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Last year I started to write a review of Italo Calvino's "If on a Winter's Night a Traveller". I read it while we were in Germany for Christmas. We'd visited Bremen and also undergone the bizarreness of Christmas in another language - the same motifs played out in different words and different customs. I'd tried to write the review in a similar structure to the book but, in a testament to Calvino's writing I couldn't pull it off. Here's the opening paragraph: