written on October 14, 2026, read 1994
Well, what can I say? No – strictly speaking, the question should be: what should I say? And to that, there’s a clear answer: nothing, really. This book is my final boss.
I’ve owned it for more than 30 years and still haven’t managed to finish it. Not for lack of trying – but every time, at some point, I give up (never in quite the same place) and reach for another book that seems more tempting. The tunnel I drive into this intellectual mountain reaches a different depth every time. Sadly, it’s not even as if I get further with each attempt. Some attempts over the past few decades ended just past the topsoil. On others, I hit a soft patch at first, only to find myself facing solid granite.
It’s the only book I’ve never finished. Just under half its pages remain unexplored territory.
Maybe I just don’t fight in the intellectual weight class this book requires. Umberto Eco was a scholar in the best sense of the word. Maybe he wrote the book for people like himself.