco smiled. 'What else do you believe I have been talking to you about?'

    The emperor did not turn a hair. 'And yet I have never heard you mention that name.'

    And Polo said: 'Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice.'

    'When I ask you about other cities, I want to hear about them. And about Venice, when I ask you about Venice.' Khan made an attempt at looking angry but he knew his friend could see through faces and all such masks.

    'To distinguish the other cities' qualities, I must speak of a first city that remains implicit. For me it is Venice. For those who pass it without entering, the city is one thing; it is another for those who are trapped by it and never leave. There is the city where you arrive for the first time; and there is another city which you leave never to return. Each deserves a different name; perhaps I have already spoken of Venice under other names; perhaps I have spoken only of Venice.

    'You should then describe for me Venice - as it is, all of it, not omitting anything you remember of it.'

    'Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased,' Polo said. 'Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it. Or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little.

    Kublai looked at Polo. He understood. To tell a story you have to start from what you know best. You have to put your soul in the story and then build the flesh, the hair, the face and the clothes around it. The more stories you tell, the more of your soul you invest and lay bare to the world. When do you start fearing that you are as invisible as the cities you create? Kublai continued to look sadly at his friend.

    Kublai asks Marco, 'When you return to the West, will you repeat to your people the same tales you tell me?'

    'I speak and speak,' Marco says, 'but the listener retains only the words he is expecting. It is not the voice that commands the story: it is the ear.'

    Then Khan knew that the sadness he felt so pressingly as he tried to force the wine down was not for his dear friend but for himself, he now knew that as he was listening to all the stories that Marco Polo was describing to him, he was only hearing stories that he was telling himself. The cities were all real, but they were not reflections of Marco Polo’s soul, they were not reflecting his Venice. They were reflecting Kublai Khan’s own soul, his own empire, ambitions, desires and fears.

    Disclaimer: Marco Polo Really Did Go To China, Maybe

    Edit: I got a message from a goodreader asking me why I put up the whole story of the book without a spoiler warning...

    Please go ahead and read the review without any fear of spoilers, the connection with the plot of the book (if any) is very tenuous - this is an imagined plot/backstory for a book that deliberately lacks one.

  3. Paul Bryant says:

    Marco Polo : Now I shall tell you of the beautiful city of Nottingham where the buildings are made mostly of blue glass, onyx and sausagemeat. The men of the city trade in fur, spices and photographs of each other with their respective spouses. All the men have large phalluses, sometimes so large they must cut pieces out of the tops of their front doors before they can exit their houses in the morning. This is a city of dreamers and anthropophagi, of astronomers and chess players, all with the largest of phalluses. The women of the city are the most voluptuous and lively. They wear clothes. Many times I have observed them gambolling and performing handsprings for sheer joy of being in Nottingham. The dogs of Nottingham are all sly and well-read. They play canasta and billiards mostly, but also trade junk bonds and enjoy swapping photographs of the men of Nottingham with their respective spouses. But describing the cats of Nottingham will tax me to the very limit of my powers, O mighty Lord -

    Kublai Khan : One moment, Sr. Polo. You will see the sun is high. I must now bathe in Turkish Delight and oxtail soup. We will recommence in the cool of the evening.

    Marco Polo : I await your pleasure, my Lord.

    Kublai Khan to his chief fixer the Grand Weirdo of All The Kingdoms : Later this afternoon I wish you to tell Sr Marco I have died. Or tell me that he has died. One of the two.

  4. Kalliope says:

    Heidi Whitman - Brain Terrain.

    I have not read Marco Polos’s Journeys, but I could imagine what he has written. Had I read it, I also would have had to imagine what he had written. Same verbs, different tenses.

    As I am sitting on a bench in front of a museum, waiting for a friend, a family of Italian tourists comes and sits next to me. They come from the land of Marco Polo, or maybe not, may be from the land of Italo Calvino since I do not know if they are Venetians. Italy was a projection of the Imagination in the nineteenth century. Marco Polo did not know it.

