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billy_p 's review for:
The Late Mattia Pascal
by Luigi Pirandello
This just goes to show that a self-obsessed, neurotic narrating voice is not the sole province of mid-to-late twentieth century New York males. I liked the nihilistic lament in the preface, and the exploration of how much of identity is socially-constructed, meaningful only as reflected in others. Made me think of The Passenger, for obvious plot reasons. Read on vacation, and in English, of course, as my Italian is only strong enough to allow me to participate in stilted tea party conversation for six year olds, or perhaps stop a crime.