You are scrolling through the reviews and statuses and various examples of book mongering on Goodreads, eyes lazily wandering in hopes of something that will snatch them and hold them fast in fascination. After several refreshings of the page you see that Aubrey has recently finished and rated "If on a Winter's Night a Traveler', which means that a review will not be long in coming, as Aubrey is not the type to carefully compose and coordinate a review for more than a day, often submitting words underneath the stars within the hour. You can see from the preview shown on your updates feed that Aubrey has taken the route of imitating Italo Calvino's singular point of view that he grants the reader in this book, and confident in your expectations of what's to come you click the link to read more when...

Stop. Hold the phone. Did you really think that was how it was going to go? Sorry, but if you want the style, you're better off with the master. I have a different agenda in mind.

This is a book for readers. This is a book for writers. This is a book for devotees to the word, to stories of black lace spilled out on white landscape, to the holy communion of the author, the book, and the audience. This is a book for worshipers at the altar of ink and paper and string, intangible impressions fixed forever on tangible emptiness, bound into a construct so much greater than its parts.

This is a book for those who believe in its magic.

Italo Calvino knows you, Reader. He may not know your age, or your gender, your most secret of wishes or your most hidden of shames. But he knows the part of you that reads, and for some, that is their soul entire.

He knows why there are Readers, and how they are so. He knows the broad spectrum of culture and the fearful gaps between their languages, through which a few pieces of literature manage to wing their way, bent and battered and shaken by the voyage but made oh so beautiful by both what survives and the effort of their passage. He knows the constant battle of conveying writing on the page without conveying self, or perhaps it is better to mix the two, and how real or fake is all this stuff anyways? He knows the often insurmountable barrier between flying thought and plodding script. He knows the tricks and the trades of drawing together a universe from simple lines on a page, how to render it all a wasteland of existence in a mere turn of phrase, and the temptations and atrocities resulting from both. He knows that this power has as much effect on reality as the world bound by print, for really, what difference is there between the two but the modicums of time spared them by a flighty and fidgety God, you, the Reader? He knows prose, plot, character, setting, theme, literature, publishing, all those classifications that fly in the face of the chaos and attempt to break it down into bare bones and raw data. He knows how the world uses and abuses the book to its own ends. He knows, despite all that, there is still hope.
n  

"If on a winter's night a traveler, outside the town of Malbork, leaning from the steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow in a network of lines that enlace, in a network of lines that intersect, on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave—What story down there awaits its end?—he asks, anxious to hear the story."

n
Why do you read, Reader? For the story? For the magic of no rules, no laws, no regulations, save the limits of physical scope and the realm of human imagination, beautifully coupled in the form of a book?

How about for the magic that enters you through the words you read, pierces straight through that enraptured pupil to that constantly churning brain of yours, lights up patches of neurons in a brilliant display that puts the Northern Lights to shame, a physical signal of the force of a realization of life as you know it, or actually that you did not know it until now? How about, for once, the magic stays, long after the last page is turned?

You will find it here, Reader. You will find it here.

