I admired this book more than I enjoyed it. The hero, Enrico, strives to live a fully present life by eschewing desire/longing/fear, which would get in the way of presence; in doing so, he pares away much of, well, life (e.g., relationships with other people) while remaining relatively insulated from the tumultuous history of twentieth century Central Europe. This philosophy does not resonate much with me personally, though I guess there are worse things to be than a grumpy eccentric on the Istrian coast.  Since Enrico is a classics teacher, Magris also offers some interesting reflections on philology: as the repository of lapidary wisdom/inaccessible ideals (arete timen pherei), as so much chatter covering the profound silence of myth, and as a discipline that paradoxically suppresses the expression of a more passionate, unruly form of textual love (a “discourse on the fate of the sons of Atreus, or on the suffering of Electra,” Enrico muses in the classroom, “would be a total farce, like interrupting the paradigm of an irregular verb to gaze out of the window in admiration of the Julian Alps”).