Calvino Love

"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(intersect) on a carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon..."

I am reading a book by Italo Calvino right now.  The book has oddly met me in a depresed mode and I find that the longer the book goes on the deeper I fall into depression and emptiness.  The story that only begins...never ends...never existed...can't be translated...was mis-understood...lost in translation...lost in the unspeakable void that is the publishing department. I'm struggling right now.