Terzo ed ultimo romanzo della trilogia de I nostri antenati: stavolta ci spostiamo ancora più indietro nel tempo, in quel medioevo epico e favoleggiante dei Paladini di Carlo Magno.
Anche qui come nei precedenti si parte da un assunto paradossale per parlare di temi esistenziali, in questo caso letteralmente visto che al centro del romanzo c'è proprio la questione dell'essere: Agilulfo, che vive senza corpo e solo per forza di volontà, è più o meno reale del suo opposto Gurdulù, corporeo e materiale ma totalmente privo della consapevolezza di sè? Il libro com'è nello stile di Calvino non fornisce una risposta univoca ma invita alla riflessione, fornendo spunti critici tramite allegorie e satire. Il vero messaggio dell'opera è racchiuso nelle parole di uno dei personaggi minori: "anche ad essere s'impara"; la coscienza di se non è quindi un dato precostituito o un'astrazione intellettuale ma un processo sempre in divenire, intimamente connesso con l'esperienza dei sensi.
Al di là delle profondità intellettuali che raggiunge anche dal punto di vista letterario è un romanzo di gran valore, con una prosa meravigliosa (d'altronde è Calvino) e un'ironia anche più marcata che nei romanzi precedenti. A livello puramente soggettivo ho preferito quella fiaba malinconica che è Il Visconte dimezzato, ma Agilulfo, Torrismondo e gli altri rimarranno con me a lungo. ( )

La voz del caballero Agilulfo llegaba metálica desde dentro del yelmo cerrado, como si no fuera una garganta sino la propia chapa de la armadura la que vibrase. Y es que, en efecto, la armadura estaba hueca, Agilulfo no existía. Sólo a costa de fuerza de voluntad, de convicción, había logrado forjarse una identidad para combatir contra los infieles en el ejército de Carlomagno. Agilulfo puso todas sus fuerzas en un orden deseado y lo hizo con tal sentido de la exactitud que consiguió robar el corazón a la altiva amazona Bradamante. En esta hermosa fábula sobre la identidad, sobre la diferencia entre ser y creer que se es, Calvino se pregunta la razón por la que un hombre es amado, por la que otro desea vengarse, por la que un tercero se considera hijo, amante, amigo o caballero. La respuesta se encuentra tal vez en la pregunta misma, en su melancolía y su extrañeza.

Heillandi saga af riddara á miðöldum sem er ekki til. Herklæði hans eru tóm en hann talar við félaga sína og berst með þeim. Heiður hans og hugrekki er óvéfengjanlegt. Þegar vafa er varpað á fortíð hans og afrek sem öfluðu honum riddaratignar verður riddarinn að leggja í hættuför til að sanna afrek sín. Calvino gerir stólpagrín að hugsjónum miðaldariddarans og aðalsins. Unaður aflestrar. ( )

Calvino is one of those authors I always come to slightly nervously, knowing he's going to be difficult and experimental, but then have to laugh at myself because I should have remembered from the last five or six times how much fun "difficult and experimental" becomes when he's in charge of it. This particular one is, as we should all know, the missing link between Orlando furioso and Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Agilulfo is the most perfect knight in Charlemagne's army. Brave, reliable, immaculately clean, a model of efficiency and a walking encyclopaedia of the rules of chivalry, the only knight in the army who finds inspecting regimental kitchens as interesting and rewarding as smiting the infidel. Oddly enough, he doesn't seem to have many friends... And even more oddly, he doesn't appear to exist. When he lifts the visor of his spotless white suit of armour, it turns out that there's no-one inside it.

But then there's the irrepressibly keen young Rambaldo, raised on tales of chivalry (which did not have anything to say about the administration of regimental kitchens and the proper way to make cabbage soup) and out to avenge his father's death at the hands of the Moors; the enigmatic amazon-warrior Bradamante (with the messiest tent in the army) who lusts after the efficient Agilulfo from inside her suit of armour; young Torrismondo who isn't quite who he says he is; and Agilulfo's unusual squire Gurdulú, who isn't quite sure what species he belongs to. And finally, there's Sister Theodora who is writing all this down for us as a penance imposed by the Abbess, and who for all we know may be making some or all of it up. Particularly the bit where she herself is carried off into the action...

Calvino is obviously playing around with ideas of identity and how we define it to ourselves, as well as doing his usual thing of undermining our trust in the narrator, but he's also having fun with our perception of what the Age of Chivalry was like, by reminding us that Charlemagne's army must have been an actual army, with all the practical needs and administrative headaches that armies have in the real world. Roland and the rest wouldn't have been able to do glorious battle without all the farriers and saddlers and armourers and makers of cabbage soup, and somewhere or other there must have been room for boring staff officers with rulebooks to make sure that everyone was in the right place at the right time. Which is probably an insight that has something to do with Calvino's own experience as a communist partisan during the war. His rather less-than-Wagnerian view of the Knights of the Grail also has a distinctly World War II flavour to it... ( )

I haven't read any Calvino but If on a Winter's Night a Traveller, and that was many years ago. I've been meaning to read more for a while, and this book looked so charming that I just had to pick it up.

I have to say, I was a little bit disappointed. The knight character didn't exist, so it isn't like you could be drawn into the story by empathy for him, most of the other characters hardly felt original (partly the point, yes, I know), there was a castle filled with sex-starved ladies that felt more like a Monty Python sketch than anything else, the bit with the nun turning out to be one of the characters from the story was obvious from a mile off, and while the whole deal with the Knights of the Round Table was certainly... different, I had no idea how to feel about it. Was it supposed to be clever? Satirical? Funny? Ironic? I finished the book with a feeling of "well..."

There were some clever bits, and some ways that it was clear that Calvino was poking some fun at some knights and chivalry tropes, but then the book ends with a rape (I'm sorry, but if the woman you're having sex with thinks you're someone else, and wouldn't have consented if she knew your identity, that's rape.) and then the woman falling in love with her rapist.

Ugh. ( )