Writer : Umberto Eco
Publishing year : 1980
Language : Italian (Translation to English by William Weaver)
Type : Novel
Main themes : Knowledge, Faith, Sanctity, Literature, Language, Symbolism..
Recommended for : Readers with patience for meta-narratives, anti-meta-narratives and stories that don't resolve to answers.
The book in a few words : A murder mystery turns into a philosophical, theological and existential quest.
The synopsis : William of Baskerville, a sharp and wise Franciscan friar and ex-Inquisitor, comes to an abbey to fulfill a political task and solve a murder mystery, but as the murder turns into a series of homicides, the mystery extends far beyond the extent of the secluded abbey.
The Rating : Excellent 9.5/10
The Review : (some spoilers ahead!)
It took a book about books for me to go back to book-reviewing after a long, long hiatus.
I have been reading quite a lot lately (compared to almost nothing before that) and having so much fun doing so, but The Name of The Rose was one of the densest book I've ever read, almost prohibitively so: layers on top of layers of meaning and a hefty tapestry of references, quotes, allegories and symbols meshing into a sprawling plot of mysteries. A book that is not self-referential yet very aware of its own internal machinery. Calculated, yet not mechanical.
There is no way I can do this book justice after one read and without having taken any notes (and I started reading this book a month ago, so most of the initial conflicts of the plot sit there in the back of my memory by now), but I'll do my best still, reviewing the most salient aspects of the story, and mostly its main conflict and intentionally (and brilliantly) disappointing ending.
Before delving into the praise, I must start by saying that it is a flawed masterwork. For one, the irregular pace, especially as the story explores the political dimension of its temporal setting, forced me at times to disconnect from the events. Secondly, the hand of the author was visible throughout the story, foreshadowing most of the story dynamics from mere characters descriptions, simplifying an otherwise intricate roster of personages and motives (the moral was pretty heavy-handed, but to the credit of the author, was still cleverly evoqued throughout). Finally, -and this may just be my edition-, all the goddamn Latin passages and phrases that were not accompanied with some English translation. I understand that language is a strong element in the story itself, but a nice footnote would have made reading this much more enjoyable (I mostly had to stop the reading, type the sentence(s) into Google and see what each of them meant .. an unnecessarily tedious endeavor).
But all of this pales under the sheer radiance of the story.
Our narrator, Adso of Melk, is the young novice of William of Baskerville, a friar of the Franciscan order who moonlights as a medieval detective. Through the admiring eyes of Adso, we see William as sharp-witted, bright, wise and nearly invincible.
Although we hear the story from Adso's perspective, it's William who carries the voice of the author. Painted as this impossible-to-dislike character, William represents all the goodness of someone who understands the concepts of Truth and Power so deeply that he is ready to give up any claim to either (ex-inquisitor as he was), a man's whose wit and knowledge is only surpassed by his questioning of their very nature and use, a man with a honest, deep faith and honest, deep doubts. Adso, on the other hand, is our trustee narrator: pious, shrewd and modest. Rarely opining on things, he, once an apprentice of tender age and now a reminiscing monk, has the memories of a guileless man and the brand of wisdom that only comes with hindsight.
Their journey starts with an very Sherlock-Holmesian episode that introduces us to the brilliance of the main character, and to a main thread in the story's net: reading signs. Right after his deductive feat that revealed the truth about a lost horse, William immediately explains to Adso why the reasoning he applied, albeit apparently flawless, could have yielded wrong results, led to falsehoods. Signs, such as the hoofprints on a snowy landscape, are just that: impassive, faultless signs. Once endowed with meaning and interpretation (by the human mind), they can become prone to error, misleading.
This is basically the whole plot (and the moral?) of the novel, told in its very first pages.
