In Dino Buzzati’s novel Il grande ritratto, we witness to the creation of a gigantic computer, as large as the entire valley that houses it. Inside this tecnological miracle, the soul of the deceased wife of scientist Endriade, who leads the project, is reconstructed. “Laura” is thus a hybrid figure, a sort of cyborg, the result of the fusion between human, machine and nature. Therefore, it is interesting to re-read this work using the tools provided by posthuman and eco-critical studies: through such lenses, the need of a re-evaluation of this novel, which was judged too harshly by contemporary critics, become clearer. Moreover, it is possible to identify traces of the artistic and philosophical thought of Yves Klein, whom Buzzati met shortly before beginning the first draft of the novel. The concept of the “pneumatic” void and its implications for the relationship between soul and body explain the very structure of the novel.

Nel romanzo Il grande ritratto di Dino Buzzati si assiste alla creazione di un gigantesco computer, grande quanto l’intero vallone che lo ospita, all’interno del quale sarebbe stata ricostruita l’anima della defunta moglie dello scienziato Endriade, a capo del progetto. “Laura” è quindi una figura ibrida, una sorta di cyborg, risultato della fusione tra umano, macchina e natura. È quindi interessante poter rileggere quest’opera con gli strumenti forniti dagli studi postumani ed eco-critici: attraverso lenti di questo tipo, meglio si comprendono alcune dinamiche che spingono ad una rivalutazione di questo romanzo, giudicato in maniera troppo severa dalla critica dell’epoca. È inoltre possibile individuare nell’opera le tracce del pensiero artistico e filosofico di Yves Klein, che Buzzati conobbe poco prima di iniziare la prima stesura. Il concetto di vuoto pneumatico e le implicazioni che esso ha sul rapporto tra anima e corpo spiegano infatti la struttura stessa del romanzo.

 

Introduction

Buzzati’s novel Il grande ritratto[1] presents a particularly interesting and complex figure of a woman-machine. The plot of the story is in fact based on the creation of a gigantic computer, which not only works like artificial intelligence, but is also capable of having feelings. This scientific creation, known as Numero Uno (Number One), seems to have not only a generic human soul, but a specific one: Endriade, his creator, has succeeded in recreating the soul of his deceased wife, Laura. The presence of her soul in a non-human body eventually drives her to a compulsive jealousy of the human, the female and the body. These feelings lead Laura to attempt to kill Elisa, the wife of one of the scientists working with Endriade.

Therefore, it seems appropriate to pay special attention to the theme of the body and its relationship with the soul. As the ending confirms, the theme of the novel is the conception of the soma as sema. That is, in the Platonic conception, the body as a prison of the soul. To emphasise the importance of this idea, likely inspired by his artist friend Yves Klein, Buzzati gives particular relevance to the descriptions of the body. What emerges is the representation of a cyborg that, although predominantly feminine, also features aspects of male sexuality. Alongside its cybernetic theme, therefore, this novel presents aspects related to spirituality and a form of sexuality that is complex and difficult to define.

Laura lives in a “body” made of cables, antennas and various electronic mechanisms enabling the computer to function. Moreover, both the buildings that hide the computer and the vast valley in which they were constructed must be understood as parts of the machine’s gigantic body. Laura lives in it. She is “chained” to it. This highlights the particular relationship between soul and body arising from this work, positioning this novel as a key text for analysing this theme in Buzzati’s oeuvre. The most significant narrative turning points, in fact, revolve around issues related to the body, its absence and its desire.

Initially, I shall highlight the considerable attention the author dedicates to constructing a new conception of “body” by analysing the most emblematic lexical choices in this regard. Secondly, I will focus on aspects related to femininity, drawing particular attention to the weight of nudity and sexuality, and emphasising how the robot-woman Laura embodies various elements attributable to the concept of a Hybrid. Finally, I will highlight some aspects that allow us to identify the specific source of inspiration for many of the novel’s concepts concerning the relationship between body and soul. This notion may have been influenced by the ideas of the artist Yves Klein, whom Buzzati had the opportunity to meet and admire.

This analysis encourages a re-evaluation of a novel that is often judged too harshly, highlighting not only the influence of Klein’s ideas but also the way that Buzzati’s thought can at present be understood through the lens of new studies related to ecocriticism and posthumanism, theories that are, in fact, related to one another[2].

 

Laura’s body

From the early chapters of the novel, it is clear how much attention is given to the issue of the body. The journey undertaken from the city to the secret location housing the gigantic computer is punctuated with references to bodily nature, including many of the idiomatic expressions or somatic metaphors used to describe the mountainous landscape[3]. In doing so, the author seems to want to ascribe a real body to the landscape, at times giving it anthropomorphic traits. The mountains amidst which the gigantic living computer has been built are first defined as “outlines” (sagome). Subsequently, while providing some references to guide the reader, the language insists heavily on a semantics entirely related to corporeality: «Proprio ai piedi dell’ultimo salto di rocce, oltre al quale l’andamento del terreno lasciava indovinare un altipiano, la strada sboccava in uno spiazzo e qui era il posto di blocco»[4]. A little later in the text, Buzzati writes: «Ai militari del presidio esterno era vietato rigorosamente di entrare entro il perimetro della zona militare, delimitato da una rete di filo spinato (anche sui fianchi delle rupi)»[5].

