At his death, in 1985, only three stories had been completed: “Under the Jaguar Sun,” “A King Listens,” and “The Name, the Nose.” Had he lived, this book would certainly have evolved into something quite different. In the light of Calvino’s previous works and given what he said to me—“How shall I make a book out of this?”—I believe he would not have stopped with sight and touch, the two “missing” senses. He would have provided a frame, as in If on a winter’s night a traveler, a frame that amounts to another novel, virtually a book in itself. In fact, in notes written a few days before he fell ill—when he had started to think about the book’s overall structure—Calvino refers to the importance of the frame and defines it: Both in art and in literature, the function of the frame is fundamental. It is the frame that marks the boundary between the picture and what is outside. It allows the picture to exist, isolating it from the rest; but at the same time, it recalls—and somehow stands for—everything that remains out of the picture.
