![]() ![]() And Calvino’s book is like no other I know.”Ĭalvino, a distinctly Italian writer, has never written purely in Italian. Plato’s dialogues come to mind not surprisingly, the critic discusses archetypal forms, and concludes: “If they are forms, they are also like signals condensing in themselves power that awaits its translation into form. Joseph McElroy, in his 1974 review of Invisible Cities in The New York Times, calls him “Italy’s most original storyteller.” In speaking of the novel, McElroy draws attention to the conversation between the emperor, Kublai Khan, and the traveler, Marco Polo. Invention and innovation are two terms often used by non-Italian critics regarding Calvino. Calvino appreciated being translated not only to be read in more places, but also in order to “understand better what I have written and why.” Translation, for him, was a form ofγνῶθι σεαυτόν / gnōthi seauton, a revelatory process to see and know himself from a new angle, from a foreign and alienating perspective. ![]() Perhaps the most startling observation in his essay is this: that due to the discrepancy between the spoken and written language, Italian writers “always have a problem with their own language in a state of linguistic neurosis.” Calvino is able to identify this problem because he looks at Italian from both inside and outside, as if it were a foreign tongue, or in any case, like his character Mr. ![]() He writes: “True literature works along the un-translatable margins of every language.” He is attuned to issues of translation not only as a translator/writer, but as a man of letters who was also a scientist this essential double nature underlies the way that he reflects on the problematic nature of translation. In his essay “To Translate Is the Real Way of Reading a Text,” Calvino speaks of the issue of multiplicity by referring to “different levels of language.” He argues that translation “requires a sort of miracle,” speaking of its “secret essence” as if it were an extract to distill with the proper equipment. On the contrary, he had his own language- an expressive kingdom belonging only to him-as do all other important and interesting writers. This is my point: Calvino, a distinctly Italian writer, has never written purely in Italian. Weaver also understands Calvino’s passion for scientific language and for technical terms, which pose another hurdle for any translator, introducing yet another language, one that is rigorously specific, to his writing. He adds, however, that it was also a challenge to replicate the careful rhythm of his prose, and that he would read passages from Invisible Cities out loud while he translated. William Weaver, Calvino’s American translator, says in an interview with The Paris Review that Calvino was easy to translate because he wrote in a literary language: a universal idiom that lends itself naturally to translation. More international than Italian, Calvino straddled places and languages and was acutely aware of what could be mined from a detachment from one’s own origins. He was the translator of Raymond Queneau, a French writer known for his linguistic whimsy, though I would add that Le fiabe italiane, the Italian folktales he collected and adapted, were also a sort of translation. Remember that he wrote his most mature works-those that were most celebrated, and therefore most widely translated-in France while experiencing, willfully, a fertile state of linguistic exile. These are just a few highlights of his formation as a writer before achieving worldwide fame. Let’s bear in mind his friendship and collaboration with Cesare Pavese and Elio Vittorini, two fellow writer-translators who were also editors. We should note the passion he felt, from the beginning, for non-Italian authors: the discovery of Kipling as a young man, and his baccalaureate thesis on Conrad, an author who, it so happens, wrote in a language he was not born into. It comes as no surprise that New York City, a perennial crossroads of languages and cultures, was the place he considered most “his.” He lived for many years in France and traveled the world. These are some biographical facts (with which he loved to play): he was born in Cuba, raised in San Remo-an extremely cosmopolitan city at the time-and married an Argentine translator. Let’s start with his Italian (or non-Italian) identity, an Italianness always tilting toward the Other. For an author who floats, as Calvino himself said, “a bit in mid-air,” translation-that twofold and intermediate space-was his destiny. To speak of Italo Calvino’s popularity outside of Italy is to speak of Calvino in translation, given that he has been read and loved abroad in other languages and not in Italian. ![]()
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