Here, the attempt to attribute human characteristics to the structure containing the large computer is even more evident. Several elements push in the direction of explicit anthropomorphism: in addition to defining the structure’s movable cables as “arms” or likening the top of the building to an “ancient helmet” (elmo antico[6]), some passages aim at creating an explicit parallelism between the machine and a human being.

Ermanno ed Elisa Ismani, dopo un poco, notarono che nel muro si aprivano, qua e là, vari orifizi sfuggiti a un primo esame: rotondi, quadrati o a sottile feritoia, riparati da sottili reticelle. Alcuni d'essi, più rari, di forma circolare, erano muniti di cristalli convessi, sporgenti, simili a lenti, paragonabili a pupille; e vi scintillava il riflesso della luna[7].

And then again:

Rivolta al più vicino padiglione, esaminava i luccicanti oblò convessi che, aperti qua e là nelle ermetiche pareti con disegno capriccioso, davano al basso edificio una espressione. Quelle gigantesche pupille convergevano, le pareva, su di lei, con una curiosità ingorda, le sembrava di sentire gli sguardi premere sulle sue carni bianche cosparse di lentiggini[8].

Furthermore, a kind of hidden vitality associated with the landscape’s body emerges in opposition to descriptions in which it takes on deadly appearances. The valley leading to the secret location housing Number One is negatively connoted: Ismani believes he must head towards «una bastionata di rocce bianche, dalla sommità tondeggiante, simili a teschi. L’insieme gli diede una sensazione di disagio»[9]. Further along the path, he realizes that their destination is actually on the opposite side, but nevertheless «al ricordo della selvaggia gola con in fondo quelle rupi cadaveriche, provava un’autentica ripugnanza fisica»[10]. The “cadaverous” place, which is evidently associated with the body, is linked to the concept of death through its opposition - both geographical and metaphorical - to the lively body of the mountain containing the soul of Number One. The opposition is also emphasized by the landscape towards which they are actually heading, which is described using many metaphors of bodily nature associated with the idea of vitality.

Rispetto alla gola che sboccava quasi dirimpetto, questa valle era larga, piena di verde, allegra. C’erano boschi e prati accavallantisi in una irregolare successione di ripide gobbe e in fondo a questo romantico scenario si intravedeva una giogaia dirupata. Ma, fosse per la fisionomia diversa delle cime, fosse per la più festosa luce che veniva dal cielo, nel frattempo apertosi a larghe brecce di sereno, Ismani non ebbe stavolta alcuna impressione sfavorevole[11].

The concept is reiterated in the character’s initial impression when facing the panorama of the small citadel that forms the computer structure: «Benché non si vedesse nulla muoversi, si percepiva, sotto l’involucro, una vita arcana che stesse fermentando»[12]. Even before the great secret guarded in the valley is revealed – namely the existence of a gigantic computer not only equipped with highly advanced technology but also a genuine soul – the characters perceive a form of life in the environment around them. The emphasis on the term “physiognomy” should be highlighted, as it repeatedly appears, almost serving as a common thread for the significance that the body acquires as the story develops. The relevance of such a term is evident from its recurrence in the description of the building containing Number One, which is paired with expressions that contrast the building with the idea of death:

Ma la ridotta, o lunga casamatta, o serie di padiglioni o come diavolo si poteva chiamare, non aveva la fisionomia atona e morta che può avere, per esempio, una cabina di trasformazione e neppure l’ermetica apatia che è propria delle tombe (così chiuse e concentrate in sé stesse, indifferenti alla vita intorno)[13].

Finally, the term reappears one last time in the key moment when Elisa Ismani notices the “human correspondence” of the landscape she is in, effectively recognizing her deceased friend Laura in the gigantic computer:

Lentamente, dall’intreccio, apparentemente caotico di muri, spigoli, geometrici profili, usciva una fisionomia, una espressione tipica, qualcosa di lieto, spiritoso, spensierato; non più stabilimento, o fortilizio od officina, o centrale elettrica; semplicemente donna. Giovane, viva, affascinante. Fatta di calcestruzzo e di metallo invece che di carne. Tuttavia miracolosamente donna. Lei. Laura[14].

In addition to the mere physical appearance, some physiological similarities of the machine should also be emphasised. In particular, without humans regulating its activity or the amount of electrical energy required, Number One seems to experience a need similar to sleep.

