One, No One, and One Hundred Thousand

"If for others I wasn't the one I thought I was until then, who was I after all?"

"Is the person I am for others the same as the person I am for myself?" This is the idea that strikes Moscarda, the protagonist of this story, after his wife tells him that he has a crooked nose, something he had never noticed before.

It is from this observation that his life changes radically. The protagonist begins to question his appearance and personality, especially the way people see him. That is, he realizes that what he is, or what he thinks he is, is never what people think of him.

As he progresses in his observations, everything in his life changes: what goes on in his head, his attitudes, his way of life. Moscarda decides that he no longer wants to be the one people think he is. And ultimately, what is he? He is nothing. He is one, he is nobody and he is a hundred thousand.

In this book, there is an exposition of the clear conflict between what we desire to be and what others expect of us. We understand that the concern we all have about how people see us can bring a lot of paranoia and unhappiness. We all have a filter and we all look at other people with that filter.

No one is always the same person, all day every day. Depending on the environment we are in, we are completely different. And if we are not completely different, it is the others who will interpret us differently. Here another question arises: why would someone bother to be the ideal when others will interpret them however they want?

"One, nobody and a hundred thousand" addresses a subject that I had never stopped to think about, at least not in this way. I highly recommend it. It is one of those books that stay with you for life and make you think a lot. We are all multiple things and we are all in constant change. It is important never to forget!

[I don't know if this text is too confusing, but read this book!]

"The ability to think that today's reality is the only truth, on the one hand sustains us, on the other hand it plunges us into an endless void, because today's reality is destined to be revealed tomorrow as an illusion."

https://www.instagram.com/p/B3aDEV9j1gy/

First and foremost, I want to express my gratitude to Eva at Spurl Editions for providing me with a copy of this remarkable book. I purchased a copy many years ago, but it ended up on my shelf, forgotten. Now, having finally read it, I can say that it has become a book that is both deeply disturbing and exceptionally well-written, one that will likely haunt me forever. I cherished every moment of reading it.

To put it briefly, "One, No One, and One Hundred Thousand" is a novel that, in the author's own words, "deals with the disintegration of the personality." It is a very dark and intense read. The story begins with a seemingly innocent conversation between a husband and wife about his nose. Once 28-year-old Vitangelo Moscarda realizes that his nose tilts, he finds himself plunged into a serious existential crisis. Although this premise may seem somewhat absurd, the story that unfolds from this point is anything but. As Moscarda's sense of reality and self-awareness go awry, he becomes determined to untangle his true self from all the other identities that have been constructed for him.

I have a profound love for books that explore the perceptions of self and others and the delusions that are inherent within. This is, in fact, my true "raison d'être" for reading. However, "One, No One, and One Hundred Thousand" is like nothing I have ever read before in this genre. It presents a vivid portrait of a fragmented and tormented man whose understanding of his own misperceptions of himself leads him down a path that ultimately leads him into an "endless void." On one hand, it is terrifying; on the other hand, it is comical. And all the while, we are trapped inside Moscarda's head as he experiences his "sickness" and discovers the "remedy" that will eventually cure him. It is extreme and, for me, a little bit sad, to say the least.

I won't sugarcoat it for you - this book is challenging and philosophical in nature. In my opinion, it requires the reader to pause and reflect along the way, and even more so at the end of the story. This, of course, makes it right up my alley as a reader. One final point: for anyone who might question the relevance of a book written in 1926 to our modern times, I would direct your attention to social media, an entire "universe" of constructed selves and constructed realities.

For more insights and thoughts (without spoilers), please visit my reading journal at https://www.readingavidly.com/2018/10...

THE TERRIFYING SUBJECTIVITY OF THE OUTSIDE WORLD

This is a delightfully ironic description of a completely subjective world where we see ourselves differently from all those around us.



We have a different opinion of ourselves compared to others. Even our own physiognomy takes on subjective dimensions.

After all, we have never been able to admire ourselves from the outside, detaching ourselves from our own bodies.

When the protagonist realizes this, a serious existential crisis begins.

We often take for granted that our perception of ourselves is the 'true' one. However, in this subjective world, what we think of ourselves may not be what others see. This disparity can lead to feelings of confusion and self-doubt. The protagonist's realization of this subjectivity shatters their previous understanding of themselves and the world around them. It forces them to question everything they thought they knew, and to confront the terrifying reality that their self-image may be completely different from how others perceive them. This existential crisis becomes a turning point, leading the protagonist on a journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance.

They say that comedy is just one step away from tragedy.

In this book, I found myself in a strange dilemma, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

Certainly, there were moments that made me laugh out loud because there was a great deal of farce within its pages.

However, as the story unfolds, the madness that takes hold also brings with it a real sense of sadness.

Vitangelo, a twenty-eight-year-old married man, is living off the inheritance of his father.

On the surface, there seems to be nothing to complain about.

But one day, when his wife remarks that his nose has a tilt to the right, he becomes completely obsessed with it.

