One, None and a Hundred Thousand: A novel

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Pubblicato nel 1926, dopo una lunghissima gestazione (la prima versione risaliva la 1909) fu l’ultimo romanzo di Pirandello e che lui stesso definì "più amaro di tutti, profondamente umoristico, di scomposizione della vita". Why is perspective so elusive? In a world of differing perspectives, which are the absolute truths? Or is there anything known as absolute truth? He is apparently something of a dilettante, having dabbled in various studies but never seeing them through ("I studied in various fields to a fairly advanced point, before I dropped them" -- including three years studying medicine). Still, there is no other reality outside of this, the momentary form we manage to give to ourselves, to others, to things. Trying to explain a Pirandello plot is like trying to catch a tiger by the tail or walking with Vulcan on the lava of Mount Etna: dangerous. Put it this way: One, No One, and One Hundred Thousand is Pirandellian." - Herbert Mitgang, The New York Times

And another woman, after he explains his theory of reality, perception, and identity to her, resorts to even more drastic action, driven to it: "by the instinctive, sudden horror of the act into which she was about to feel drawn by the strange fascination of everything I had said to her" -- a reaction he (and the reader) can hardly fault her for. The capacity for deluding ourselves that today's reality is the only true one, on the one hand, sustains us, but on the other, it plunges us into an endless void, because today's reality is destined to prove delusion for us tomorrow; and life doesn't conclude. It can't conclude. Tomorrow if it concludes, it's finished.” I would pause at every step; I took care to circle every pebble I encountered, first distantly, then more closely; and I was quite amazed that others could pass ahead of me paying no heed to that pebble, which for me, meanwhile, had assumed the proportions of an insuperable mountain, or rather a world where I could easily have settled. No, really,” I said to him, “I’m quite willing to discuss this question with you. But at this moment, you must excuse me.” The Chicago Manual of Style recommends spelling out the numbers zero through one hundred and using figures thereafter—except for whole numbers used in combination with hundred, thousand, hundred thousand, million, billion, and beyond (e.g., two hundred; twenty-eight thousand; three hundred thousand; one million). In Chicago style, as opposed to AP style, we would write four hundred, eight thousand, and twenty million with no numerals—but like AP, Chicago style would require numerals for 401; 8,012; and 20,040,086.After all, the "Moscarda" he believed himself to be was different when he was alone, or with his wife, his tenant, or his friends. And there were hundreds--no, thousands--of additional Moscardas in the minds of everyone who had met or heard of him. In so far as the word "knowledge" has any meaning, the world is knowable; but it is interpretable otherwise, it has no meaning behind it, but countless meanings.—"Perspectivism." It is our needs that interpret the world; our drives and their For and Against. Every drive is a kind of lust to rule; each one has its perspective that it would like to compel all the other drives to accept as a norm." It would risk spoiling the novel’s ending to detail just what Moscarda does in its less ponderous second half, but suffice it to say that his exploits involve a bank, a house, and his wife, all three of which his late father bequeathed to him as an inheritance. However, rather than supporting his theory that you’re an irreconcilably different person for each of your friends, it needs to be said that what happens to him is the result of his concerted efforts, and not the result of reality simply playing out as he describes it. And more importantly, there are more prosaic (yet more compelling) explanations for the novel’s denouement than the suggestion that other people were repelled by the fact that he no longer satisfied their conceptions of him. For example, the trustees of his inherited stake in the bank begin turning against him, not because he “dismantles” the “me” that he was for them but simply because they fear losing money. And the obverse, how other people construct their own version of his identity for themselves is an unavoidable truth Moscarda refuses to accept, particularly the way his wife Dida has constructed his identity as Genge, her little Genge, a little, loveable fool. Ahhh . . . unacceptable! On top of this, how the two men running the bank his father founded, Quantorzo, the manager, and Firbo, the councilor, likewise think him a harmless fool. And the people in his small city? Since Moscarda benefits so directly and handsomely from the business of the bank, they think him a usurer. A usurer! Now he really has reason to be driven berserk. Alcuni passaggi li ho trovati alquanto ingarbugliati, contorti. Ma nel complesso direi che è andata bene.

Vitangelo Moscarda's world falls into complete disarray when, one day, by an innocent question, he's confronted with the reality that he isn't exactly of the same image he thought he had. Meaning, he looked different from his own mind-view of himself. And hence, Moscarda was to move into this never-ending soul-searching journey where he tries to find "the true self", the one who he believes is his original persona. Moscarda chooses to expose his true self by behaving contrary to his usual self in everyday aspects of his life, breaking down the fake images of Moscarda built to please the people in his life, exposing his true, darker desires. This, leads him to a journey towards madness and rediscovery. Credeva d’essere uno, scoprì d’essere centomila, decise d’essere nessuno. Scivolò nella follia (follia?) per trovare riparo, salvezza e liberazione, per morire e rinascere ogni giorno, nuovo e completo. No. And, besides, it would have been useless. In my study there were no mirrors. I needed a mirror. For that matter, the very thought that my wife was at home was enough to make me aware of myself, and this is exactly what I didn’t want. Written by Nobel Laureate Luigi Pirandello over the course of 15 years, One, None, and One Hundred Thousand was a groundbreaking look at the nature of identity and the self.

IV. The Way in Which I Wanted to Be Alone

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