This collection of stories by the versatile Italian writer, Dino Buzzati, bears a curious resemblance to the stories of Jorge Luis Borges. Borges's argument - and Buzzati's - appears to be with the nature of man.

Like Borges, Mr. Buzzati employs a relative simplicity of language to reveal and conceal the circularity and ineluctability of time and destiny. The longest story in the collection, ''Barnabo of the Mountains'', deals with the fate of a young man who funks his duty as forester and then lives on to the critical moment of reprise, only to discover that the honor he sought to recover has been absorbed in the undifferentiated wholeness of experience.

Another Borgesian device is the assumption that people and events are as well known to the reader as they are to the author. ''The inventor, the famous Aldo Cristofari'' is an invented inventor introduced with an air of universal familiarity.

Preoccupied chiefly with conscience and social decorum, the 14 tales could be described as parables, being short on narrative and long on moral suggestion. A middle-aged man flirts dangerously with the fantasies of childhood. Another story proposes that human imagination has as much to do with reality as any case-hardened fact. A story about a literary doppelg"anger once again demonstrates that one must be careful what one wishes for. And so on...

Why don't more people read Buzzati? Perhaps because he's always associated with Camus, whose philosopy-laden novels are forced on all students. Buzzati is existential, but he's a much better storyteller than anyone else burdened with the "existential" label. Restless Nights is a great collection of short stories that should have won awards for its publisher. There are touches of the surreal here, but his style is too clear and concise to fit in with Breton et al. There are many sci-fi and Twilight Zone effects as well, yet with a more profound and, yes, existential, theme. Think of this as Kafka with a good sense of plot, as if Franz were forced to write half-hour tv scripts. I consider this one a classic. Much better than the other DB collections.

Difficile trovare una trama piu' semplice: il senso di questo romanzo è che gran parte delle donne e degli uomini di questo mondo spende la propria vita in attesa di qualcosa che non arriverà mai e se ne va senza lasciare alcun segno. Ma l'accettazione di questa apparente insensatezza della vita umana, nel mantenimento di una propria dignitosa pulizia, diviene il vero percorso di guerra da affrontare. Il giovane ufficiale Giovanni Drogo - un uomo senza vistose qualità, ma che al termine della sua vita potrà dire "dopotutto la coscienza non è troppo pesante" - viene assegnato, senza averne fatto richiesta, ad una fortezza isolata nel deserto, dove "tutti sono venuti per uno sbaglio", come gli spiegherà il medico militare. Da quel momento tutta le sua vita è dedicata al presidio di quel pezzo di deserto, il deserto oltre il quale vivono i "tartari"; ma l'attacco dei tartari, la cui esistenza stessa appare più un ipotesi che una certezza, non arriva, né arriverà mai. Buzzati raccontò che l'idea del libro nacque durante le lunghe notti passate inutilmente nella redazione di un giornale; gli venne l'idea di trasporre questa condizione di attesa in un contesto militare di fantasia e nel luogo dove, per definizione, nulla può accadere. Ecco allora la metafora della "Fortezza" e il ritratto dei tanti uomini diversamente impegnati, chi per la causa comune chi per procurare vantaggi a se stesso, ma tutti destinati ad un'opera la cui mancanza di senso può sfuggire solo ai più ottusi. Drogo condivide l'attesa di una guerra che non giungerà mai (i caduti sono un soldato ucciso da un compagno perché non ricorda la parola d'ordine o l'ufficiale disperso in una tormenta) finché arriva anche per lui il momento di lasciare la Fortezza, quando vecchio e malato viene cacciato come un inutile peso. Ormai solo e senza affetti sosta in una locanda durante il viaggio verso una casa che non ha alcun desiderio di raggiungere, e in una notte finalmente stupenda, evocativa di una felicità così possibile eppure così sfuggente, si accorge che "la vita dunque si era risolta in una specie di scherzo". Ma libero dai condizionamenti della vita normale, realizza che vivere con coraggio la sua ultima notte può essere la vittoria più importante, lì dove nessuno potrà ammirarlo, dove le trombe non suoneranno e i superiori non premieranno il suo coraggio. E finalmente, nel buio, Drogo sorride. Un romanzo di eccezionale bellezza e profondità, una intuizione lucida ma in fondo intenerita sul senso della vita e sulla capacità delle società moderne, così protettive, di farci dimenticare chi siamo realmente.

Dino Buzzati's novel THE TARTAR STEPPE is a rather unusual piece of literature. Written while the author was in despair over a dead-end job in a newspaper, the book is a metaphor for the discontent that is life.