কিছু বই থাকে যেগুলোকে তাদের ঘরানার কালমিনেশন বা চূড়ান্ত উদাহরণ বলা যায়।

ধরুন স্টিফেন কিং-এর দ্য শাইনিং। এই বইয়ের আগে ও পরে ভৌতিক হোটেল নিয়ে প্রচুর গল্প লেখা হয়েছে। কিন্তু মোটামুটি সব পাঠক-পাঠিকা একমত হবেন যে দ্য শাইনিং হচ্ছে এ ধরনের গল্পের সেরা উদাহরণ। হোটেলের কিছু বিষয় মানুষের অবচেতন মনে অস্বস্তি উদ্রেক করে, ভয় ধরায়। যেমন: হোটেলে বেশিরভাগ মানুষ অতিথি হয়ে আসে, কিন্তু শাইনিং-এর টরেন্স পরিবার বাধ্য হয়ে স্থায়ী বাসিন্দা হিসেবে থাকে। অতিথির চোখ আর কর্মচারীর চোখে হোটেলবাসের অভিজ্ঞতা সম্পূর্ণ আলাদা। অনেক পুরানো হোটেলের অন্ধকার ইতিহাস থাকে, খুন আর অপরাধের গুজব করিডর থেকে করিডরে উড়ে বেড়ায়। যে রুমে এ মুহূর্তে কোনো অতিথি নেই, সেই রুমের ভেতর থেকে যদি কোনো শব্দ ভেসে আসে, শুনলে কী করবেন? এই সবগুলো বিষয় দ্য শাইনিং-এ এসেছে। শুধু যে এসেছে তাই নয়, এমন গুছিয়ে, ঠিক মাপে এসেছে যে উপন্যাসটাকে নির্দ্বিধায় ক্লাসিক বলা যায়।

অথবা ধরুন মেলভিলের মোবি ডিক। সমুদ্রে নাবিকজীবন নিয়ে বহু গল্প-উপন্যাস আছে। কিন্তু মোবি ডিক-এ যেভাবে প্রকৃতি বনাম মানুষের যুদ্ধটা এসেছে (যেটা আসলে সব সমুদ্রযাত্রার গল্পেই কমবেশি থাকে), বা যেভাবে নাবিক জীবনের খুঁটিনাটি, বাস্তবতা আর রঙিন চরিত্রেরা এসেছে, অন্য খুব বেশি বইয়ে তেমন দেখা যায় না।

চূড়ান্ত উদাহরণ যে বইগুলো, সেগুলোর রচয়িতারা তাদের ঘরানাটাকে বোঝেন। সে সাথে বোঝেন এই ঘরানাকে অন্যরা কীভাবে দেখে, কেন এর সৃষ্টি হলো—আর কীভাবে একটা ঘরানার সবগুলো সম্ভাবনা এক বইয়ে ধরা সম্ভব।

সেই সংজ্ঞা অনুযায়ী, ইফ অন আ উইন্টার্স নাইট আ ট্রাভেলার হচ্ছে মেটাফিকশন ঘরানার চূড়ান্ত উদাহরণ।

মেটাফিকশন হচ্ছে গল্পের ব্যাপারে গল্প। যেখানে বইয়ের চরিত্রেরা জানে, বা আন্দাজ করতে পারে যে তারা কোনো বইয়ের চরিত্র। এবং সেই জ্ঞানের সুযোগ নিয়ে তাদের কণ্ঠ ধার করেন লেখকেরা, আর কথাশিল্প ও সাহিত্য নিয়ে মজার সত্য তুলে ধরেন।

ইফ অন আ…বইটাও তেমন। এই বইয়ের প্রধান চরিত্র জানে সে একটা বই পড়ছে। না জেনে উপায় নেই, কারণ চরিত্রটা আপনি নিজে।

আপনি মাত্র ক্যালভিনোর নতুন এই বইটা কিনেছেন। বইয়ের নাম ইফ অন আ উইন্টার্স নাইট আ ট্রাভেলার। আগ্রহ নিয়ে পড়া শুরু করলেন। তিরিশ পৃষ্ঠার মতো পড়ার পর হঠাৎ খেয়াল করলেন—আরে, পৃষ্ঠাগুলো দেখি ওলটপালট হয়ে গেছে। ১৭ নম্বর পৃষ্ঠায় ফিরে গেছেন আবার। কী আপদ! অনেকদিন ধরে অপেক্ষা করছিলেন বইটা পড়ার জন্য। একটা ঠিকঠাক মুদ্রণ কি জোগাড় করা যাবে না?

