A story that explores the meaning of self and whether we truly know ourselves or not. And do others see us as we are or as they want us to be? Does our outer appearance match our inner personality?!!

The idea of the story is ingenious and the beginning is good. But as I delved deeper into it, I felt a great deal of boredom and a lack of coherence in some parts. In my opinion, the author was focused on the idea and what lies behind it, rather than caring about the overall structure of the story.

Perhaps the author could have spent more time developing the characters and their relationships to make the story more engaging. Or maybe worked on improving the flow and transitions between different scenes. Nevertheless, the central concept of the story is thought-provoking and has the potential to be a great piece of literature with some further refinement.

"Life is constantly moving forward, and you can never truly see the same self."

This book is mainly about speculation. Look at yourself in the mirror. Who are you each time?

We are all in a state of flux, constantly evolving and changing. Our experiences, emotions, and thoughts shape us into different versions of ourselves with each passing moment.

Sometimes, we may feel like we know ourselves very well, but then a new situation or encounter can make us question who we really are.

The act of looking in the mirror can be both revealing and confusing. It shows us our physical appearance, but it doesn't necessarily reflect the complex and ever-changing nature of our inner selves.

This book encourages us to reflect on our identity and to embrace the fact that we are constantly becoming something new.

One, No One and One Hundred Thousand is, in short, a truly remarkable novella. It is not only funny and thought-provoking but also highly entertaining, making it well worth reading. Pirandello's masterful storytelling takes you on a journey deep into the rabbit-hole mind of the protagonist, Vitangelo Moscarda.

The entire story centers around a seemingly innocent yet profound realization: that our perception of ourselves is not the same as how those around us perceive us. In fact, each person we interact with views us in a unique way that is never equal to our self-perception. From this simple yet powerful insight, Pirandello has crafted a mesmerizing and delightfully hilarious tale, filled with refreshingly creative twists and turns.

As a newcomer to Italian literature, I found One, No One and One Hundred Thousand to be an excellent introduction. It has undoubtedly piqued my interest and left me eager for more. Without hesitation, I give this novella 5 stars. In addition to being entertaining and captivating, it is also beautifully written, with many pages of exquisite prose, even in translation. It is a literary gem that should not be missed.

Tanto ho amato Il fu Mattia Pascal, tanto ho odiato Uno, nessuno e centomila.

Noioso, piatto, soporifero. Questo libro mi ha lasciato completamente indifferente. Forse le letture scolastiche non aiutano certo ad assaporare al meglio un libro, ma l'avrei volentieri lasciato perdere dopo meno di dieci pagine. Non ho trovato nulla di interessante o coinvolgente nella storia. I personaggi sono poco sviluppati e la trama è lineare e prevedibile. Mi sembra che l'autore abbia cercato di fare troppo, ma senza raggiungere alcun risultato positivo. In definitiva, Uno, nessuno e centomila non è un libro che consiglio a nessuno.

It is really very difficult for me to write anything about this particular book, mainly because it evoked such conflicting feelings in me. The central character of the story is Moscatelli who, one fine morning, from a seemingly insignificant event, realizes that the image he has of himself is completely different from the image his wife and all the others have of him. At first, by image he means literally his physical appearance. Gradually he extends his reasoning to the individual characteristics that make up a human personality. The aspect of your character that your wife sees, for example, is completely different from that which the neighbor sees or from what you believe about yourself. So you break up into a thousand small, different pieces and from one you become a hundred thousand, but essentially, no one. Of course, to reach such levels of reasoning, he turns into an external observer of both himself and those around him, gradually touching the limits of obsession.

Up to this point, then, we have a philosophical novel with amazing introspection and development of the hero's psychological makeup. The only writer who has managed to do something so skillfully is, in my opinion, Dostoyevsky and there were moments when it reminded me of him a lot, especially when he was struggling to balance between logic and madness.

