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A review by dgildag
One, No One and One Hundred Thousand by Luigi Pirandello
4.0
The notice of a slight imperfection leads to a descent into madness and a frenzied reflection on who defines our identity and if any single self really exists.
The first hundred or so pages, which chronicle the increasingly frantic thoughts of the protagonist as he becomes obsessed with others perception of him and whether he has any true ‘self,’ do drag on, but are worth the literary jaunt to add context to the narrative that develops in the latter half of the book.
A proto-existentialist work, it feels especially relevant now given today’s zeitgeist, which is concerned with defining titles, labels, and identity. Within the protagonist’s chaotic ramblings are moments of lucidity containing insights into who we are and how we are defined by our society.
Although I struggled greatly through the first half of the book, now that I have finished it, I am compelled to give it a second reading, in which, I focus less on the narrative arc and more on the implications of the protagonist’s claims regarding self-identity (or lack there of).
I would read this book not necessarily as a novel, but as a philosophical treatise of-sorts - one that impels us to reflect on who we are and how we (and others) define ourselves.
The first hundred or so pages, which chronicle the increasingly frantic thoughts of the protagonist as he becomes obsessed with others perception of him and whether he has any true ‘self,’ do drag on, but are worth the literary jaunt to add context to the narrative that develops in the latter half of the book.
A proto-existentialist work, it feels especially relevant now given today’s zeitgeist, which is concerned with defining titles, labels, and identity. Within the protagonist’s chaotic ramblings are moments of lucidity containing insights into who we are and how we are defined by our society.
Although I struggled greatly through the first half of the book, now that I have finished it, I am compelled to give it a second reading, in which, I focus less on the narrative arc and more on the implications of the protagonist’s claims regarding self-identity (or lack there of).
I would read this book not necessarily as a novel, but as a philosophical treatise of-sorts - one that impels us to reflect on who we are and how we (and others) define ourselves.