    They carry a guidebook of the city of Madrid, and are trying to make sense out of the book, a book written in their language, and also make sense out of the city, written in the language of cities. Universally understood. Cosmopolitan.

    It must be the monuments, the streets, the histories, the nourishment, the inhabitants, the parks, the related but different language that they want to understand. They use the text and the reproduced images as the key to comprehend the Urbis and the originals standing in front of them.


    And may be one of them, the father, remembers when he came here with his parents. He could be telling his children now about his Memories. But as they are listening, they are also discarding those Memories and forming their own: new future Memories of having visited the city with their parents. And they will tell their future children who will also forget. Remembering a Forgetting, like waves of the same sea.


    Their visit must have been prompted by some Desire to leave their everyday monotonous but comfortable life and look for excitement. Depending on their age they could participate in the bustling Madrid night life in which Desires wildly run. Age and Desire. Are all of them captives of their Desire-Spectrums?

    Would I desire to unlock their Desires?

    No. Only mine.


    Looking around these Italians could observe that most Signs only signal the same as all the others. International sign language has become a non-sign language. They mean sameness.

    Thin Cities

    As Europeans they should not be surprised to see that this is not a Thin City. There are trees, there are street lamps, and there are some dreadful tall buildings. It is a city that could grow horizontally because it is on a barren plateau. And yet,… and yet, it has steep roads. And these do feel like pure verticals on a tired morning. The city is hilly and the sharp drop comes as a surprise as one arrives at the Palacio Real, where the Sabatini Gardens extend deep down. Francisco Sabatini, another Italian and architect and who has projected an invisible Italian quality to this city. As if Marco Polo had been here.

    Trading Cities

    With no seaport it had to become a port of projections and become a matrix for the dispatches to far-away ports. And it did so contrary to Marco Polo’s direction when his route was blocked by the Tartars. This landlocked city would determine the launching of the black Galleons and sail them off cruising the sea-routes to meet the successors of Kublai Kahn and Trade with them in that twin trading city, Ma-Nila-Ma-Drid. Coming and going.


    There is a building where there are many Eyes. They are all moving and roving around, looking at the walls, at the colours and flat shapes on the walls. And they continue looking and those walls with their images look back at them. The paintings have been looking at eyes for a longer time than these eyes have looked at anything.

    And there thrones a picture with which the imagination of a Venetian captured the Warrior on horseback looking over those eyes, looking without seeing them.

    Echoing the other Emperor when he had said to his Venetian: “describe to me your cities”, Emperor Charles V summoned Tiziano Vecellio and said to him “paint me your worlds, so that I can see them”.

    Tiziano painted Charles’ gaze into the horizon, into his world.


    Matrix, or Matrice or Matriz or Magerit or Magra.

    The same city, different identities and varying names.

    Madrid in Spanish, Madrid in English, Madrid in German.

    And 马德里 in Mandarin, Ma-de-li, for the understanding of Kublai Kahn.

    The Dead

    The monuments make the Dead more alive that the current alive. They remain and there are very many. But since I have a Now, I am interested in the fewer ones.

    The Sky

    It is not true that Madrid has no sea. It just hangs over its inhabitants. The very intense blue of the Sky, so deep an azure because of the dry climate and the elevation of the city, makes one imagine oneself with wings which can be spread out to then set off with one’s soul and swim in the airy ocean.

    The Ultra-Mar.


    Night and day, and Seasons. And clocks, many clocks. They seem to divide time, but they are phantasmagorias or devices that do the opposite from the magic emerging out of Phenakistoscopes and create the illusion of discrete, detached, distinct moments out of the unceasing Continuous.


    Most of the inhabitants are also tourists, like this Italian family. This is a city populated not just by passers in Life, but principally by outsiders who were not born here. Anonymous origins and undisclosed length of time for their open transit. Whether in hotels or temporary homes everybody’s lives remain invisible from each other. And their realities are not deciphered in the guide book of the Italians, just as Marco Polo did not succeed in deciphering his cities for the Great Kahn. They will remain invisible.

