A man is sitting on an armchair, reading a novel he had started few days ago.

He
is so engaged in the story and characters of the book, while simultaneously
enjoying his cigarettes, and the view of the park from his windows.

A man and woman, who are having an affair, meet up in a cabin. When they parted
ways, the man goes to the woman's house to kill her husband. Following her
instructions, the man goes inside with a knife on his hand, and sees his target
victim: a man sitting on an armchair, reading a book.

In‌‌
the‌‌end,‌‌the‌‌
man,‌‌ who‌‌
is‌‌the‌‌woman’s‌‌lover,‌‌is‌‌going‌‌into‌‌
a‌‌house‌‌to‌‌
kill‌‌the‌
‘husband’‌‌
‌ who‌‌is‌‌sitting‌‌in‌‌a‌‌
green‌‌armchair‌‌reading‌‌ a‌‌
book,‌‌ which‌‌
was‌‌the‌‌same‌‌exact‌‌thing‌‌that‌‌
the‌‌man,‌‌
who‌‌is‌
first‌‌
‌ mentioned‌‌in‌‌the‌‌
story,‌‌reading‌‌the‌‌book‌‌is‌‌doing,‌‌and‌‌furthermore,‌‌ the‌‌
house‌‌the‌‌lover‌‌is‌‌
going‌
into‌‌
‌ is‌‌
the‌‌same‌‌as‌‌
the‌‌man‌‌
and‌‌the‌‌
park‌‌he‌‌
crosses‌‌ to‌‌get‌‌there‌‌
is‌‌the‌‌
same‌‌one‌‌as‌‌well.‌‌This‌‌
leaves‌‌the‌
reader‌‌
‌ (us),‌‌to‌‌
think‌‌ and‌‌decide,‌‌
if‌‌
the‌‌man‌‌
in‌‌the‌‌story‌‌is‌‌really‌‌the‌‌husband‌‌of‌‌
the‌‌wife‌‌the‌‌whole‌‌time,‌‌
or‌‌he‌‌
got‌
so‌‌
‌ lost‌‌in‌‌
the‌‌fictional‌‌
world‌‌that‌‌
he‌‌literally‌‌ becomes‌‌ a‌‌
participant‌‌ in‌‌
it.‌‌

Did the ending of the story surprise you? Why did it

surprise you (if it did)? Should you have been surprised
by the ending?

You may have noticed that seemingly insignificant

details in the early part of the story are essential for
making sense of the ending. For example, the reference
to the green velvet upholstery at the beginning of the
story becomes a key to understanding the last sentence.
What other details does Cortázar casually plant at the
beginning of the story that become important at the
end? What is the significance of these details? Are there
any wasted details?

On first reading, “Continuity of Parks” seems to present a puzzle that readers must
solve, as reality and fantasy intersect. In fact, however, no solution is possible,
and Cortázar is not interested in puzzles in the first place. On a basic level, the
short story seems to cry out for a tidy analysis and explanation. If we mistake
Cortázar’s story for an O. Henry tale with a pat twist ending or a detective story
in which all becomes clear in the final moments, “Continuity of Parks” may tempt us
into looking for one correct interpretation. We wonder how it is possible that the
man reading the novel turns up in the summary of the novel’s plot, and we may fall
into the trap of trying out different theories that would explain this conundrum
and trying to pin down the correct one. Perhaps the man is a character in a book
about a man reading a book. Perhaps he is the husband the adulterous couple is
setting out to kill. Perhaps he is so absorbed in the novel that he is vividly
imagining its events encroaching on his life. A number of explanations seem
possible

Rather than a mystery, the story is actually a metaphor for the experience of
reading: Cortázar’s reader gets so lost in a fictional world that he literally
becomes a participant in it. It is also a metaphor for our reading experience: we
get so swept up in literature—literature including his own story, Cortázar hopes—
that, like the reader in “Continuity of Parks,” we can no longer distinguish
between fiction and reality. It is also a metaphor for the writing experience: to
create convincing fictional worlds, the writer must lose himself in his creations,
just as Cortázar’s reader loses himself in his book. We cannot identify one correct
explanation for the puzzling ending because no single explanation exists. Instead,
the story is an investigation of what it means to write and to read stories.