The Baron in the Trees

by Italo Calvino

translated by Archibald Colquhoun

At the age of twelve, Cosimo Rondò, son of the Baron Armino, tires of his family’s rules and his odd sister’s elaborate, nasty tricks and takes to the trees, never to set foot on the earth again. He wears furs and feathers and sleeps in the trees, hunting and trading for his meals. But he remains part of society, helping deal with wolves, fires, and fruit thieves, even getting an education and writing the occasional treatise on democracy and the rights of animals. As Cosimo says, "A gentleman is such whether he is on earth or on the treetops… if he behaves with decency." He also engages in several love stormy love affairs and befriends a tribe of Spanish exiles who, drolly, also live in the trees.

I first read this, I’d guess, around 1989. It made something of an impression on me then mostly for its fantastical, absurdist elements played almost completely straight. This time around, I enjoyed the broad and witty comedy and the rich language used to describe the natural world; I also liked the classical and historical allusions (for example, Cosimo is reading Gil Blas, itself a picaresque novel about a man forced to help robbers, when he is approached by a brigand looking for refuge). Does it all mean anything? Well, Calvino is exploring the ideas of alienation and refuting societal norms, but I’m not sure there’s anything like a philosophy here, and no more answers than there is a plot. It’s a wild ride, funny and rich, a fine example of Oulipo writing. I loved the ending. 

five stars

Mr. Palomar

by Italo Calvino
1983
translated by William Weaver

I tried to read this a couple of years before, and got through a considerable amount, but stopped. It's a quite hermetic, cryptic work. Anyway, I tried again and this time I plowed all the way through. A definitely different work, it's extremely well-written (and translated into a smooth, perfect English admirably by the great William Weaver), and a great intellectual exercise into questions on the relation of self to the mind, self to the world, language and symbols. The last chapter, on "learning to be dead," is particularly intriguing in this way. Palomar's thoughts are, now and then but not often, comic, often at his expense.

I think the book could have used more of this deprecatory angle for comic relief from trio after trio of analysis – to have more of a character development, since there is no plot. When Palomar dies at the end, it is funny, true, but should anyone care? If not, why did it happen? I suppose my main impression of the book is, in fact, like something Palomar would think: I didn't get that much out of it except respect for Calvino's writing skills, but – since it is the work of such a gifted writer and has garnered such praise – I feel I must be missing something.

four stars