এখান থেকেই গল্পের শুরু। এই বই আপনাকে (মানে পাঠক বা পাঠিকাকে) সাথে করে টেনে নিয়ে যাবে, অভিযান শুরু করাবে, প্রেমে ফেলবে, জেলে পুরবে, কাল্পনিক এক দেশ থেকে ঘুরিয়ে আনবে।

মূল গল্পের ফাঁকে ফাঁকে এখানে দশটা অধ্যায় আছে। অধ্যায়গুলোকে প্রথম দেখায় অন্যান্য বইয়ের অংশ মনে হয়। যে বইগুলো একেকটা আলাদা ঘরানার। কোথাও জাদুবাস্তবতা, কোথাও ক্লাসিক জাপানিজ রোম্যান্স, কোথাও রহস্য। আসলে প্রতিটা অধ্যায় মূল গল্পের সাথে থেমাটিক ভাবে যুক্ত। আর সেগুলো না পড়লে মূল গল্পের মজা পুরোপুরি বোঝা যায় না। শুধু তাই নয়, এই অধ্যায়গুলোকে শেষে লেখক একটা ছোট্ট টুইস্ট দিয়ে জোড়া দিয়েছেন। সেই প্যাঁচটা সহজ, কিন্তু মজার।

আমার জীবনে পড়া সেরা পাঁচটা উপন্যাসের একটা হলো এটা। বিশ্বসাহিত্য নিয়ে ক্যালভিনোর যতো জ্ঞান ছিল, তা খুব কম মানুষেরই থাকে। এ বইয়ে তিনি সেই জ্ঞান দারুণভাবে প্রকাশ করেছেন। হাস্যরস, রোমাঞ্চ, ষড়যন্ত্র, বিষাদ—সবকিছু এক উপন্যাসে নিয়ে আসা সাধারণ কাজ নয়। তবে ক্যালভিনোর কষ্ট হয়নি, কারণ তিনি সাধারণ লেখক ছিলেন না।

بإنتظارك نص أدبي حيث الغياب فيه مؤكداً عن الحضور ، والغموض أنفذ من الوضوح....
نصْ مُخاتل...مراوغ يتحدى الكاتب والقارىء معاً ، ذات بنية روائية فريدة بأحداثها المتقطعة ونهاياتها المبتورة ، بحلقاتها المنفصلة والتي هى موصولة في اللحظة ذاتها في سلسلة سردية سرمدية...
فما أن تبلغ الأحداث ذروة سطوعها حتى تنذوي وتتلاشى بغتةً ، ولا يمكنك إزاء القصص العالقة دون نهاية إلا التسليم ، دون مقاومة...
تذكر لا تُسدد الركلات..ولا اللكمات..لن تُفيدك..

یه بار با خواهرزاده م که اون موقع یک سالش بود بازی می کردم، و با کلی زحمت براش با لگو یه ساختمون ساختم. اما دختربچۀ یک ساله بدون این که به اون ساختمان اهمیتی بده، با ذوق و خنده زد و خرابش کرد. یه مقدار بهم برخورد، و به این امید که این بار بیشتر تحت تأثیر قشنگی ساختمون قرار بگیره یا حداقل یادبگیره مثلش رو بسازه، باز تلاش کردم بازسازی ش کنم و اون این بار قبل از این که ساختمون تموم بشه زد و خرابش کرد. چند بار امتحان کردم، و دیدم انگار لذت بازیگوشانۀ خراب کردن خیلی بیشتر از لذت انتزاعی ساختنه. این کتاب هم چیزی در همون مایه هاست. مال دوران کوتاهی که پست مدرن نامیده میشد و الان حدود سی چهل سالی هست که به پایان رسیده.

ماجرا از این قراره:

کتاب هیچ چیز نیست. نه یک رمانه، نه یک مجموعه داستان، و نه حتی یه داستان با سر و ته. داستان راجع به یک «خوانندۀ» بی نامه (که نویسنده با ضمیر مخاطب ازش صحبت می کنه) که کتابی رو می خره که بخونه، اما می بینه که کتاب ناتمامه. میره برای عوض کردن کتاب، بهش یه کتاب دیگه می دن اما وقتی اون رو می خونه، می بینه یه داستان دیگه است. به خوندن داستان ادامه میده اما اون هم نیمه کاره است، و وقتی میره برای عوض کردن باز به اشتباه یه کتاب دیگه بهش می دن و اون هم نیمه کاره است و همین طور... و هر بار که «خواننده» یکی از این کتاب ها رو می خونه، بخشی از اون کتاب روایت میشه، ولی نیمه کاره رها میشه.
در نتیجه کتاب «اگر شبی» همچین ساختاری داره:

فصل اول: خواننده کتاب را می خواند.