    Great Chan

    Invisible Cities forms part of the conclusion of Jonathan’s Spence’s
    The Chan's Great Continent: China in Western Minds. After reviewing the representation of China in Western minds, starting with Marco Polo, Spence tackles in the final chapter the three geniuses who understood what was at stake. Neither Kafka, nor Borges nor Calvino, had ever been to China. Yet, to the Sinologist Spence, they were the three bright minds who did not fall on the Orientalist trappings. And Calvino was the one to have identified best the trappings of the mind in representing the fascinating unknown.

  5. Vit Babenco says:

    “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.” Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Kubla Khan
    There are a countless number of cities but the most mysterious are those that we build in our imagination.
    Marco Polo arrives and he tells Kublai Khan about ghostly cities he visited during his journeys…

    Marco enters a city; he sees someone in a square living a life or an instant that could be his; he could now be in that man’s place, if he had stopped in time, long ago; or if, long ago, at a crossroads, instead of taking one road he had taken the opposite one, and after long wandering he had come to be in the place of that man in that square. By now, from that real or hypothetical past of his, he is excluded; he cannot stop; he must go on to another city, where another of his pasts awaits him, or something perhaps that had been a possible future of his and is now someone else’s present. Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches.

    Cities are filled with memories: pleasant and sad… Cities are full of signs: explicit and obscure… Cities are laden with moods: exultant and nostalgic… Cities are packed with goods: necessary and trashy… Cities are fraught with the dead past and they brim with the alive present…
    “With cities, it is as with dreams: everything imaginable can be dreamed, but even the most unexpected dream is a rebus that conceals a desire or, its reverse, a fear. Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.”

    Whatever we seek, wherever we search, we’re just looking for our true inner self.

  6. Cecily says:

    The photo is of new and old Shanghai, photographed by Greg Girard in 2000 (source), chronologically equidistant between my two visits there. It is, and maybe always has been, a city of contrasting, unequal, parts and pairs, like many of the Invisible Cities.

    “Each man bears in his mind a city made only of differences.”


    I’ve been eavesdropping on the mysterious, hypnotic conversations between a famous explorer from antiquity and the powerful emperor of a distant land: Marco Polo and Kublai Khan.

    Exotic places are conjured by gestures, emblems, and words. Then the tables turn, and the Khan describes the cities of his dreams and asks Polo if they exist.

    But is it the 55 cities bearing female names, or many aspects of a single city (Venice), or nearer a hundred cities (many of them have twins or doubles)?

    Submit to Enchantment

    It’s deliciously slippery collection of prose poems about places, grouped by words and numbers, repeated in different permutations that defy a single interpretation (though many have been applied, including sine waves). It suggests multiple routes of reading, much like some of the twisted and recursive paths through the cities themselves. There are Cities and Memory, Cities and Desire, Cities and Signs, Thin Cities, Trading Cities, Cities and Eyes, Cities and Names, Cities and the Dead, Cities and the Sky, Continuous Cities, and Hidden Cities.

    It purports to be about physical places, but as it explores “the invisible order that sustains cities”, there are twists and forks in time as well as geography: “the city toward which my journey tends is discontinuous in space and time”.

    I fear that if I try to constrain these kaleidoscopic and sometimes paradoxical visions to black and white marks on a screen, I will somehow kill the enchantment – for myself as well as for anyone reading.


    These are places you must experience for yourself, walking the streets; crossing the canals; peering in windows; holding your nose at the stench; marvelling at the architecture; gazing at the underclad bathing beauties; exploring the exotic markets; puzzling at the frequent mentions of pipes, taps, gutters, and sewers; choking on smoke, and always seeking fresh revelations.

    As you wander, you can wonder how the cities are simultaneously similar and yet startlingly different: it’s never clear quite what real and what is not, what is cause and what is effect. Perhaps that’s part of the invisibility of the title.

    Whether this is travelling through China, Calvino, Venice or an atlas in a library, your journey will not be the same as mine, and nor will my subsequent ones. We will not be the same people, either.