The story goes on to introduce a kaleidoscope of characters. A series of deaths (or murders?) starts taking place in the holy edifice, as our detective and his sidekicks go around collecting evidence and solving puzzles all related to the mysterious Library, protected by guardians, ghosts, secrets and spells. This part was especially well-written, as the two layers of the story and the symbolism start to suffuse into one another. The Library, itself a compound symbol of many concepts and symbols, hosts a mysterious volume, so irresistible that it seems to be the thread tying all the mysteries witnessed at the abbey.
The egg hunt eventually leads our two protagonists to the soon-to-be antagonist, Jorge. Jorge de Burgos, an old blind monk, is the basically the antithesis of William: uncomely, unpleasant and unapologetically morose. We get introduced to him through a scene where he, vehemently and with utter disdain, opposes the concept of .. laughter. Eco proves unwanting of neutrality, as he deliberately assign the colors of Good and Evil to his puppets: one a brilliant, convincing, dashing tall English gentleman and the other an ugly, intemperate, intimidating and patronizing elderly. As they clash, we hear the lamentations of Eco, through his narrator, of ideological extremism, as Adso struggles to find a middle ground between his increasing admiration of William's mind and methods, and his devout sense of ownership towards a legacy of teachings, traditions and wisdom.
Even though detestable throughout, Jorge by the end does voice some sound arguments about the idea of forbidden knowledge: a knowledge so corrosive that if not handled with the utmost care (maybe a pair of gloves :) ?) it consumes everything, holy and hollow tantamount. His fear of the decay of Truth, and his self-assigned mission to protect it, leads him to committing absurdities no less devilish than everything he stands against. Like any fanatic, he eschews any guilt by submitting to the all-too-convenient argument that he, too, is an instrument of God. The evident irony is that William too has expressed the same concerns about the misuse of knowledge beforehand, albeit in a more practical sense (an echo to the author's concerns about the modern scientific progress not being stricting a good thing), but arrives to diametrically opposed conclusions. The ultimate clash, although violent and striking, manages to blend many a subtle philosophical question: Good and Evil, Faith and Reason, Destiny and Free will, Absolutes and Relativity, Legacy and Progress, Word and Interpretation.
Eco takes William's side explicitly and comfortably, yet he chooses to end his novel on two interesting notes: William, with all his wit and shrewdness, fails to stop every murder, and the Book he so long sought after turns perennially into ashes. And the reasoning that led him to Jorge in the end was both very sound yet completely wrong. It was luck, of all things, that gave way to the truth. The smoke he followed led him to no fire, and the fire he was tracking burned silently and pestiferously on the side, with no smoke and no trail: logic can only take you so far. Eco even felt it justified that the closing notes by Adso, amid deep adoration, sinned William for being intellectually vainglorious (the original sin itself). That, for me, was a perfect ending.
With that being said, I must confess that I was a wee bit disappointed in the revelation regarding the book's content. As much as I see it fitting the general arc of the story and its conclusion, it didn't live up to my expectations (what expectations I don't know, exactly, but I know they were higher). Given how wide Eco's knowledge of occult books and esoteric mysteries, I was expecting something .. more sinister? I need to think this one through.
While interesting in their own right, William's first mission (weighing in on the theological debate regarding the poverty of Jesus Christ) was not as interesting as his second one (investigating the murders in the Abbey). There was a commentary galore regarding the attachment to wealth and earthly belongings (there is even a word for it: sybaritic) and how it got appropriated by the clergy, but maybe too much commentary, to my taste. Though it was a paramount argument within the religious atmosphere of that era, I felt as if that question itself didn't lead anywhere, at least in the context of the narrative, which was particularly disappointing given that what felt like 40% of the book was dedicated to this affair. Maybe for someone more learnt about the history of Christianity and the magnitude of this debate within it may find the historical account riveting, but I couldn't help but feel detached and slightly lost.
