The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco

The Name of the Rose was one of those books that everyone in my circle seemed to be reading at the same time back in the '80s.  I can't remember the last time a book so caught the collective imagination of my friends and colleagues.  It was with fond recollections of an important time in my life that I decided to re-read the book.

What struck me most upon this time around was the wonderful translation by William Weaver.  Whatever the qualities of the original Italian version, Weaver has managed to produce English prose of the highest order, making the book a delight to read.

The tale itself  centres on a certain Benedictine abbey in Italy in 1327.  Brother William of Baskerville, accompanied by a novice monk named Adso, has come to the abbey on a mission from the Holy Roman Emperor.  William has a well-earned reputation as a learned man and an acute thinker, and he is asked by the abbot to investigate a murder that occurred in the abbey on the previous night.  It is vital for William to solve the mystery in order to preserve the good name of the abbey before an important papal delegation arrives.  If only it were that simple.

The Name of the Rose is part detective novel, part historical novel.  The investigation of the mystery is interspersed with (often lengthy) explanations of ecclesiastical life and church politics as it was in the early 14th century.  The mystery is ingenious; the historical details have the charm of being recounted through the words of the characters as though they were contemporary events - although, at times, the volume of details and the intricacies of the politics can be a little overwhelming.  Regardless of the exact truth of what we are being told - and I'm certainly not a medieval scholar - the reader does come away feeling they have a good idea of what it must have been like to live in that time and at that place, such is the sense of verisimilitude Eco is able to convey through his use of fluent and detailed descriptions and eloquent conversations between the characters.

I enjoyed this book even more the second time around.  Worth the effort.

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

The Moonstone is a powerful, inventive and intriguing tale, one that is sure to keep the reader turning the pages.

First published in 1868,  it is, in a way, a precocious post-modern novel in so much as it mixes up novelistic genres.  Simultaneously a detective story, an almost gothic romance and a social critique, it shifts its complexion in a chameleon-like manner in the course of the unfolding events.

A holy gem, the Moonstone, has been stolen from India by a British Army officer and brought back to England.  According the terms of his will, it is to be presented to his niece Rachel Verinder on her next birthday.  And so Rachel receives the diamond, valued at £20,000, but it goes missing on the night of her birthday party.  Suspicion falls on several characters, relationships fracture and death soon follows.

The Moonstone is almost an epistolary novel, being told through extensive written accounts (rather than through letters) by key players in the mystery.  The first half of the novel is told by Gabriel Betteredge, the head servant of the Verinder household.  He introduces us to most of the characters who have a bearing on proceedings.  The second half of the book is told by several other characters, and it contains the solution to the whereabouts of the diamond.

The point of view throughout the book shifts frequently, either because of reported speech or because of a change of narrator.  This adds to the complexity of the tale and the manner in which information is provided to both the characters and the reader.  All are kept on their toes, guessing and second-guessing.

Star Maker by Olaf Stapledon

A strange and yet compelling book.

A London man falls into a trance.  His disembodied spirit flies out into the universe, travelling further and further away from Earth.  He finds another civilisation and discovers that he can cohabit the bodies of certain individuals of the alien species and experience life through their unique set of senses.

He then embarks on further journeys through the cosmos, taking new companions with him from each of the species he encounters.  Their minds combine to make an increasingly greater intelligence as their numbers swell, until they are able to apprehend the mind of the creator of the universe.  What they discover there is disturbing.

Yes, strange and compelling.  Stapledon maps out the evolution of the universe.  At each step along the way we are introduced to new forms of life.  The author is amazingly inventive in the number of varieties he creates, each with its own mode of surviving and reproducing.  The space in which each episode takes place becomes increasingly large, until the action is being played out across the galaxy.  

Stapledon tells his tale in a clinical, dispassionate but eloquent style.  His descriptions are extensive but never unnecessarily so. And there are deep, philosophical underpinnings to the story.  Here is just one example, taken from near the beginning of the book, echoing a thought the Greek philosopher Heraclitus had almost 2,500 years earlier: 

If he saved all the worlds, but tormented just one man, would you forgive him? Or if he was a little harsh only to one stupid child? What has our pain to do with it, or our failure? Star Maker! It is a good word, though we can have no notion of its meaning. Oh, Star Maker, even if you destroy me, I must praise you. Even if you torture my dearest. Even if you torment and waste all your lovely worlds, the little figments of your imagination, yet I must praise you. For if you do so, it must be right. In me it would be wrong, but in you it must be right.

Star Maker is not an easy read, and 'entertaining' is not a word that springs to mind when describing it; but for someone with a philosophical bent, it is food for the mind.