    Meanwhile, in another city, another Cecily is writing a completely different review…

    Related Books

    • This was my second Calvino. Structurally, it can seem much simpler than If on a winter’s night a traveler, but it’s oddly harder to review.

    • A few months before this, I read and loved Andrew Lightman’s Einstein’s Dreams. Having read Invisible Cities, I now realise how heavily influenced Lightman was: in content, structure, style… every way. Whether you class it as homage or borderline plagiarism is debatable, but it does not detract from my enjoyment at the time, and I think Lightman’s book is probably the more accessible of the two, even though it is primarily about physics/time, rather than geography.

    • Jeanette Winterson’s The Passion portrays a magical Venice of shifting routes that is beautifully reminiscent of Calvino.


    • “The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls.”
    • “Anastasia awakens desires one at a time only to force you to stifle them, when you awaken in the heart of Anastasia one morning your desires waken all at once and surround you… You believe you are enjoying Anastasia wholly when you are only its slave.”
    • “You penetrate it along its streets thick with signboards jutting from the walls. The eye does not see things but images of things that mean other things.”
    • “Your gaze scans the streets as if they were written pages.”
    • “Does your journey take place only in the past?”
    • “Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had… Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches.”
    • “Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears.”
    • “The most fixed and calm lives… are spent without any repetition.”
    • “The exhalations that hang over the roofs of the metropolises, the opaque smoke that is not scattered, the hood of miasmata that weighs over the bituminous streets. Not the labile mist of memory nor the dry transparance, but the charring of burned lives that forms a scab on the city, the sponge swollen with vital matter that no longer flows, the jam of past, present, future that blocks existences calcified in the illusion of movement: this is what you would find at the end of your journey.”
    • “Traveling, you realize that differences are lost… Your atlas preserves the differences.”
    • “A voluptuous vibration constantly stirs Chloe, the most chaste of cities. If men and women began to live their ephemeral dreams, every phantom would become a person with whom to being a story… and the carousel of fantasies would stop.”

  7. Gaurav says:

    It's easy to describe what 'Invisible Cities' is not rather than what it is as it's really very difficult to ascertain which category it can be put into; it neither has a clear plot nor characters are developed as they normally are, it can't be called a novel or collection of stories, can't be put in any one genre since it surpasses so many; but still something extraordinary, something which can't be described in words, which can only be felt.

    The book has loose dialogues between emperor- Kublai Khan and a Venetian explorer-Marco Polo, Polo is ordered to explore the empire of the Khan and to tell parables with which to regale the ageing, and frequently impatient conqueror with descriptions of every city he has visited on his long peregrinations through Kingdom of Kublai Khan.

    The parables are surreal in nature and prose is very lyrical however I wonder how lyrical it would be in its original language. The book is divided into parables about fifty five imaginary cities which are categorized into eleven groups of memory, desire, sign, thin, trading, eyes, names, dead, sky, continuous and hidden.

    Different groups are associated with different themes, as Cities & Memory stories are philosophical thought experiments about nostalgia, history; discarding old Memories which are formed through word of mouth and forming their own.
    -As this wave from memories flows in, the city soaks it up like a sponge and expands.
    -The city which cannot be expunged from the mind is like an armature, a honeycomb in whose cells each of us can place the things he wants to remember....

    At this point I feel It's not possible to review the book though I made a futile attempt; and the more I think about the book the more I feel I have to re-read it and then read it again.

    However there is one thing which I can surely say about 'Invisible Cities'that it's 'A lucid dream: one which can be experienced and can't be described'.