But something happened from the middle and on. I read in the introduction that Pirandello needed 15 years to complete this particular novel. And so it showed. It was as if from page X, someone else continued to write the book. The development seemed disjointed from the original goal of the book, resulting in a let-down and leaving me with a more general confusion about the reasons why he chose to add certain places and characters towards the end of the book. I don't know if all this is just my idea, but in any case it took something away from the initial expectations I had for this book.

“Non conosceva nulla, né si conosceva; viveva per vivere, e non sapeva di vivere; gli batteva il cuore, e non lo sapeva; respirava, e non lo sapeva; moveva le pàlpebre, e non se n’accorgeva.” Pirandello started working on Uno nessuno centomila in 1909. The first installment of the work was published in 1925 in “Fiera letteraria”. The drama of Vitangelo Moscarda begins when his wife makes a comment about the small imperfection of his nose. In front of the reflected image, personality and reality shatter: Vitangelo Moscarda is not, for others, what he believes himself to be. This sets off a dense monologue that highlights the multiplicity of being. But for Vitangelo, who is Vitangelo Moscarda? So far he had believed to be one. “A chi dire «io»? Che valeva dire «io», se per gli altri aveva un senso e un valore che non potevano mai essere i miei; e per me, così fuori degli altri, l’assumerne uno diventa subito l’orrore di questo vuoto e di questa solitudine?” Vitangelo rebels. He starts taking actions that disrupt and overturn every certainty about his appearance. He desperately tries to prove that he is not what others believe. “– Pazzo! Pazzo! Pazzo! Era lo stesso grido di tutta la folla lì davanti la porta: – Pazzo! Pazzo! Pazzo! Perché avevo voluto dimostrare, che potevo, anche per gli altri, non essere quello che mi si credeva.” He believed to be one, discovered to be a hundred thousand, decided to be no one. He slipped into madness (madness?) to find refuge, salvation and liberation, to die and be reborn every day, new and complete. P.S. Walking, I suddenly looked at a shop window to catch the “I” that I don't know. Pirandello, Pirandello! Uno, nessuno e centomila. Videoassaggi, un libro in cinque morsi Libri sul divano dei pigri

Segunda tentativa falhada para gostar de Pirandello...

Um homem, de nome Moscarda, fica a saber, porque a mulher lhe diz, que tem o nariz de esguelha. E por uma coisa sem importância, acaba a ficar pirado (eu estou em crer que já era) e a pretender endoidecer-me com tantas repetições de que ninguém é um mas cem mil. Se eu entendi este problema, é mais ou menos assim: se uma pessoa tem espinafre nos dentes, e uma alma caridosa a informar, passa a ser duas pessoas — a que não sabia da anomalia e a esclarecida — e, obviamente, uma terceira pessoa quando tira o espinafre; ou talvez uma quarta pessoa dependendo de se cospe ou engole o resíduo; ou ainda uma quinta, caso o tire com a unha ou com um palito.

_____________

Prémio Nobel da Literatura 1934

Luigi Pirandello nasceu em Itália (Agrigento) em 28 de junho de 1867 e morreu em Itália (Roma) em 10 de dezembro de 1936.

Luigi Pirandello was a renowned Italian playwright, novelist, and short story writer. His works often explored themes such as identity, reality, and the nature of truth. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1934 for his "bold and brilliant renovation of the drama and the stage." Pirandello's writing style was characterized by its complexity and ambiguity, which sometimes made it difficult for readers and audiences to fully understand his works. However, his contributions to the world of literature are widely recognized and respected.

I have relished several other masterpieces penned by this author, like The Late Mattia Pascal. However, this particular work proved to be a Did Not Finish (DNF) for me. I managed to progress approximately one-third of the way through, so I truly gave it a valiant effort.

