"Triumphs of nuance and suggestion."--"Chicago Tribune""Ruminative, elegiac, and mordantly funny, Tabucchi's prose conjures a state between waking and dreaming."--"The New York Times"From "A Whale's View of Man": "Always so feverish, and with those long limbs waving about. Not rounded at all, so they don't have the majesty of complete, rounded shapes sufficient unto themselves, but little moving heads where all their strange life seems to be concentrated. They arrive sliding across the sea, but not swimming, as if they were birds almost, and they bring death with frailty and graceful ferocity . . . Sometimes they sing, but only for themselves, and their song isn't a call to others, but a sort of longing lament. They soon get tired and when evening falls they lie down on the little islands that take them about and perhaps fall asleep or watch the moon. They slide silently by and you realize...
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