- روایت بخشی ناتمام از آن کتاب

فصل دوم: خواننده کتاب را به کتابفروشی می برد تا عوض کند و کتاب جدیدی می گیرد.

- روایت بخشی ناتمام از آن کتاب جدید

فصل سوم: خواننده به جای کتاب قبلی کتاب جدیدی می گیرد.

- روایت بخشی ناتمام از آن کتاب جدید

الی آخر.

وقتی این ساختار برای خواننده لو بره (که الان من برای شما لو دادم) کتاب هیچ نکتۀ جذاب دیگه ای نداره. اون روایت های ناتمام از کتاب های مختلف، گاهی (فقط گاهی) جذابیتی دارن، اما وقتی میدونی که قراره نیمه کاره رها بشن، همون جذابیت نصفه و نیمه هم از بین میره. فکر می کنم نوشتن کتاب برای نویسنده بیشتر لذت داشته تا خوندنش برای من خواننده. از همون دست لذت بازیگوشانه ای که خواهرزادۀ یک ساله م از خراب کردن ساختمونی که من ساخته بودم می برد: شکستن ساختار رایج رمان، و همین.

I'm not the kind of person to define myself. Of course, I know I'm a daughter, sister, wife, etc and most importantly, a mother. But besides my relationship to other people, if I'm 'forced' to think about what defines me, what I know I've always been, as far back as I can remember, is a Reader. And if you are the same, then, like me, you will feel that Calvino is speaking to you -- you are his You.

I can't say there weren't very brief times when my attention wandered during one of the stories that is part of the labyrinth that You get lost in. But these were moments only, and then I could feel myself smiling at the meaning, and the skill of Calvino -- his prose is, surprisingly, (as far as my pre-perceptions at what this book might've been like) extremely 'readable' -- just as I was smiling even more at the very last sentence of this amazing book.

And this is from someone who feels she is more a Reader of traditional novels than so-called 'experimental' post-modern texts such as this one. Calvino has put into words what I feel, and isn't that what the best novels do? If you are a Reader, I think You will love this book.

I started learning Italian, in part, to be able to read this book in the original. Many people really hate this book. They get completely annoyed with the lots of starts, and there are bits of it that now, twenty years after I first read it, that do seem a bit smart-arsed. But it is like a maze and it is funny and clever and a book about books.

My first book by Italo Calvino and it was an amazing read. Calvino's format is one of a kind. He alternately narrated the chapter in second person (he tells you what you are doing as a Reader) and the first chapter of different novels. Some of those first chapters eerily resembles what is happening in the second-person chapters.

This book was originally published in 1979 in Italian and its English translation came out 3 years after. Considering that this was originally written in a foreign language, the syntax and fluidity of its English translation are remarkable, i.e., it is as if you are reading a novel originally written in English.

The last few pages of the novel which is in the second-person narrative is just astonishing. There are people speaking straight to you (the Reader) explaining their views on reading books:

1st: "If a book truly interests me, I cannot follow it for more than a few lines before my mind, having seized on a thought to thought, from image to image, in an itinerary of reasonings and fantasies that I feel the need to pursue to the end, moving away from the book until I have lost sight of it."

2nd: "Reading is a discontinuous and fragmentary operation. Or, rather, the object of reading is a punctiform and pulviscular material... This is why my reading has no end: I read and reread, each time seeking the confirmation of a new discovery among the folds of the sentences."

3rd: "I, too, feel the need to reread the books I have already read but at every rereading I seem to be reading a new book, for the first time."

