A very unusual novel with a highly polished and extremely idiosyncratic style that has survived amazingly well the test of time (meaning: a neurotic Italian in 2008 could easily write as Berto's neurotic character in 1964 where the same is probably not true of a non-neurotic Italian in 1964 and 2008 respectively). Berto also has a way to meander between personal micro-preoccupations and cosmic themes in a way that comes across as completely genuine and non-pretentious. The final chapter, for example, is one of the least sentimental and most convincing depictions of the theme of personal surrender to death that I have ever encountered. This book was on an assigned summer reading list for my first year high school class in 1980. I didn't read it then but I am now very surprised that our teacher would have put it on the list, due to its frank discussion of sexuality. ( )