A hilarious exploration of the relativism of identity from Italian novelist and playwright Luigi Pirandello, winner of the 1934 Nobel Prize in Literature.
This uproarious new translation of One, None, and a Hundred Grand delivers the defining work of Italian existentialism to an English speaking audience—in all its madcap glory. The novel's hero is a wealthy twenty-four-year-old naïf who considers himself "a regular guy," despite being cursed at birth with a surname that's "ugly to the point of cruelty: Maggot. Destined to become a fly, with its sour, spiteful, annoying drone." The story tracks Maggot's reaction to an offhand act of matrimonial malice. Was he aware that his nose leans to the right? He is struck by the full force of the fact that he does not, and cannot, know how others see him. So he sets out on a quest "to coax forth the many Maggots living inside my closest companions, and destroy them one by one." It's a premise, played straight, that acts as an inspired metaphor for the rightward-leaning madness of the 20th century, and a catalyst for a series of absurd scenarios and comic set pieces on par with the very best of 21st century observational comedy—imagine Curb Your Enthusiasm in fascist Sicily. Pirandello splits the atom of the self and detonates a tiny moment into "a catastrophe that supervened the very machinery of the cosmos." Perception and identity are leveled in a literary performance the Nobel laureate regarded as a "complete synthesis of everything I have done and the wellspring of what I will go on to do."