Let us not forget one of the most eminent qualities of the text, that is its heavy use of symbolism and symbols, both overt and implicit: the library (human knowledge, of course built as a labyrinth), Finis Africae (forbidden knowledge, occultism), manuscripts and books (signs towards truth, fractions or reflections of truth), poison (lust), magic (misunderstood knowledge), and so on. My favorite, however, were William's glasses: science, useful technology, sight, learning and legacy. When Adso said that he's still wearing the glasses his Master gave him at their tearful farewell, I sighed deeply and thought I finally understood the point of this tale.
There are so many other threads that the novel weaves through its main plot: arcana, elitism, love and lust, Indulgence, politics and many more, but this review is long enough already. Maybe I'll update it on a second read!
Finally, the Name of the Rose. The title is both mystifying and beautiful. When I picked up the book I thought it would be a reference to Shakespeare's famous "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" (the uselessness of a name, basically), but the only reference in the books addressing it came as Adso was finishing up the narration, wondering who would read it and why it's written at all."Yesterday's rose endures in its name; we hold empty names."
One of the recurring themes in the books is the idea of signs and symbols. As would William put it, these signs and symbols are not the truth, but mere pointers to it. The name of the rose is the everlasting sign of its existence, a proof of a being that is bound to perish, or yet to exist. It's why books should be written, it's why any effort to preserve and spread knowledge matters at all.
I have been reading quite a lot lately (compared to almost nothing before that) and having so much fun doing so, but The Name of The Rose was one of the densest book I've ever read, almost prohibitively so: layers on top of layers of meaning and a hefty tapestry of references, quotes, allegories and symbols meshing into a sprawling plot of mysteries. A book that is not self-referential yet very aware of its own internal machinery. Calculated, yet not mechanical.
There is no way I can do this book justice after one read and without having taken any notes (and I started reading this book a month ago, so most of the initial conflicts of the plot sit there in the back of my memory by now), but I'll do my best still, reviewing the most salient aspects of the story, and mostly its main conflict and intentionally (and brilliantly) disappointing ending.
Before delving into the praise, I must start by saying that it is a flawed masterwork. For one, the irregular pace, especially as the story explores the political dimension of its temporal setting, forced me at times to disconnect from the events. Secondly, the hand of the author was visible throughout the story, foreshadowing most of the story dynamics from mere characters descriptions, simplifying an otherwise intricate roster of personages and motives (the moral was pretty heavy-handed, but to the credit of the author, was still cleverly evoqued throughout). Finally, -and this may just be my edition-, all the goddamn Latin passages and phrases that were not accompanied with some English translation. I understand that language is a strong element in the story itself, but a nice footnote would have made reading this much more enjoyable (I mostly had to stop the reading, type the sentence(s) into Google and see what each of them meant .. an unnecessarily tedious endeavor).
But all of this pales under the sheer radiance of the story.
Our narrator, Adso of Melk, is the young novice of William of Baskerville, a friar of the Franciscan order who moonlights as a medieval detective. Through the admiring eyes of Adso, we see William as sharp-witted, bright, wise and nearly invincible.
Although we hear the story from Adso's perspective, it's William who carries the voice of the author. Painted as this impossible-to-dislike character, William represents all the goodness of someone who understands the concepts of Truth and Power so deeply that he is ready to give up any claim to either (ex-inquisitor as he was), a man's whose wit and knowledge is only surpassed by his questioning of their very nature and use, a man with a honest, deep faith and honest, deep doubts. Adso, on the other hand, is our trustee narrator: pious, shrewd and modest. Rarely opining on things, he, once an apprentice of tender age and now a reminiscing monk, has the memories of a guileless man and the brand of wisdom that only comes with hindsight.
Their journey starts with an very Sherlock-Holmesian episode that introduces us to the brilliance of the main character, and to a main thread in the story's net: reading signs. Right after his deductive feat that revealed the truth about a lost horse, William immediately explains to Adso why the reasoning he applied, albeit apparently flawless, could have yielded wrong results, led to falsehoods. Signs, such as the hoofprints on a snowy landscape, are just that: impassive, faultless signs. Once endowed with meaning and interpretation (by the human mind), they can become prone to error, misleading.