In all the other literary creations I have perused by this author, the central character is typically an anti-hero. He stumbles through the labyrinth of life, constantly making missteps in both his actions and words. Subsequently, he endeavors to make amends, only to find himself sinking deeper into the quagmire. This book indeed features the customary wit and sarcasm, but essentially, it amounts to philosophical meanderings as we bear witness to the main character's descent into insanity. Otherwise, there is a distinct lack of a coherent plot.

“Wives are made for discovering a husband’s faults.” His father passed away before he could give him a grandson “who would be not at all like me.” He desires to be alone “without myself, and with a stranger at hand.” There is an abundance of mirror-gazing. Who is that person? Is it me? A stranger? What if we were never capable of seeing a reflection of ourselves? You're not the same person you were a minute ago. (Hence the one hundred thousand in the title.) “Does a cloud by any chance know anything of the fact of being?...But to explain the wherefore of the why?” I ultimately threw in the towel. Perhaps it's just my personal shortcoming because the book enjoys a high rating on Goodreads – approximately 4.1, and many of my Goodreads friends have lauded it highly. I refrained from assigning a rating as I did not complete it. I also take note of some confusion regarding the title of this translated work – it is listed as both ‘One, None’ and ‘One, No One.’ The Italian author (1867-1936) was the recipient of the Nobel Prize in 1934. Photo from news.18.com

Forse tu, Vitangelo Moscarda, Gengè o in qualsiasi modo tu voglia essere chiamato, sei entrato nella mia psiche, ne hai estratto i pensieri e ne hai tratto una storia?

It seems that you, Vitangelo Moscarda, Gengè or whatever you want to be called, have entered my psyche, extracted my thoughts and crafted a story from them?

I come out of this reading even more confused about the perception that I think others have of me, and all of this scares me. I look at myself in the mirror in the morning and see a person; I walk in the middle of the crowd, I notice that I am being observed and I think that, surely, that person does not perceive me as I think I perceive myself because I cannot look at myself.

We are never one, it is impossible, we are a hundred thousand for every person we meet and no one for ourselves.

Pirandello, you really made it big, let's be honest!

My book (100) for the year 2018.

When you remain deceived by everyone throughout your life... even by yourself! When you discover that no one really knows you, each of them sees you as they want, not as you really are. When you get lost in the mazes of your soul and can't get out... when you search for your true self and try to show it to others but don't succeed! When everything around you collapses because of one stance and one small word: What will you do????

The rating:

Map of Life or whatever you call it now. I have really enjoyed reading it. It has become one of the books that I will read again and again as long as I live.

It is a book that makes you think when you look in the mirror.

It is among the books that are read again and again. This book has a special charm that keeps pulling me back. The stories and lessons within its pages are like precious pearls that I discover anew with each reading. It has the power to touch my heart and make me reflect on my own life. I can't wait to pick it up again and lose myself in its wonderful world.

Whether I'm in a quiet corner of my room or sitting outdoors under a tree, this book always provides me with a source of inspiration and entertainment. It is truly a gem that I will cherish for a long time to come.

An exciting and captivating title. And an unknown author's name. And a publishing house that values books and has excellent production. That's enough to pique my interest in picking up the book and flipping through it.

However, it is known that the author has won the Nobel Prize in Literature, which gives the book credibility, and to think that it was written 35 years ago! That's the decisive "marketing" blow.

The idea on which this work is based is a novel idea that I have been thinking about and that has aroused my reflections for a long time, and a magical and intelligent novel emerged. But unfortunately, the author lost the depth of the idea and the beauty of the beginning in the confusion and wandering in the place. So the idea is not saturated with research and expansion, nor is it enriched with style and events. In fact, the book was not a novel in the strict sense. And perhaps the length of the period in which the book was written is the hidden reason behind this confusion and loss that the book wore.

Finally, it was mentioned in the citations of awarding the Nobel Prize to the author (Pirandello) (his magical ability to transform psychological analysis into a creative theatrical form). And this "semi-novel" was a "failed" attempt to raise the question of the formation of "the self" and its personal and social connection.