I was uncertain whether to write something about this novel-like biography à la Camilleri and then I said to myself “why not?” So here I am, sharing my thoughts on this book I read about a month ago and which revealed to me several surprising things (at least for me) about Luigi Pirandello and his family.

The figure of LP is full of contradictions (the title itself says a lot about this) and it couldn't be otherwise given the works he managed to produce throughout his suffering (psychologically but also economically, and those who read it will find proof) existence.

His story (at least the one narrated here) is interspersed with many Sicilian terms (of which I do not know the dialect but which the skilled Camilleri manages to make us understand without translating them) that drag us to the coastal towns where his father Stefano (loved and hated and loved again by him, read to believe) works at the port and the sulfur mines from a century and a half ago in that land so unique and different from all other Italian regions.

The artistic path of LP does not follow a straight line; it rather takes us on a journey that touches various cities, up to Tuscany where he will reside for a long time with his wife who also suffers from mental disorders emerging from a pathological form of jealousy not plausibly supported by real facts and the gentlemanly behavior always displayed by our LP (regardless of his youthful escapades even abroad).

The book narrates with rapid brushstrokes, but also deeper ones, the main characteristics of the Sicilian playwright's parents and children (especially the beloved daughter), awarded the Nobel prize for literature in 1934, who appeared in Agrigento in 1867 and passed away in Rome in 1936.

In its small way, the book AC delves into the characters of the novels written by Pirandello and shows us how, where, and why He drew them and infused them with their own life, remaining emblematic from then until today. I've read it, but it could just as well be said that I devoured it in one breath. Despite having temporarily quenched my thirst for Him, it hasn't extinguished the desire to drink more and more through his writings here (in Camilleri's book) worthily reported.

I want to close these brief thoughts on this beautiful biography (which I recommend to all those who, like me, know LP only superficially but also to others, of course) with a quote from “Uno nessuno e centomila”:

Because a reality was not given to us nor is there;

but we must create it for ourselves if we want to be;

and it will never be one forever,

but constantly and infinitely changeable.

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