This is basically the whole plot (and the moral?) of the novel, told in its very first pages.
The story goes on to introduce a kaleidoscope of characters. A series of deaths (or murders?) starts taking place in the holy edifice, as our detective and his sidekicks go around collecting evidence and solving puzzles all related to the mysterious Library, protected by guardians, ghosts, secrets and spells. This part was especially well-written, as the two layers of the story and the symbolism start to suffuse into one another. The Library, itself a compound symbol of many concepts and symbols, hosts a mysterious volume, so irresistible that it seems to be the thread tying all the mysteries witnessed at the abbey.
The egg hunt eventually leads our two protagonists to the soon-to-be antagonist, Jorge. Jorge de Burgos, an old blind monk, is the basically the antithesis of William: uncomely, unpleasant and unapologetically morose. We get introduced to him through a scene where he, vehemently and with utter disdain, opposes the concept of .. laughter. Eco proves unwanting of neutrality, as he deliberately assign the colors of Good and Evil to his puppets: one a brilliant, convincing, dashing tall English gentleman and the other an ugly, intemperate, intimidating and patronizing elderly. As they clash, we hear the lamentations of Eco, through his narrator, of ideological extremism, as Adso struggles to find a middle ground between his increasing admiration of William's mind and methods, and his devout sense of ownership towards a legacy of teachings, traditions and wisdom.
Even though detestable throughout, Jorge by the end does voice some sound arguments about the idea of forbidden knowledge: a knowledge so corrosive that if not handled with the utmost care (maybe a pair of gloves :) ?) it consumes everything, holy and hollow tantamount. His fear of the decay of Truth, and his self-assigned mission to protect it, leads him to committing absurdities no less devilish than everything he stands against. Like any fanatic, he eschews any guilt by submitting to the all-too-convenient argument that he, too, is an instrument of God. The evident irony is that William too has expressed the same concerns about the misuse of knowledge beforehand, albeit in a more practical sense (an echo to the author's concerns about the modern scientific progress not being stricting a good thing), but arrives to diametrically opposed conclusions. The ultimate clash, although violent and striking, manages to blend many a subtle philosophical question: Good and Evil, Faith and Reason, Destiny and Free will, Absolutes and Relativity, Legacy and Progress, Word and Interpretation.
Eco takes William's side explicitly and comfortably, yet he chooses to end his novel on two interesting notes: William, with all his wit and shrewdness, fails to stop every murder, and the Book he so long sought after turns perennially into ashes. And the reasoning that led him to Jorge in the end was both very sound yet completely wrong. It was luck, of all things, that gave way to the truth. The smoke he followed led him to no fire, and the fire he was tracking burned silently and pestiferously on the side, with no smoke and no trail: logic can only take you so far. Eco even felt it justified that the closing notes by Adso, amid deep adoration, sinned William for being intellectually vainglorious (the original sin itself). That, for me, was a perfect ending.
With that being said, I must confess that I was a wee bit disappointed in the revelation regarding the book's content. As much as I see it fitting the general arc of the story and its conclusion, it didn't live up to my expectations (what expectations I don't know, exactly, but I know they were higher). Given how wide Eco's knowledge of occult books and esoteric mysteries, I was expecting something .. more sinister? I need to think this one through.
While interesting in their own right, William's first mission (weighing in on the theological debate regarding the poverty of Jesus Christ) was not as interesting as his second one (investigating the murders in the Abbey). There was a commentary galore regarding the attachment to wealth and earthly belongings (there is even a word for it: sybaritic) and how it got appropriated by the clergy, but maybe too much commentary, to my taste. Though it was a paramount argument within the religious atmosphere of that era, I felt as if that question itself didn't lead anywhere, at least in the context of the narrative, which was particularly disappointing given that what felt like 40% of the book was dedicated to this affair. Maybe for someone more learnt about the history of Christianity and the magnitude of this debate within it may find the historical account riveting, but I couldn't help but feel detached and slightly lost.