  8. Henry Avila says:

    This a litany of cities (55) obviously fictitious, exquisitely described by Marco Polo to the great Mongol emperor Kublai Khan... he is understandably dubious. Imagination flows gently through the words of Marco Polo at the grand royal palace in Beijing, towns nobody seen let alone accept. The renowned traveler enjoys visiting new places some very beautifully chronicled by him these settlements but with a touch of creativity which the mind cannot fathomed, yet amaze, city after city, superb even those floating in the air unreachable to all, others underground the citizens in them oblivious to the rest of the world, those looking up feel jealous the mystery unexplained, walls impregnable, roads which take you away from the towns but never to them, sea ports, inland isolated metropolises alone in the vast deserts, they glitter in the sunshine and fade at night. Strangely
    though the great khan notices no mention of Venice...You would think the continuous page after page of rather unbelievable cities would get monotonous but this is incorrect, as such allure is never boring. The architecture so fantastic it could not exist on the Earth only in the bottomless mind. People like to hope in something they know is impossible their run- of- the - mill lives are unexciting, needing to be charmed, stimulated, dream about what's over the other side of the hill. This will always be true the stories that take them from the humdrum to the heights are perpetual in fashion, humans strive to arrive in a land of the riddle and try solving the enigma, may this be forever. The author of the book Italo Calvino Cuban born with Italian parents , an unique magnificent writer of the visual who lived in Italy. Both a journalist, short story writer and novelist he engaged in, becoming a master of fantasy as shown here and rich, famous, few could capture its essence better. For the person who wants to escape reality and spend a little time in the what could be, imagination is another way to live at least for a short while...Isn't that enough?

  9. Ahmad Sharabiani says:

    350. Le citta invisibili‬‬ = Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino
    Invisible Cities is a novel by Italian writer Italo Calvino. It was published in Italy in 1972. The book explores imagination and the imaginable through the descriptions of cities by an explorer, Marco Polo. The book is framed as a conversation between the aging and busy emperor Kublai Khan, who constantly has merchants coming to describe the state of his expanding and vast empire, and Polo. The majority of the book consists of brief prose poems describing 55 fictitious cities that are narrated by Polo, many of which can be read as parables or meditations on culture, language, time, memory, death, or the general nature of human experience. Over the nine chapters, Marco describes a total of fifty-five cities, all women's names. The cities are divided into eleven thematic groups of five each: Cities & Memory; Cities & Desire; Cities & Signs; Thin Cities; Trading Cities; Cities & Eyes; Cities & Names; Cities & the Dead; Cities & the Sky; Continuous Cities; Hidden Cities.

    عنوانها: شهرهای نامرئی؛ شهرهای بی نشان؛ شهرهای ناپیدا؛ نویسنده: ایتالو کالوینو؛ انتشاراتیها: (باغ نو، پاپیروس، کتاب خورشید، نگاه)؛ تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز هفتم ماه اکتبر سال 2003 میلادی

    عنوان: شهرهای نامرئی؛ نویسنده: ایتالو کالوینو؛ مترجم: ترانه یلدا؛ تهران، پاپیروس، 1368؛ در 152 ص؛ چاپ دیگر: تهران، باغ نو، 1381؛ در 152 ص؛ شابک: 9647425163؛ موضوع: داستانهای نویسندگان ایتالیائی - سده 20 م
    عنوان: شهرهای ناپیدا؛ نویسنده: ایتالو کالوینو؛ مترجم: بهمن رییسی؛ تهران، کتاب خورشید، 1388؛ در 206 ص؛ شابک: 9789647081733؛ چاپ دوم 1389؛ چاپ سوم 1392؛
    عنوان: شهرهای بی نشان؛ نویسنده: ایتالو کالوینو؛ مترجم: فرزام پروا؛ تهران، نگاه، 1391؛ در 152 ص؛ شابک: 9789643517960؛