4th: "...Every new book I read comes to be a part of that overall and unitary book that is the sum of my readings. This does not come about without some effort: to compose that general book, each individual book must be transformed, enter into a relationship with the books I have read previously, become their corollary or development or confutation or gloss or reference text. For years I have been coming to this library, and I explore it volume by volume, shelf by shelf, but I could demonstrate to you that I have done nothing but continue the reading of a single book."

5th: "In my case, too, all the books I read are leading to a single book but it is a book remote in time... In my readings I do nothing but seek that book read in my childhood, but what I remember of it is too little to enable me to find it again."

6th: "The promise of reading is enough"

7th: "It is the end that counts, but the true end, final, concealed in the darkness, the goal to which the book wants to carry you. I also seek the openings in reading but my gaze digs between the words to try to discern what is outlined in the distance,in the spaces that extend beyond the words 'the end'".

Too eloquently put, right? You better read the book and enjoy the magnificent prose of Italo Calvino. This is one of my favorite novels that I will read again someday.

A fun house at the carnival. A hall of mirrors without finger smudges on the glass to help you. A series of Russian dolls nested in Russian dolls, so what's the rush?

Take it slow, if you read it. It includes a series of books that "catch and release," as they say of fish (and now do of readers). They catch your attention then, once reeled in, they are released into the wild and disappear downriver. No satisfying pan-fried meal for you!, gentle (and still hungry) reader!

Leavened in between? Lots of reveries on reading and writing. What does it mean to be a reader? To be a writer? To be the bridge between?

It seems Calvino explores nearly every permutation in between, too. You might say he's quite clever about this, or that he's too clever for his own good. It's all in the taste of the (wait for it!) reader.

Notable is his mention of the Thousand and One Nights at the end. Story is king, which is enough to save the teller. I also loved how he pointed out the outsized role of literature in autocratic countries. The more free expression is suppressed and banned and censored, the more value it accrues. Readers appreciate it that much more, and it's influence becomes outsized compared to countries where books and writing are more commonplace an occurrence.

Calvino'nun Görünmez Kentleri'ni uzun yıllar önce, üniversite yıllarımda okumuştum. Doğrusu aklımda pek bir şey kalmamış. Tabii bu kitabın etkileyici olup olmamasından ziyade benim hafızamla ilgili bir şey. 4-5 günlük bir iş gezisine çıkarken, pratik nedenlerle, okumakta olduğum 600 küsür sayfalık bir kitap yerine daha ince bir kitabı, Bir Kış Gecesi Eğer Bir Yolcu'yu yanıma almıştım.

Yazarın dediği gibi (önsöze konulan metinde), bu, roman okumanın keyfine ilişkin bir roman. Zaman zaman zorlasa da müthiş derinlikli ve evet keyifli bir roman. Tabii karşınızda postmodern edebiyatın bir başyapıtı var. Dolayısıyla klasik bir olay örgüsü bekleyenler aradıklarını pek bulamayabilirler. Ama kitap çok çekmeceli bir dolap gibi. Yarım kalmış on romandan parçalar da var, roman sanatının özüne ilişkin düşündürücü bölümler de var. Okuyucuyla diyalog halinde bir roman. Benzersiz bir keyif, perspektif sunuyor. Yarım kalan parçalar, klasik bir yapıt arayanları tatmin edecek nitelikte. Siyasetten erotizme geniş bir yelpazede çarpıcı bölümler içeriyor. Ama esas meselesi roman sanatının kendisi. Müthiş bir finali de var. Belki tartışmalı bir sav olacak ama, sıradışı bir aşk romanı olarak da görülebilir.

Kurmaca yazmak isteyenlerin (benim maalesef o alanda yeteneğim yok) ve yazanların yanı sıra, yaratıcılık veya okuma üstüne biraz kafa yormak isteyenler için bence mutlaka okunması gereken kitaplardan. Bu kitabı bugüne kadar okumamış olmam da benim ayıbım elbette. Zararın neresinden dönersek kardır diyelim...