Let us not forget one of the most eminent qualities of the text, that is its heavy use of symbolism and symbols, both overt and implicit: the library (human knowledge, of course built as a labyrinth), Finis Africae (forbidden knowledge, occultism), manuscripts and books (signs towards truth, fractions or reflections of truth), poison (lust), magic (misunderstood knowledge), and so on. My favorite, however, were William's glasses: science, useful technology, sight, learning and legacy. When Adso said that he's still wearing the glasses his Master gave him at their tearful farewell, I sighed deeply and thought I finally understood the point of this tale.
There are so many other threads that the novel weaves through its main plot: arcana, elitism, love and lust, Indulgence, politics and many more, but this review is long enough already. Maybe I'll update it on a second read!
Finally, the Name of the Rose. The title is both mystifying and beautiful. When I picked up the book I thought it would be a reference to Shakespeare's famous "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" (the uselessness of a name, basically), but the only reference in the books addressing it came as Adso was finishing up the narration, wondering who would read it and why it's written at all."Yesterday's rose endures in its name; we hold empty names."
One of the recurring themes in the books is the idea of signs and symbols. As would William put it, these signs and symbols are not the truth, but mere pointers to it. The name of the rose is the everlasting sign of its existence, a proof of a being that is bound to perish, or yet to exist. It's why books should be written, it's why any effort to preserve and spread knowledge matters at all.
PS: Since I was reading this in my commute, I found out that reading while listening to music without lyrics helps a lot to tune out distractions and loud conversations, and it inevitably added an extra layer, an atmosphere to the novel that maybe made it even better. "Dane Caine - Solace" (the entire album, but the eponymous track especially) will now and forever be the soundtrack of the Name of the Rose in my head.
Favorite Character :
William of Baskerville. A wonderfully likeable character who is ridden with the profound realization that he may be wrong about everything. While holding a strong faith and a equipped with a strong intellect, he is lost in the sea of contingencies and potentialities. A man so versed in heterogeneous studies that he can no more ideate a hypothesis without immediately consider its antithesis, seeing the truth in both. A man fair to a fault. A man torn between the capacities of his mind and the ironclad, unshakeable institute he's devout to. A man helplessly curious and questionning in a clan where curiosity can be synonymous with heresy.
Favorite Quotes :
For the first time on this blog, I had the opportunity to highlight all the passages that I liked thanks to my wonderful Kindle <3 (instead of looking up quotes from the internet). Here is a selection !
"Because not all truths are for all ears."
"If a shepherd errs, he must be isolated from other shepherds, but woe unto us if the sheep begin to distrust shepherds."
"He who laughs does not believe in what he laughs at, but neither does he hate it. Therefore, laughing at evil means not preparing oneself to combat it."
- "A theft?
- A loan, to the greater glory of God."
- "Will you tell me, William, you who know so much about heretics that you seem one of them, where the truth lies?
- Nowhere, at times," William said, sadly.
"Then we are living in a place abandoned by God", I said, disheartened. "Have you found any place where God would have felt at home? William asked me, looking down from his great height.
"How beautiful the world is, and how ugly the labyrinths are", I said, relieved. "How beautiful the world would be if there were a procedure for moving through labyrinths", my master replied.
"Mind how you speak, pig, son of the whore of Babylon and other strumpets as well!"
"I sinned without malice."
- "Do you know you're risking your life?
- So be it," Michael answered, "better than risking my soul."
- "I saw the skull of John the Baptist at the age of twelve"
- "Really?" I exclaimed, amazed.
"Isn't affirming God's absolute omnipotence and His absolute freedom with regard to His own choices tantamount to demonstrating that God doesn't exist?". William looked at me without betraying any feeling in his features, and he said, "How could a learned man go on communicating his learning if he answered yes to yours question?"
"Non in commotione, non in commotione Dominus" (Not in chaos, the Lord is not in chaos.)
