Take a photo of a barcode or cover
arinareads 's review for:
The Name of the Rose
by Umberto Eco
The Name of the Rose is well-known for being a comparatively dense and ‘high-brow’ historical mystery novel. On the surface, the book is framed as the recollections of a monk who witnessed a series of gruesome deaths at a monastery in 14th century Italy. He and his master, William of Baskerville, are our classic Holmes and Watson duo, sleuthing their way to the truth.
Yet, on a deeper level, and in the background of these crimes there is a wider theological dispute raging through the Christian world, chiefly regarding the poverty of Christ and the Church’s wealth and power in temporal affairs. The reclusive monastery concerned mainly with the procurement of human knowledge in the shape of books becomes the meeting place for combatant factions in the eternal power struggle between church and state.
Eco had fixed ideas about his work, and purposefully wrote the book so that the first 100 pages acts as an onslaught of facts and descriptions meant to weed out the capable readers from the rest. This doesn’t mean that he wrote it to be annoying, rather that he warns the reader upfront what they’re in store for. If you find it difficult to read, well you’re meant to. As an academic deeply concerned with the study of meaning, and the processes through which we create meaning, Eco constructed a novel that like an onion has layers and layers of allusions and references.
He writes with a knowing wink at the reader who of course knows how things will turn out in the struggle between these warring factions. Yet, it is precisely because we know how things will turn out that reading this account is so fascinating. Eco took time to demonstrate why these theological debates had value beyond ‘mad ravings’ from the past; how the world around our main characters was constructed, and the level of philosophical debate that led to the beginning of the end for the Church in the century that saw the birth of the Renaissance
Personally, I didn’t find the mystery element of this book as well-developed as I would like, but for someone like me, who enjoys history this book was far from a disappointment. Eco’s writing though at times too complex to flow within my mind, is beautiful and rich and captures so many of the fascinating currents in contemporary society. The references and symbology add so much richness and makes this book ripe for re-reading.
TLDR: Read this book not for the mystery, but for the light cast onto the ‘dark ages’ for a chance to embody the concerns and fears of humanity at the time. Read it because you like intellectual debates concerning God and the meaning of knowledge, of truth, of laughter, of love. Read it because it talks about a Europe before firm national borders were set down, where the love of God trumped all else. Read it because it speaks truth to ways in which people can look at the same texts and interpret them widely differently. Lastly, read it because it’s a book about love of knowledge and of books, and the ways in which that love, or even obsession can play out.
Yet, on a deeper level, and in the background of these crimes there is a wider theological dispute raging through the Christian world, chiefly regarding the poverty of Christ and the Church’s wealth and power in temporal affairs. The reclusive monastery concerned mainly with the procurement of human knowledge in the shape of books becomes the meeting place for combatant factions in the eternal power struggle between church and state.
Eco had fixed ideas about his work, and purposefully wrote the book so that the first 100 pages acts as an onslaught of facts and descriptions meant to weed out the capable readers from the rest. This doesn’t mean that he wrote it to be annoying, rather that he warns the reader upfront what they’re in store for. If you find it difficult to read, well you’re meant to. As an academic deeply concerned with the study of meaning, and the processes through which we create meaning, Eco constructed a novel that like an onion has layers and layers of allusions and references.
He writes with a knowing wink at the reader who of course knows how things will turn out in the struggle between these warring factions. Yet, it is precisely because we know how things will turn out that reading this account is so fascinating. Eco took time to demonstrate why these theological debates had value beyond ‘mad ravings’ from the past; how the world around our main characters was constructed, and the level of philosophical debate that led to the beginning of the end for the Church in the century that saw the birth of the Renaissance
Personally, I didn’t find the mystery element of this book as well-developed as I would like, but for someone like me, who enjoys history this book was far from a disappointment. Eco’s writing though at times too complex to flow within my mind, is beautiful and rich and captures so many of the fascinating currents in contemporary society. The references and symbology add so much richness and makes this book ripe for re-reading.
TLDR: Read this book not for the mystery, but for the light cast onto the ‘dark ages’ for a chance to embody the concerns and fears of humanity at the time. Read it because you like intellectual debates concerning God and the meaning of knowledge, of truth, of laughter, of love. Read it because it talks about a Europe before firm national borders were set down, where the love of God trumped all else. Read it because it speaks truth to ways in which people can look at the same texts and interpret them widely differently. Lastly, read it because it’s a book about love of knowledge and of books, and the ways in which that love, or even obsession can play out.