He bombards his friends with questions about his nose, but they don't think much of it.

As time passes, things only get worse.

His nicknames, Gengè which his wife calls him, and Moscara as the locals call him, start to take on a life of their own and become separate characters.

Reality becomes increasingly unreal, and the bizarre becomes all too real.

Definitely, this makes for great comedy.

Vitangelo is aware that he is going mad, and his friends and wife suspect the same.

But when is one truly considered mad?

It's when one starts to do drastic things.

He decides to shut down the bank that his father left him, much to the dismay of his wife, the banker, and the lawyer who run the bank.

The household staff are also not happy when his wife leaves.

All this change creates a great deal of comical situations.

Once the ball starts rolling, it's extremely difficult to stop.

Is it comedy or tragedy? It's a very good question.

Overall, I would rate this book a 3.5 for certain.

If I had read it 20 years ago. I have read Pirandello's "Il fu Mattia Pascal" and already liked it, but this one is extraordinary. It has made me generate hundreds of thoughts and memories like few others have been able to do.

Meanwhile, a mystic, perhaps an aviator, invented commotion and reconciled everyone, the beautiful with the ugly, with some damage for the ugly who saw themselves handed a piece of mirror so as to be able to look at how deep the sea is...

L. Dalla

With a song in the background that could be "The Passenger" by Iggy Pop.

Pirandello has made me uncomfortably recall my readings of Nietzsche as well as of Umberto Eco in "The Name of the Rose" (don't they just remain names in the end?).

What can be said about a sentence like this: The faculty of deluding ourselves that today's reality is the only true one, if on the one hand it sustains us, on the other it precipitates us into an endless void, because today's reality is destined to be revealed as an illusion tomorrow.

It fully enters among my favorites.

I don't even know what I've read.

It started with a nose that hung on the right side and ended with the complete dissolution of identity, self, and logic, and in a way, my patience. Moscarda, an apparently ordinary guy, receives an apparently ordinary comment about how his nose looks and from there enters a spiral of existential questions.

The novel has moments when I really felt that it was saying something profound about how we are never just one, but a thousand versions in the minds of others.

As Rimbaud also said, "\n  Je est un autre.\n". Pirandello seems to take this idea and push it to the limit of what is bearable – until "I" disappears completely.

It's a reading experience..., but I don't know if I would recommend it to someone who is already asking themselves "who am I?". It's better not to ask the question, because you might be left without an answer. Or without an identity.

This novel challenges our perception of self and forces us to question the very essence of who we are. It takes us on a journey through the mind of a character who is grappling with the idea that his identity is not as fixed as he thought.

The writing is engaging and the story is thought-provoking, but it can also be quite disturbing at times. It makes us realize that our identities are fragile and that we are constantly being shaped by the opinions and perceptions of others.

Overall, it's a unique and interesting read, but not for the faint of heart.

Lectură cu un uşor iz de filosofie existenţialistă, "Unul, nici unul şi o sută de mii" prezintă natura multiplă a fiinţei umane. This nature is given by the relationship of the human being with the people around: I present myself in one way in the eyes of X, but in another way in the eyes of Y (and this does not depend exclusively on me, but also on them). There is also the struggle of the physical nature (of the body) with the ego (the soul), as if the body were a heterogeneous concept in relation to the soul.

In an attempt to get rid of his own perception of himself (and - inclusively - of the perception of others about him), the narrator, who is also a character, ends up being considered crazy because of the accomplishment of certain actions that, although legal and - more! - moral, attract the aversion of his acquaintances...

Some reflections on the dual nature of being:

1. "Why, when someone wants to commit suicide, does he imagine death not for himself, but for others?"

2. "To know yourself means to die. You stand and look so much in the mirror, in all the mirrors, because you do not live; you do not know, you cannot or you do not want to live. You want to know too much, and you do not live."

3. "People, you see, feel the need to build a house for their feelings. It is not enough for them to have the feelings inside, in the heart; they want to see them outside, to touch them. And then they build a house for them" - a remark regarding the human need for divinity and the pride of the Church (in context).

Andrei Tamaş

Nessuno? But how can there be no one in the church, Bibì? There lies the most respectable of human sentiments. You can't understand these things, because fortunately you are a little dog and not a man.

Men, you see? They need to build a house even for their sentiments. It's not enough for them to have them inside, in the heart, the sentiments: they want to see them outside, touch them; and they build a house for them.

Until now, it had always been enough for me to have it inside, in my own way, the feeling of God. Out of respect for what others had, I had always prevented Bibì from entering a church; but I didn't go in either. I held onto my feeling and tried to follow it by standing up, rather than going to kneel in the house that others had built for it.

Sometimes I wonder if I am missing out on something by not going into the church. But then I remember that my connection with God is unique and personal, and that I don't need a building to feel His presence. I can feel it anywhere, whether I'm walking in the park, sitting at home, or playing with Bibì.

Maybe one day I will change my mind and go into a church. But for now, I am content with the way things are. I have my faith, my dog, and my life, and that's all I need.