The plot of the book is that Giovanni Drogo, a newly-commissioned officer, sets out from his home for his first place of duty, Fort Bastiani, a place which symbolizes everyone's life and work. Disappointed at first by the loss of youth and innocence and the burden of manhood thrust upon him, Drogo at first wishes to leave. As time goes by, however, he sees the beauty of the fort and comes to enjoy his surroundings. On subsequent visits to his home town and family, he sees how alien his former world has become, spurring him to cherish the fort even more.

Fort Bastiani is a nearly-forgotten defense placed in a mountain range that looks over a vast wasteland, the steppe of the novel's title. The soldiers stationed there grow old waiting for an attack that never comes, representing the feeling that one's work ultimately means nothing. Towards the Drogo, an ailing old man, is taken away from the fort to a grey sea, representing Death. However, Buzzati's ending is a clever surprise that convinces the reader that hope is still possible.

The nature of this book may remind some of the works of Franz Kafka. Like in Kafka, THE TARTAR STEPPE takes place in an undefined time and place and is highly metaphorical. Nonetheless, I found this book much more tolerable than the depressing pessimism of Kafka. Whereas Kafka is obsessed with the idea that life is meaningless and inexplicable, Buzzati at least entertains the notion that glory is indeed possible

I cannot comment on this particular translation, having read the translation into Esperanto by Daniele Mistretta. Nonetheless, I believe that THE TARTAR STEPPE's good qualities come across not through the language of the novel, but rather through the characters and events. I'm pretty sure that this book would survive any translation relatively intact. Furthermore, the edition by Penguin Books offers a helpful introduction.

Although perhaps not a novel that must be read by all, THE TARTAR STEPPE is rather enjoyable and quick read. I'd recommend it if the plot seems interesting.

This is a book about how absurd existence is and how men are deemed to deal with the fissure they find between life and its meaning. The question of whether this meaning must come from within man himself or from an event which is external to him lies beneath the whole novel.

Sharing this sense of absurdity with Kafka and Camus, Buzatti creates an atmosphere within which not only the main character gets trapped, but also the reader. They both expect something that never actually occurs, and the tension this anticipation generates page after page makes the novel a compelling read.

The story of Giovanni Drogo, a simple man who attempts to make of his destiny something grand without really doing anything but live and wait and let go, is one of the most fascinating and moving stories in the 20th century literature.

It is indeed a strange book. A young lieutenant is sent to a remote post in the Tartar frontier. At first, he hates it and wants to leave at any cost. Then he succumbs to the place's secret: some sort of masochism that acts like a drug, distorting the lieutenant's sense of time and consuming his life. Thirty years painfully fly, and then something happens. Theme and style are oddly alike in this book: you read and read and nothing happens, and yet it's fascinating. Slow as the book is, you breeze through it. In a stupor, you reach a beautiful ending, of which I am not going to tell you.

A brilliant book by a wonderful author, this deserved a more thoughtful translation. Many of Buzzati's ideas don't translate easily, but in this version even familiar cycling phrases become muddled by direct, word-for-word translation. By all means, if you love Italy or bicycles or bicycle racing, buy this book, but take your time reading - some paragraphs become clear only after a bit of mental rewriting.

This is a book, not just about one of cycling's great events, the Giro, during one of the classic years of that event, 1949. It is a book of literature, of the Italian people recovering from a decade of war, of the duel between the mindset of war being overcome with the temptation of peace, and of the old decorated hero -- Bartoli -- battling time, the inevitable decline of age, and the young Fausto Coppi.

Each chapter is a bon bon that I savoured until it was over. Written by Buzzati, an award winning Italian journalist who was covering his first bike race, the book contains revelations and explanations that those who are unfamiliar with cycling will appreciate. For those who have descended twisting roads, at screaming speeds, from within the peloton, there are great tid bits. The dreams of the grisanti (the domestique) one day raising his arms in victory -- NOT! The crazy old one, leaving six hours before the riders start and finishing after dark, determined to conquer the entire course. Age defying time. The home town rider, "in crisis just two days before" who wins the stage in front of his teachers, his family, and the president of his local cycling club who once presented him with his first bike. Read this book! You'll either jump on your bike in fantasy or save for that next flight to Genoa. I am grateful it has finally been translated into English.

Despite a feeling of something lost in translation, I highly recomend Buzzati's tale of the '49 Giro to anyone interested in Italy, cycling, sports journalism or even World War Two. The book takes the reader the length of Italy from Sicily to the Alps, giving a lyrical look at life in post-war Italy and at times pushing the race into secondary importance. But the race is indeed the story and as a cycling fan I found that the author, who personally admits to a certain ignorance of the sport, had an insight into the race that an aficionado might have overlooked. If you like a mix of fact and fiction, muscle-ache and metaphor, mountain stage heroics and their Homeric interpretations then this is the book for you.