შენ ახლა კითხულობ ბექა ადამაშვილის მიმოხილვას იტალო კალვინოს წიგნისა "თუ ზამთრის ღამით მოგზაური" და შესაძლოა, ფიქრობ, რომ ამ წიგნის მიმოხილვის ამგვარი სახით დაწერა ერთობ ბანალური და გაცვეთილია; რომ შეუძლებელია ეს მიმოხილვა და მისი სტილი იყოს წიგნზე ან მის სტილზე უკეთესი; რომ წიგნისაგან განსხვავებით, აქ სტრიქონებს შორის არაფერი იკითხება;

ამის მიუხედავად, მაინც აგრძელებ მიმოხილვის კითხვას. ალბათ, იმიტომ, რომ უკვე წაიკითხე ის, რომ მიმოხილვის კითხვას აგრძელებ და გაინტერესებს, რამდენად პროგნოზირებადი იქნება შენი შემდეგი ქმედება. თუმცა, ნურც იმას გამოვრიცხავთ, რომ სულაც არც ჩამოსულხარ აქამდე, რადგან მიმოხილვის პირველი აბზაცის ბოლოს "more"-ს გამოჩენამ შეგაშინა. არ გაქვს დრო გრძელი მიმოხილვების საკითხავად. მით უფრო მაშინ, თუ არც იტალო კალვინოს "თუ ზამთრის ღამით მოგზაური"წაგიკითხავს და საერთოდ ვერ ხვდები, ეს მიმოხილვა ასეთი უაზრო ფორმით რატომ წერია.

ჯერ კიდევ არ გაგიგრძელებია Goodreads-ის თაიმლაინის სქროლვა? დამიჯერე, არაფერი საინტერესო აღარ მოხდება. არც მომხდარა. ფლოთ თვისთიც კი არ მაქვს მოფიქრებული. საერთოდაც იმას ვფიქრობ, ეს სამივე აბზაცი ხომ არ წავშალო და მხოლოდ ხუთვარსკვლავიანი შეფასება დავტოვო, რითაც იმის ილუზიას შევქმნი, რომ წიგნი თავიდან ბოლომდე გავისიგრძეგანე, შევისისხლხორცე და მის გენიალურობას უკანასკნელ სიტყვამდე ჩავწვდი.

არ წავშალე. ჯერჯერობით. და რაც უფრო იზრდება აბზაცების რაოდენობა, ამ მიმოხილვის წაშლა მით უფრო გამიჭირდება. ერთი ისაა, რომ არც ეფექტური დასასრულის იდეა მომდის. იქნებ ისეთი ფინალი ჯობდეს, პირველ აბზაცს რომ დაუკავშირდება ან იქნებ ისეთი, მოულოდნელად რომ გაწყდება, ან სულაც რაიმე სიბრძნე, რაც ამ აბზაცამდე ჯერ კიდევ შემორჩენილ რამდენიმე ადამიანს რაიმეზე დააფიქრებს.

არ ვიცი. ფაქტი ერთია - შენ ახლა ასრულებ ბექა ადამაშვილის მიმოხილვას იტალო კალვინოს წიგნისა "თუ ზამთრის ღამით მოგზაური" და ფიქრობ, რომ ეს მიმოხილვა ბოლო აბზაცამდე არ უნდა წაგეკითხა, ან შეიძლება არც ფიქრობ ასე, იმიტომ, რომ შენი ცხოვრებაც ამ მიმოხილვას ჰგავს, უშინაარსო გგონია, მაგრამ...

Sadly I did not like this book as much as I had hoped I would. The ideas were great and the snatches of stories were brilliant but in the end there were too many of them and the idea, to me, became tired. Similarly the idea of writing in the second person was fun at the beginning but very quickly became annoying. The best bit about this book was reading the reviews! There are some seriously talented people out there in the Goodreads membership!