«Dorme di notte? Non si riposa mai?». «Dormire propriamente no, direi. Sonnecchia, piuttosto. Di notte tutta la sua attività è attenuata.» «Diminuite l’erogazione di energia?». «No, no, da solo si acquieta, proprio come se fosse stanco.» «E sogna anche?»[15]

This dialogue puts forward an evident “biological” aspect of the machine, and ends with a question that anticipates the title of a novel that, published only a few years later, has become a milestone in science fiction literature: Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?[16].

In this scene, I witness a unique form of recognition: even in the absence of a recognisable figure, Elisa Ismani understands that her lost friend is there. This moment is charged with a key post-human concept: the body’s form is not essential for recognition, as Laura’s essence emanates from the new forms and materials that presently house her soul, transcending aesthetic or material criteria.

The idea of the body that emerges from this novel is innovative, including the attribution of corporeal traits to the landscape, which is simultaneously linked to technological progress. Therefore, we can identify a form of thinking aligned with both post-human studies and ecocriticism, which are currents of thought that intersect and overlap.

Posthuman ecocriticism seeks to maintain a sustainable ecological critique of the material interaction of bodies and natures in a highly technologised world and their conceptualisations in literary and cultural texts[17].

Comberiati has already proposed a similar interpretation by suggesting that this novel contains traces of posthumanism and transhumanism:

From a theoretical perspective, Buzzati could position himself within reflections on posthumanism and transhumanism. On the one hand, he depicts a world where consciousness is not exclusively the prerogative of humans (through “Number One,” certainly, but also, if one carefully analyzes the text, through descriptions of nature that live and think much like a human being). On the other hand, the writer questions the possible connections, both physical and psychological, between man and machine[18].

In accordance with Comberiati, I believe that the tools provided by this type of approach can bring out a complexity within Laura – her identity, her sexuality, her body, and her sexual orientation – that has been overlooked until now. Building on this approach, it is indeed possible to reveal new forms of subjectivity that both transcend and blend with the human:

The posthuman perspective is based on the historical assumption of the decline of humanism, but it goes beyond to explore new alternatives without falling into the anti-humanist rhetoric of the crisis of Man. Instead, it endeavours to develop alternative ways to conceptualize posthuman subjectivity[19].

In particular, the novel represents a new type of relationship and interaction between the “human” body, nature, and technology, which is a central theme in the previously mentioned fields of study.

Therefore, by “body”, I do not necessarily mean “human body” – its form is of secondary importance – what matters is its function as a container. This concept initially stems from Strobele’s reaction when explaining the human nature of the machine:

«Dunque», riprese Strobele con un lieve sorriso, «questo gigantesco impianto che è costato finora dieci anni abbondanti di fatica, per dirla in parole povere è... è un nostro parente, è un uomo». «Un uomo dove?», disse Olga. «Un uomo, sì. Una macchina fatta a nostra somiglianza.» «E la testa? Dov’è la testa? E le braccia? e le gambe?» «Gambe non ce ne sono.» Strobele ebbe una espressione di fastidio. «La forma esterna non interessa. Il problema era un altro»[20].

Later on, Endriade explicitly aligns himself with this thought, explaining that he wanted to bring the woman he loved back to life even without her original body: «Una creatura morta, capisce Elisa?, riaverla tale e quale. Senza più il corpo di prima. Ma che conta il corpo, a un certo punto di dolore?»[21]. Subsequently, this thought is further developed by Endriade: he argues that any body, not just a human one, can contain a soul. This brings forth the novel’s real theme, beyond its more superficial science fiction elements: it is a reflection on the soul, its composition, and the possibility of its transmigration:

Da molti anni, caro Ismani, […] un problema mi ha sempre ossessionato: la cosiddetta luce dello spirito, per formarsi e sussistere, ha strettamente bisogno dell’uomo? Fuori di noi dovunque è buio? Oppure questo fenomeno, interessante direi, può crearsi anche altrove purché trovi un corpo, un organismo, uno strumento, un recipiente adatto[22]?

As the monologue continues, the scientist insists on this concept:

Se si riesce a costruirla, automaticamente quel prodotto famoso, quell’essenza impalpabile, il pensiero voglio dire, l’instancabile moto delle idee che non hanno riposo neanche in sonno; di più, di più, non solo il pensiero ma la sua individualizzazione, la permanenza dei caratteri, insomma quel tumore fatto d’aria che però talora ci pesa addosso come se fosse di piombo, l’anima, l’anima dunque vi si stabilirebbe. Diversa dalla nostra? Perché? Che importa se l’involucro, invece che di carne, fosse fatto di metallo? Non è vivente anche la pietra[23]?

We can see here a degree of transcendence from the classical conception of the body, as it does not necessarily have to possess anthropomorphic features or a fleshy substance: limbs can be made of mountains, buildings, or anything else. The body of Laura, or of Number One, takes on a post-human configuration insofar as it distances itself from the form of the human body, as well as erasing the boundaries between body and environment, between inanimate matter and animated matter. Although the limbs of its body are, in fact, “inanimate” objects, it nonetheless exudes a semblance of life:

Non si trattava dunque di abitazioni e neppure di luoghi dove potesse verosimilmente lavorare l'uomo. Bensì di involucri lunari contenenti cose inanimate come per esempio macchine, che non abbisognavano d’aria e di luce; oppure, appunto, di uno speciale fortilizio. Ma la ridotta, o lunga casamatta, o serie di padiglioni o come diavolo si poteva chiamare, non aveva la fisionomia atona e morta che può avere, per esempio, una cabina di trasformazione e neppure l’ermetica apatia che è propria delle tombe (così chiuse e concentrate in sé stesse, indifferenti alla vita intorno)[24].

This fully corresponds to the definition of a post-human subject given by Cimatti:

Being [a posthuman subject] means that there is no separation between body and consciousness, body and world, body and life [...]. Posthumanism means that the human body connects with other living and non-living bodies. Posthumanism is this radical relatedness, without the typical humanistic fear of losing the boundaries (humanism means boundary)[25].

The body of Laura – composed of thousands of small mechanisms, buildings, and bunkers – not only covers the entire valley in which it is situated but also coincides with it: «Non c’era volto, né bocca, né membra, ma per un oscuro incantesimo Laura era tornata al mondo, cristallizzata in paurosa metamorfosi. Quelle terrazze, quelle mura, quei pinnacoli, quelle casematte erano il suo corpo»[26]. A similar interpretation is given by Malvestio, who speaks of it as a living landscape in relation to the very landscape of Il grande ritratto:

Claiming that the landscape plays a central part in Il grande ritratto would be an understatement. Not only does Buzzati make great use of landscape descriptions for atmospheric purposes but he also chooses to disseminate the supercomputer throughout the whole valley, thus transforming it into a living landscape that is simultaneously natural and artificial, uninhabited and anthropic[27].

 

Laura’s gender

The peculiarity of the construction lies in its nature, which is simultaneously mechanical, natural, and human – a fusion that breaks down both physico-spatial boundaries and the human-machine divide. In this regard, Daniele speaks of the «ambiguous features» of Number One, suspended between the human and the non-human:

The description of the space, the details, fully adhere to the depiction of a real yet unknown and simultaneously imaginary world; a construction that, at first glance, can be placed within the categories of human beings but with ambiguous features that become even more indecipherable the more one tries to understand them[28].

Daniele’s observation becomes even more valid when we consider certain aspects related to Number One’s gender. The computer’s body seems to undergo an annulment of gender boundaries, which is entirely post-human. The existence of a soul constructed within the machine is a secret known by very few people (the scientist Endriade and his trusted assistant Manunta), while Strobele himself and the others working on the computer regard it only as a brilliant piece of machinery. This results in an initial gender discrepancy: those who know the secret refer to the computer as Laura, thus attributing femininity to the machine, while those who are unaware of it refer to the computer as “Number One”, which to them is a “man,” as stated by Strobele. «“Dunque”, riprese Strobele con un lieve sorriso, “questo gigantesco impianto che è costato finora dieci anni abbondanti di fatica, per dirla in parole povere è... è un nostro parente, è un uomo”»[29]. This gender aspect is not limited to the varying degrees of insight among the characters. The narrator himself tends to emphasise this ambiguity by referring to the large computer sometimes as a robot or automaton and sometimes by the name Laura: «L'immenso cervello artificiale, il robot, il superuomo, lo sterminato fortilizio dotato di ragione, Endriade lo aveva creato a immagine e somiglianza della donna amata»[30].

We can see hints of the machine’s male sexuality in the scene where Olga Strobele leans against its wall. This idea is put forth by Olga herself in response to her husband’s complaints about her unabashed nudity:

«Della vostra macchina, del vostro cervellone elettronico dovrei aver vergogna? Hai paura che si scandalizzi?», e si abbandonava alle risate. «Hai paura che si ecciti?» Sempre ridendo, la donna nuda si volse al più vicino padiglione del robot, basso parallelepipede di calcestruzzo che si ergeva, a una distanza di circa ottanta metri, sulla sommità del pendio erboso, seminascosto da gruppi irregolari di cespugli. E gridò allegramente: «Ehi tu, dico, bel tomo, mi vedi?» Così strillando, le braccia alzate in atto di offerta, mostrava all'automa tutta la sua sfrontata nudità[31].

A little later, when Olga is left alone, and naked, in front of the pavilion, the text’s semantic field appears to emphasise the realm of sexual pleasure: «Allora la donna si alzò in piedi e uscì alla luce, ansiosa di ricevere il sole su di sé, di sentire quel caldo meraviglioso entrarle dentro e risvegliarle dolci desideri»[32]. Number One’s reaction is immediate, seemingly responding to the very excitement that Olga had alluded to in a sceptical and playful tone. At the sight of the woman, the machine appears to experience the mechanical equivalent of a male orgasm:

In quel preciso istante le giunse un suono nuovo; sopra la fissa vaga sonorità del cervello artificiale si innestò, di colpo, un ronzio più individuato, quasi che delle cose si fossero messe improvvisamente a girare con rapidità frenetica: un affannoso rotolio nella speranza di uno sfogo, corsa disperata della macchina precipitante verso una liberazione misteriosa. Simile al lamento di cento anime sepolte nelle intimità del labirinto che sommessamente gemessero, invocando[33].

Through such a lens, one can then better understand the slight sound that Olga continues to perceive in the air when, still naked, she rests on the ground at the foot of the building:

Ma, confuso con questo brulichio di infinitesime voci, un altro suono. Anch’esso vasto, indefinibile, fatto di una quantità innumerevole di particelle che formavano un coro di sussurri, soffi, scatti, battiti, tremiti, strisciamenti, esili fischi, sospiri, remoti tonfi, echi di lontane cavità in vibrazione, soffice vorticare di ruotismi, fruscii di condutture, flussi viscosi, elastici contatti[34].

Additionally, the way Olga feels observed by the automaton also seems to confirm this idea of sexual desire: «Quelle gigantesche pupille convergevano, le parve, su di lei, con una curiosità ingorda, le sembrava di sentire degli sguardi premere sulle sue carni bianche cosparse di lentiggini»[35]. The description of a mechanical orgasm continues:

Quel mugolio di macchine, là dentro, accelerò il ritmo ancor di più, poi di colpo si ruppe, perdendosi in singulti giù per pozzi ignoti scavati nelle viscere, come gorgo d’acqua che il tubo inghiotte a sorsi [...]. Dietro la lastra, nelle viscere della macchina, quel ronzio di prima - o era soltanto suggestione? - si ridestò, con successivi scarti, alzandosi di tono. Ci furono due tre colpi secchi, come di molle che liberassero nuovi fiotti di energia. Quindi il muro stesso prese a vibrare leggermente[36].

The agitation of the machine’s gears, the acceleration of flows within it, and the breathlessness and eagerness at the sight of Olga’s body, strongly resemble the biological mechanisms triggered in males in response to sexual desire. On the other hand, the desire for release, the unleashing of bursts of energy, and the final breaking into sobs of that frenetic excitement seem to be clear references to the male orgasm. At the same time, however, the vocabulary used in these descriptions also refers, albeit less conspicuously, to the semantic field of female sexuality. Words and expressions such as «cavità in vibrazione» and «flussi viscosi», and also, later on, the sentence «per pozzi ignoti scavati nelle viscere, come gorgo d’acqua che il tubo inghiotte a sorsi» aim to include in this predominantly male orgasm a certain degree of ambiguity or duality. The author describes a machine that seems to have the characteristics of the androgyne, as I will highlight later in this article. What follows confirms this idea: after this “orgasm”, Buzzati describes the elongation of a “member” of Numero Uno, in parallel with a dilatation of the wall:

Erano le antenne, fatte ad asta, a racchetta, a ciuffo, a reticella, che, uscite dall’immobilità, cominciavano a spostarsi con scarti quasi impercettibili. Ma a destra, in basso, quasi al livello del terreno, un’altra cosa attirò i suoi sguardi. Nel muro, fino allora ininterrotto e liscio, c'era un sottile segno scuro e orizzontale che si dilatava lentamente [...]. Guardando meglio, credette di capire: inserito in una concavità con tanta precisione da confondersi con la uniformità del muro, un organo, un braccio, un’antenna o qualcosa di simile stava per distendersi[37].

There is a set of movements that seem to represent both female and male excitement, once again imbuing the scene with an erotic, non-binary quality. The automaton’s body, consisting of various pavilions, high-tech mechanisms, tubes, valves, and gears, reacts to the sight and touch of Olga’s naked body in a way that mainly seems to indicate its belonging to the male sex, but not without ambiguity.

For this reason, I will distance this analysis from Ross’s reflections on Laura’s sexuality and sexual orientation, which are, in my opinion, somewhat partial. Her analysis, which is undeniably rich in innovative insights, suggests that the machine has been programmed to be sexually attracted to men[38]; yet, this information (at least in the original Italian edition) does not appear. On the contrary, Laura’s reaction to the sight of and contact with Olga Strobele’s naked body (rather than to a dance, as Ross suggests[39]) clearly reveals an attraction to that female body, as highlighted above. I disagree with Ross’s conclusions, which suggest that the decision not to attribute a body to Laura can be traced back to Endriade’s «male castration anxiety » and his desire to dominate Laura without her having the freedom to possess a body[40]. On the contrary, I find Comberiati’s interpretation more compelling, as he reads the power dynamics between the two characters as almost diametrically opposed:

The relationship between the scientist and the machine strongly resembles a submissive one, with the former being subservient to the latter: Endriade seems to be afraid of disturbing “Number One” because he is aware of having created an autonomous entity that he can no longer control, and whose actions have consequences beyond his grasp. This relationship illustrates, on one hand, the danger of succumbing to technological innovations without a broader understanding of the relationship between science and society, and on the other hand, the selfishness of human beings. When “Number One” becomes too dangerous and uncontrollable, Endriade simply opts to shut it down, committing murder, as the computer had developed original and independent thoughts and feelings by that point[41].

Despite the ambiguity surrounding the hybrid nature of the machine, which manifests itself in various ways and aspects, the predominant view that ultimately remains is that of a primarily feminine identity (although this is more complex than often portrayed). Another aspect of its femininity, and emblematic of the close relationship between technology and nature, is the existence of the “egg” inside its body, which contains its life and essence:

Una grande invenzione. In uno spazio minimo racchiusa l’essenza della creatura, il carattere, l’impronta misteriosa che ci fa diversi l’uno dall’altro. A vederlo, in paragone del resto, sembra una cosa ridicola. Un uovo di vetro, alto un paio di metri[42].

The presence of an egg obviously reinforces the femininity of the machine, especially as it is kept within the depths of its body, as revealed by Laura herself: «Ti farò entrare nel mio corpo. Fino in fondo. Vedrai l’uovo»[43].

Alongside the transcendence of the human body, there is an overcoming of the binary conception in which it is often confined: Number One’s body is constituted both by the technology of the machinery and by the landscape in which it resides and merges. Even its sexuality seems to break down the barriers of dualism: its sexual identity is more complex than it appears on the surface, taking on a hybrid configuration. Its existence can be understood in terms of transcending the human in the direction of the cyborg, as conceptualized by Donna Haraway – it is a hybrid figure capable of overcoming binary distinctions:

To recapitulate, certain dualisms have been persistent in Western traditions; they have all been systemic to the logics and practices of domination of women, people of colour, nature, workers, animals – in short, domination of all constituted as others, whose task is to mirror the self. Chief among these troubling dualisms are self/other, mind/body, culture/nature, male/female, civilized/primitive, reality/appearance, whole/part, agent/resource, maker/made, active/passive, right/wrong, truth/illusion, total/partial, God/man[44].

The hybrid creation of Number One effectively corresponds to Braidotti’s definition of a cyborg:

“Cyborg” is a compound of “cybernetic” and “organism.” It means a cybernetic organism and indicates the mixture of flesh and technology that characterizes the body modified by hardware grafts, prosthetics, and other implants. It can be compared to another neologism: “bionics,” which is composed of “biology” and “electronics” and means an organism with electronic prosthetics[45].

 

Yves Klein’s conception of pneuma

Despite the persistence of the idea of anthropomorphism, at times veiled and at times more explicit, the human body is essentially transcended, reaching a new conception that considers the possibility of fusion with the environment and with “inanimate” matter. The body itself is desacralized as it is relieved of the burden of being the sole place where the soul can exist. The function of the body, of any body, is to host the soul. Its form, on the other hand, is irrelevant, as what matters is its pure emotional climate. This is precisely what the artist Yves Klein argued, stating that: «The shape of the body, its contour, its strange colours oscillating between life and death held no interest for me. Only the emotional atmosphere, pure, essential of the flesh, matters»[46].

These and other ideas of Yves Klein, as will become evident later on, seem to have strongly influenced Buzzati. The two artists met in 1957, just a few months before the composition of the novel, and the Italian author immediately expressed his admiration for the painter in an article, followed by several others in the years[47]. His influence seems evident in this particular novel, as Klein emphasised the concept of the Platonic pneuma and the relationship between soul and body as some of the deepest aspects of his art. In particular, it seems that Buzzati embraced Klein’s concept of the “pneumatic void.” Beyond their friendship, the two artists shared an affinity of thought centred precisely on this concept. In 1958, while Buzzati was writing Il grande ritratto, Klein inaugurated his “Exhibition of the Void” in Paris, arguing that the audience should perceive the pure essence of his immaterial artistic sensitivity in a room completely devoid of any paintings or other objects. Prior to that, Klein had spent 48 hours inside the gallery, filling the empty space with his sensitivity, throwing his soul outward to let it take root in the walls. This operation had a dual purpose: on the one hand, to dematerialise the work of art, to reach its annulment and to attain complete abstraction; on the other hand, to confer a vital essence on the void, no longer understood as nothing but as all potential. This idea was already present in the destruction of figurative elements represented by his “monochromatic blues,” exhibited in Milan a year earlier, as Buzzati himself reported - citing the explanations of the curator Pierre Restany:

Il Blu domina, vive. Siamo dinanzi al Blu-Signore, padrone assoluto della più definitiva tra le frontiere liberate, il Blu degli affreschi di Assisi: questo vuoto colmo, questo Niente che afferma il Tutto Possibile, questo soprannaturale silenzio astenico del colore, questo X infine che al di là dell’aneddotica e del pretesto formale, determina la immortale grandezza di Giotto[48].

Even on that occasion, the monochromatic blues, aesthetically identical to one another, were to be considered distinct because they were imbued with different sensibilities. Klein had painted them in different moods, infusing each with something distinct. Many elements of the novel allude to these concepts – indeed, the characters perceive a kind of invisible presence pervading the air that hosts the artificial soul:

Ma, più che il suono, o il rombo, o il respiro, si percepiva una presenza, un invisibile flusso, una forza latente e compressa, quasi che sotto l’involucro di tutte quelle costruzioni riposasse un’armata di reggimenti e reggimenti, o meglio, fosse disteso, in dormiveglia, un gigante dei miti, dalle membra come montagne; o, meglio ancora, un mare, di tiepida carne giovane e viva, che lievitasse[49].

The power of the created soul is such that it can be perceived by those inhabiting the valley. Just like Klein’s artistic sensibility, it has stabilised outside the body and infused the very air itself.

In addition to this aspect related to Klein’s “pneumatic” atmosphere, one can identify a key episode in the plot that seems to be a “narrativised” ekphrasis of a Klein performance. This moment occurs when Olga Strobele presses her naked body against the wall of Number One, eliciting a violent reaction. The episode seems to mirror Klein’s so-called anthropometries, which were performances where the artist “dipped” nude models in blue paint and then asked them to apply their bodies to the canvas in a particular way, resulting in human imprints created with “living brushes”. The importance of this episode in the novel’s plot is crucial because, for the first time, the reader understands the danger posed by Laura. The automaton does not appreciate the woman’s gesture due to its strong envy of a female body that it no longer possesses but misses.

The way Olga Strobele’s action is presented shares many aspects with Klein’s and his models’ performances. She is initially described while she is undressing to take a bath in the lake when she is harshly reprimanded by her husband, Giancarlo, for boldly displaying her nudity to Number One. However, shortly afterward, Giancarlo is called to address a problem that has arisen in some valves of the large machine (a problem that will later be revealed to be related to the machine’s reaction to the sight of Olga’s naked body). As soon as she is left alone, Olga questions her husband’s reaction by wondering if he was right to reprimand her for her nudity:

«Giancarlo», lei pensò, «si preoccupava che non mi facessi vedere nuda. Perché? Che veramente...?» Sorrideva fra sé. Più ci pensava, più la cosa le pareva ridicola, ed assurda. Possibile che avessero costruito una macchina capace di...?”[50]

Olga decides to put her theories to the test and thus presses her entire naked body against the wall of Number One: «Olga aprì le braccia e con gesto inverecondo appoggiò il petto alla parete calda»[51], lingering there for a moment, «Sempre aderendo all’automa col suo corpo, la donna nuda levò gli occhi»[52].

The gesture is aesthetically identical to Klein’s anthropometries, especially because in both cases, as emphasised by Buzzati himself when reviewing that work, the action takes place vertically: Klein’s models had to press their paint-clad bodies against a large canvas attached to the wall. The action is thus identical to that of Olga Strobele. Buzzati’s description of Klein’s performance makes the resemblance evident:

Alla presenza di un eletto pubblico di invitati, tre giovani e molto graziose modelle, completamente nude, si rotolavano sul pavimento dove era sparsa una grande quantità di colore blu e se ne imbrattavano le membra. Quindi, ai comandi di Klein, appoggiavano ora questa ora quelle parte del corpo su di una grande tela bianca distesa verticalmente, lasciandovi le impronte[53].

Furthermore, the wall against which Olga leans seems to be depicted as a large canvas. The wall is described as a “pure white wall” (“candida parete”), and it is specified that it is “continuous and smooth” (“ininterrotto e liscio”[54]), with its uniformity twice reiterated: «inserito in una concavità con tanta precisione da confondersi con la uniformità del muro»[55] and then «girò la testa in su, dove tre vitree occhiaie rompevano l’uniformità della parete».[56]

The moment when she leans is described as follows: «Toccò con una mano il muro e si accorse che in quel punto, lungo la parete, c’era una fascia, alta circa un metro, di una sostanza cedevole ed elastica»[57]. The wall against which the naked and sweaty Olga presses her body thus possesses all the characteristics of a canvas: white, homogeneous, and made of a yielding and elastic material. Not only is Olga’s action identical to that of the models directed by Klein, but the physical support and recipient of this gesture also appear very similar. There are even similarities in the consequences of the two actions. Olga’s gesture elicits a similar effect to what Klein sought in his performance. The young woman wonders why her husband would ask her for more modesty, especially when no one else is around. She then questions the machine’s ability to see and perceive her nudity, deciding to put it to the test.

Possibile che avessero costruito una macchina capace di...? Chi la vedeva? Chi avrebbe mai saputo? Perché non provare? Forse la fascia di sostanza elastica corrispondeva a un organo di percezione sensoriale. [...] Ci sarebbe stato, da parte dell’automa, qualche segno di comprensione? Dietro la lastra, nelle viscere della macchina, quel ronzio di prima - o era soltanto suggestione? - si ridestò, con successivi scarti, alzandosi di tono. Ci furono due tre colpi secchi, come di molle che liberassero nuovi fiotti di energia. Quindi il muro stesso prese a vibrare leggermente[58].

Through this reflection, we can see that the white wall seems to be capable of absorbing the “sensibilité” (energy) of a naked body just like Klein’s canvases. Klein insisted on the belief that the canvas has the ability to absorb this energy. In order to absorb as much colour (and energy) as possible, he decided to apply sponges to his canvases, which are an inherently absorbent material. This allowed him to apply more colour to the canvas than it could absorb on its own:

In working on my paintings in my studio, I sometimes used sponges. They turned blue very quickly, of course! One day, I noticed the beauty of the blue in the sponge; this working tool suddenly became raw material for me. It was this extraordinary ability of the sponge to absorb anything fluid that seduced me. Thanks to the sponges, a wild living material, I would be able to paint portraits of the readers of my monochromes who, after seeing, after travelling in the blue of my paintings, come back totally imbued with sensitivity like sponges[59].

Hence, the wall of Number One also proves to be “perceptive”: it feels Olga’s body with a particular sensitivity that human characters struggle to comprehend fully. When Endriade tries to appease Laura’s anger by explaining the reasons for her fury to Elisa Ismani, he is forced to admit that he does not quite understand the sensations Laura describes:

«Che cosa dice?» «Dice che vuol essere di carne. E non di pietra.» «Laura?» «Sì, Laura. Dice che oggi ha visto una donna, e l'ha sentita.» «Come sentita?» «Non so. Era la signora Strobele che faceva il bagno. Era nuda. E Laura, qui, l’ha vista.» «E poi?» «E poi parla della carne. Dice che è dolce, soffice, più delle piume degli uccelli.» «Siete dei pazzi», fa Elisa Ismani. «Non lo potevate immaginare?» La voce di Endriade si leva tempestosa: «Laura, Laura. Tu sei più bella. Quella carne che dici sarà marcita e tu sarai ancora giovane.» Gli risponde un suono mai udito. Lungo, simile a un urlo, con un tremito profondo. «Dio, Dio», invoca Endriade. «Adesso piange!»[60].

Therefore, Number One claims to have “felt” Olga Strobele’s body and flesh, being able to describe its soft texture. This evidently triggers a strong sense of envy within the machine. The envy triggers its discontent, which will ultimately drive the machine into a murderous fury. Thus, the fear that Endriade harboured regarding the absence of a human body for the once-human soul does come true:

E allora misurasse la orribile condizione in cui si trova adesso, trasformata in una centrale elettrica, inchiodata alle rupi, donna ma senza corpo di donna, capace di amare ma senza possibilità d’essere amata se non da un pazzo come me, senza una bocca da baciare, un corpo da stringere, una... Capisce, Elisa, che inferno diventerebbe allora la sua vita?[61]

Olga Strobele’s action serves as the catalyst for this terrible sensation in the machine. Notably, the author appears to mimic the aesthetics, gestures, and even the effects of the performance that his friend Klein was developing for the first time during those same weeks through his set-up of this key scene. In terms of timing, Buzzati was likely aware of the aforementioned work. According to Riout, «-In 1958, shortly after the conclusion of his famous so-called “Void” exhibition, he experimented with the technique of the “living brush”»[62]. Moreover, another concept related to Plato’s thought can explain the hybrid nature of Number One, which I have already analysed.

The Platonic myth of the Androgyne – a living being with both masculine and feminine attributes, whose separation gave rise to the figures of man and woman – provides a deeper understanding of this complex situation. As a hybrid figure, Number One / Laura seems to constitute a modern and technological version of this myth. This should not be surprising, as the entire novel is pervaded by Plato’s concept of pneuma, which is the soul or breath of energy that is capable of infusing life. Only through this lens can one fully understand the meaning of the novel’s ending: Laura’s desire to free herself through self-destruction is emblematic of the Platonic conception of the soma as a sema, the body as the prison of the soul.

In conclusion, the relationship between soul and body emerges as one of the most important themes of the novel. The author chooses to depict a body that surpasses the human, both in its fusion with the environment and in its technological nature. Buzzati employs various strategies to present an innovative vision of the body, expanding it both physically and conceptually. He also aims to portray the hybrid femininity of the machine, in which Laura’s soul is recreated. However, this femininity is nuanced with androgynous elements, and even its sexuality appears controversial, as evidenced by Laura’s reaction to the naked body of Olga Strobele.

The attention to bodily aspects is so meticulous precisely because it serves as a counterpoint to the other major theme of the novel: the soul. For this reason, the concept of the “pneumatic void” can be seen as an interpretative key for understanding this novel. Thus, I can conclude that, by drawing on these artistic and philosophical concepts, Buzzati succeeds in representing a highly avant-garde hybrid creature for his time, whose nuances are likely more discernible today than they were at the time of its publication. Revisiting this work through the lens of posthuman studies and Klein’s influence can lead to new observations and reflections, ensuring a deeper and more complex understanding.

 

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