I read the whole of Under The Jaguar Sun today, the three stories based on the senses by Italo Calvino, who had planned to write two more for the remaining senses and a sixth sense too but unfortunately he got ill and died according to his wife Esther Calvino and I was swept away by the beauty of his prose, it was unlike reading, it was almost as I was soaring upward instead of falling or participating in the plight of the human ape, and I thought, Calvino was the pen, the pen only knows itself, we cannot know what Calvino now knows. We can only guess, so we can never truly know. I will be rereading these stories because they are utterly dazzling like going near a star.


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