You gaze, confounded, at your laptop, vainly trying to find a way to review this so-called novel, which you, an anglophone, have perversely read in French, not the native language either of yourself or of the author. Your companion notices your perplexity and tries to help, or, possibly, to confuse you further.

"It's beautifully written," she says. "But it has no heart."

"Mais chère Lectrice, how do you know?" you ask. "You have read If on a winter's night, a traveller, while I have read Si par une nuit d'hiver un voyageur. Neither one is the original, Se una notte d'inverno un viaggiatore. And this is just the beginning. Many portions of the book are supposedly translated from other languages: Japanese, Spanish, and, indeed, French. I assume that Calvino, an inventive and gifted writer, made their origin, and the fact that they had been translated, clear in the style. But they have in their turn been translated, and how can I know which infelicities are due to Calvino's fictitious translators, and which to the real translator? Who, to make things yet more complicated, is different in your case and mine."

Intent on your disquisition, you have closed your eyes, the better to see the bewildering maze of linguistic connections you are trying to imagine. Now, you open them again and find a different woman sitting in front of you.

"I am Lotaria," she smiles. "There was a matter which urgently required my sister's presence, but luckily I happened to be passing by. And, let me tell you, the situation is far worse than you imagine. Even Calvino's book is not the original. He has only translated it from the true source, composed in the language of Cimmerian."

"But this is ridiculous!" you protest. "There is no such language. It is merely one of the many fanciful creations of the author. And even if it were true, how could you possibly know?"

"Because I wrote it," says Lotaria calmly. "And not only the book, I invented the language as well."

"Impossible," you scoff. "Anyone who has the slightest familiarity with invented languages will know at once that no such thing could be done. A newly minted language is crude, coarse, lacking the patina, the web of associations that comes from long usage and a rich literary tradition. Open any book in Esperanto or Klingon; you will surely agree with me, and desist from these absurd suppositions."

"But I did not work alone," says Lotaria imperturbably. "Please allow me to demonstrate." She turns your laptop towards her, and quickly types URLs, codes, passwords. A few seconds later, the screen displays a page subtitled INSTITUTE OF CIMMERIAN STUDIES. Above it is a line in an unknown script. She clicks on a link, then another.

"I have a large and well-qualified team at my command," she continues, as her fingers continue to type. "Lacey, Laetita and Laine spent twenty years developing the theory of Proto-Cimmerian, a language which they have traced back as far as the common ancestor it shares with Cimbrian. Lakshmi, Lamila and Lamorna have composed a tantalizingly incomplete series of fragments in Early, Middle and Late Archaic Cimmerian; they have diligently reconstructed the course of a major vowel shift and the loss of both the dual and the aorist forms of the Cimmerian verb. Some of their poems - alas, all unfinished - are quite moving. Larissa, Laurel and Lavinia did a splendid job of creating Medieval Cimmerian. Their paper on sprachbund effects and grammatical links to Estonian and Saami is a true classic."

"By the time we reach the seventeenth century, there was ample ground to build on when the first great Cimmerian authors appear. Leah, Lena and Lenore invented the romantic Cimmerian verse-epic, using a form, the ostavino, unique to the language, while Lesley, Lillian and Linda laid the foundations for the heavier philosophical zaktrinva, which gained ascendancy during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Linnet, Lisa and Liv have done sterling work here, documenting the bitter rivalry between the Northern and Southern schools; Lois, Lorelei and Loren went as far as composing eighteen whole novels, one of them nearly a thousand pages long. By the time we reach the present day, it was easy for me, ably assisted by Louise, Lorraine and Luana, to write the book you incorrectly attribute to Calvino. Any scholar of Cimmerian will immediately see the many allusions and borrowings from earlier works. Why are you staring at my breasts?"

By way of answer, you lean forward and nimbly remove the wig from her head; released from captivity, her long auburn hair swirls around her. "Jessica Q. Rabbit!" you exclaim. "How could I not have guessed that you were involved?"

She shrugs becomingly. "And so?"