    رمان «شهرهای نامرئی»، اثر: ایتالو کالوینو، نویسنده ی ایتالیایی، توسط مترجم دیگری نیز به فارسی ترجمه شده، و ایشان نام «شهرهای ناپیدا» را به روی اثر خود گذاشته، ترجمه ی جناب آقای بهمن رییسی از کتاب در 216 صفحه منتشر شده. ترجمه پیشین این کتاب توسط بانو ترانه یلدا انجام شده، که این ترجمه نخست در سال 1368 هجری خورشیدی، از سوی نشر پاپیروس، و سپس در سال 1981 هجری خورشیدی از سوی نشر «باغ نو» منتشر شده است. کالوینو این اثر را در سال 1972 میلادی تالیف کرده است، و منتقدان آنرا در حوزه ی ادبیات علمی‌ تخیلی دسته‌ بندی کرده‌ اند. و داستان: قوبیلای خان، خان مغول، فرستاده هایی دارد، که از سفرهایشان برایش میگویند، و «مارکو» تاجر ونیزی، قاصد مورد علاقه ایشانست. «مارکو» از شهرهای مختلف امپراطوری برایش میگوید، شهرهای افسانه ای، (برخی نوشته اند شهرهای دور از حقیقت، اما امروز به لطف تلگرام، بسیاری از این شهرها را دیده ایم)، شهری که در روی فضای دو پرتگاه ساخته شده، شهری که به جای هوا، خاک در آن جریان دارد، شهری که بنا بر شرایط روحی، آنرا به شکل متفاوتی میبینید، شهری که دو قسمت است: قسمتی ثابت است و قسمتی که هر سال آن را جا به جا میکنند، شهری که هر سال مردمش شغل و همسر خود را عوض میکنند، شهری که یک شهر مشابه در زیر زمین دارد، و مردگان را به آنجا انتقال میدهند، در صحنه ای فراخور حالشان و...؛ ا. شربیانی

  10. Dolors says:

    One could easily declare that the protagonists of this book are the cities, which are different versions of the same city that doesn’t really exist, only maybe in the writer’s mind. Either Venice or Paris, Calvino’s cities are a trip through imagination to lives never had, doors never opened, people never met.

    Someone else might appoint the reader as the real protagonist of Calvino’s book for he becomes the traveler who visits these cities mentally, which are nothing else than representations of his current mood, his past experiences and his unverbalized longings. The cities change shape and adapt to the traveler’s desires, they blend together into that tenuous moment between sleep and waking, the split second when dreaming occurs.

    The interpretation of a third reader might allude to the allegoric meaning of the interludes between the extravagant descriptions of the cities where Marco Polo proves the deceitful nature of language to the Chinese Emperor Kublai Khan through silent gesticulation. The Venetian merchant
    smuggles moods, states of grace and elegies instead of material riches, maybe as a metaphor to show the Chinese ruler that conquering cities is like accumulating empty shells, a nothingness that lacks cohesion, for their true wealth is to be found in their people, not in the physical space they inhabit. How does one imprison souls?

    Free style.
    Truth is I am unable to tell you what this book is about. It’s certainly not about what I wrote above. But maybe it is. Every reader will discover its meaning in the surrealistic patterns of titles and alternating themes that give shape to an unrepeatable skyline, a personal print that will only fit the soul of each traveler.

    To me, Calvino’s cities represent the deadlock between dreams and reality and the way we connect them in our minds to dominate the pulse of time. Unsought memories carry the heavy load of past experiences, and that burden of nostalgia opens the door to unfulfilled desires that materialize into the tangible futures we will never own. How many lives can the keen observer recreate in his mind? How many times can we alter the past in mental recreation, bring the dead back to life by thinking of them? But remembering doesn’t come face forward, it ambushes you around sideways and oftentimes traps you in a deadly embrace, and the reflected image may replace the original thought.

    In the end, amidst a labyrinthine maze of canals, ancient Gods of locals and foreigners clinging to the threshold of upside down doors and black-and-white strings attaching relationships between the inhabitants of a spider-web city, I couldn’t resist the allure of Maurilia. This was the city where I could finally put my discombobulated mind at rest. The comfortable safety of its sepia postcards brought me back to the cozy evenings with granny when I had only to concentrate on the invisible map her bonny fingers scratched gently on my back after a tepid day at school. Calvino led me to here and now to type these words that make her precious presence more real than ever. I can even delineate the shape of the sound of her fluttering voice clearly in my head. Hello, Granny. Thank you, Calvino.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *