Reviews - A rózsa neve | The StoryGraph

3.3k reviews for:

A rózsa neve

Umberto Eco

3.97 AVERAGE

jayvieira's review against another edition

4.75

challenging mysterious reflective tense slow-paced

Plot or Character Driven: Plot

Strong character development: No

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: No

Flaws of characters a main focus: No

mafiabadgers's review against another edition

5.0

First read 10/2024, reread 05/2025 for Farnham book club

Obviously I remembered the wonderful abbey, the dramatic deaths, the richness of detail (the division of the day by prayer periods, the debates about Christ's poverty, the inevitable mediaeval concern with sin and the soul's salvation, etc.), but what I'd most forgotten was just how funny it was. Whether it was Adso's little asides ("Unlike many of my brothers, I have never in my whole life been visited by the Devil"), the back and forth betwen him and William ("'How do you know that? Are you an expert on labyrinths?' 'No, I am citing an ancient text I once read.' 'And by observing this rule you get out?' 'Almost never, as far as I know. But we will try it, all the same.'"), or everything about the sex scene, there's a lot to laugh at. And as it turns out, this is very much in line with the big reveal at the end. On a reread, I was much better able to appreciate how well this was set up by early conversations between the characters.

Some books, I delight in pulling them apart to look for every possible theme. Others, as perfect as they may be, every analytical probe seems to skate off them. Certainly, I could crack them open if I were determined to, but why should I? Maybe it's kinder to let them keep their mystique. So I shall limit myself to a few general remarks, most of which have to do with the Postscript, which I didn't have access to on my first readthrough.

Marguerite Yourcenar wrote that "In the case of a fictitious character, [it is necessary] to give him that specific reality conditioned by place and time, without which a "historical novel" is merely a more or less successful costume ball". Memoirs of Hadrian is quite simply one of the best books I've ever read, and The Abyss/Zeno of Bruges was similarly impressive even if I didn't love it as much, so I've rather taken this advice to heart. I was therefore pleasantly surprised to see Eco offer up a similar sentiment, when he delineates the historical romance, the historical swashbuckler, and the historical novel. I was also delighted to see him refer to the detective novel as "(from among the model plots) the most metaphysical and philosophical". Long have I bemoaned the tendency of the mystery genre to produce formulaic whodunits, where the only questions raised are who and how (the answer predictably surprising each time); when the genre lends itself so well to asking all manner of questions about truth, knowledge, justice, the boundary between reasonable suspicion and paranoia (which can only be known retrospectively), the breakdown of the social contract once you no longer assume that people are acting in good faith... There's no reason why a good murder mystery couldn't verge on dizzying, psychological horror, but I've never found one that does. Most are happy to be passing entertainment. The Name of the Rose is not.

There have been debates about whether deliberately challenging video games should add difficulty scaling, on the basis that their absence makes the game inaccessible for people with certain disabilities, or who are simply not very good at the game. I'm in favour of letting people customise their game to maximise enjoyment, so when Eco starts talking about how important it is that the "first hundred pages are like a penance or an initiation", I ought to object, but for some reason I don't. Perhaps it's because this is not a question of customisation, but a fixed text. If we are to avoid a homogenous literature, then we must allow for difficult books, as well as the easy. Perhaps diversity trumps accessibility—and there are plenty of other books out there, after all. (But then, there are plenty of other video games...) Maybe it feels different to me because Eco's thoughts on "constructing a reader suitable for what comes afterward" seem less concerned with barring the unworthy from his hallowed halls and more concerned with giving the reader a fair taste of what the rest of the book will be like, and moving them into a space from which they can get as much out of it as possible. I'm undecided on the ethics, but I'm glad that this book exists, and in the form that it does.

And even here, Eco's sense of humour prevails:

For two years I have refused to answer idle questions on the order of "Is your novel an open work or not?" How should I know? That is your business, not mine. Or "With which of your characters do you identify?" For God's sake, with whom does an author identify? With the adverbs, obviously.