How we cite our quotes: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #1
You try to picture how the world might appear, this world dense with writing that surrounds us on all sides, to someone who has learned not to read. And at the same time you ask yourself what bond there may be between Ludmilla and the Nonreader, and suddenly it seems to you that it is their very distance that keeps them together, and you can't stifle a feeling of jealousy. (5.64)
What's happening here? Okay, you meet Irnerio in the hallways of the university, and he seems to already know you're looking for Ludmilla. Curious. You realize that there is some bond between them and can't help but feel jealous. After all, your bond with Ludmilla is based on the fact that you're both readers, but there's an innocence to Irnerio that might make him more attractive in Ludmilla's eyes. So for you, jealousy is usually rooted in the thought that some rival can offer a woman something you can't. Grrr.
Quote #2
"She's there every day," the writer says. "Every time I'm about to sit down at my desk I feel the need to look at her. Who knows what she's reading? I know it isn't a book of mine, and instinctively I suffer at the thought, I feel the jealousy of my books, which would like to be read the way she reads" (11.36)
Silas Flannery has been watching a woman read. Um, creepy. He tries to work on his own novels, but finds he can't go for long before he must return to his spyglass and watch her. We repeat: creepy. She's always reading and is always rapt at whatever she's reading. This creates a deep jealousy in Flannery, who wishes that he could write a book that would be read the way she reads. He can't do it, though, and this failure only makes his jealousy worse. Womp womp.
Quote #3
Reader, prick up your ears. This suspicion is being insinuated into your mind, to feed your anxiety as a jealous man who still doesn't recognize himself as such. Ludmilla, herself reader of several books at once, to avoid being caught by the disappointment that any story might cause her, tends to carry forward, at the same time, other stories also.... (13.24)
Wait, what suspicion is Calvino talking about? It's the nerdy suspicion you have when you learn that Ludmilla carries on with many different books at the same time so she can hedge her bets when it comes to satisfaction. You begin to wonder if she does the same thing with the men in her life, and it fills you with jealousy. But at this point, you can't really even admit it to yourself.
Quote #4
The dismay at seeing [Irnerio] enter her house as if it were his is stronger than the uneasiness at being here yourself, half hidden. For that matter, you knew perfectly well that Ludmilla's house is open to her friends: the key is under the mat. (13.29)
When we first read this passage, it seems like you're once again feeling jealous of Irnerio's relationship with Ludmilla. But in this case, your jealousy is connected directly to a physical space. It's not just the idea of another man being romantically involved with Ludmilla that bothers you; it's the fact that he comes and goes from her apartment as he pleases.
And remember, your jealousy of Irnerio comes right on the heels of the jealousy you feel for the various books Ludmilla likes to read at once. You begin to realize that maybe no single man—just as no single book—can satisfy her. And yes, you're so into her that you're even jealous of the books that make her happy.
Quote #5
Jealousy, which has been a kind of game you played with yourself, now grips you relentlessly. And it isn't only jealousy: it is suspicion, distrust, the feeling that you cannot be sure of anything or anyone.... The pursuit of the interrupted book, which instilled in you a special excitement since you were conducting it together with the Other Reader, turns out to be the same thing as pursuing her, who eludes you in a proliferation of mysteries, deceits, disguises.... (13.53)
Whew. You've finally become aware that your jealousy over Ludmilla is directly connected to your desire to chase down the books you've started reading. Way to get fancy on us, Calvino. He's suggesting that there's a general type of desire that comes from not feeling satisfied in some way—whether it's from books or sex. It's a desire that's connected to the fantasy of romance and the fantasy of reading a book that can totally fulfill the promises made by its opening pages.
Quote #6
Little by little you will manage to understand something more about the origins of the translator's machinations: the secret spring that set them in motion was his jealousy of the invisible rival who came constantly between him and Ludmilla, the silent voice that speaks to her through books, this ghost with a thousand faces and faceless, all the more elusive since for Ludmilla authors are never incarnated in individuals of flesh and blood […] (13.113)
So much jealousy! But Marana's jealousy is totally book-related, because books are just way better at inflaming Ludmilla's desire than any human being ever could be. To top it off, Ludmilla is searching for something that always keeps her wanting more. Ah humans—never satisfied. Speaking of which, we could really go for a new pair of boots.
Quote #7
"Why have you come to see me, then?" I replied. "Go to that gentleman and ask him how things stand.' I began to suspect that between the Reader and Ludmilla there was a bond, and this was enough to make my voice take on a hostile tone." (15.157)
Now it's Silas Flannery's turn to feel jealous over Ludmilla. Receiving a visit from you, the Reader, Flannery isn't psyched about the interest you've taken in Ludmilla. Like you, Flannery is dealing with an intense and deep-rooted dissatisfaction, and he wants to use Ludmilla as a way to fill the void in his life. Note to Shmoopers: it ain't gonna work.
Quote #8
[Y]ou savor the certainty, confirmed by the omniscient Director, that between [Ludmilla] and you there no longer exist obstacles or mysteries, whereas of [Marana], your rival, only a pathetic shadow remains, more and more distant. (19.25)
Finally, some relief from your jealousy toward Ermes Marana. You've learned from the Porphyrich that Marana has admitted his defeat, saying that for all of his attempts to intentionally create confusion in reading, "'something happens over which [he has] no power'" (19.18). It's kind of like the final battle in No Country for Old Men, because you never really get to see the showdown take place. Come to think of it, you've never really laid eyes on Marana in this entire book. Marana might as well be a total figment of your jealous imagination.
In this passage, you lose your sense of jealousy as soon as you feel that "between [Ludmilla] and you there no longer exist obstacles or mysteries." Hmm. Does that mean that, as a reader, you've come to understand and identify with Ludmilla's open-minded approach to pleasure in reading? All along, your jealousy might have been the product of a frustrated, normal approach to stories—whether it's the stories you've been reading or the one you've been imagining for yourself with Ludmilla.
Quote #9
It was not until this moment that I thought of Brigid; in a flash I saw Ponko and Brigid, who would dance together on the Feast of Saint Thaddeus, Brigid who would mend Ponko's woolen gloves, Ponko who would give Brigid a marten captured with my trap. (4.7)
Gritzvi, the young narrator of Outside the town of Malbork, goes to his bedroom and encounters Ponko, the young man who is about to take Gritzvi's place in his own home. Up until this moment, the story doesn't give you much of a sense of the antagonism between the two young men, but as soon as the lady folk become involved, flames of jealousy start burning. And sure enough, it leads to a throw-down.