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Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose Part 1

There should be no problem classifying Eco’s fictional narrative: it is undoubtedly a novel, but it seems to go beyond what we expect from a conventional novel. The opening line is enough to raise our suspicions: In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. What is the majestic opening line, full of theological weight, of John’s gospel, doing here, in what we have been told is a medieval whodunnit?

The alert reader is already primed for what will be a unique reading experience. Yes, we do encounter murdered monks, some of them meeting a gruesome end; there is a fascinating story of a power struggle between Emperor and Pope; we are overcome with the intricate debates concerning theological matters, heresies, religious symbolism, and arcane knowledge. The reader is expected to wade through long disquisitions which may, at a first glance, appear otiose and recondite. But, if you love the Middle Ages; if you find the world of illuminated manuscripts, Gregorian chant and psalmody, monastic study and controversy, biblical exegesis, subtle philosophical debate, and the rhythm of canonical hours fascinating and seductive, then Eco has written the book for you.

The novel is like a rich tapestry, which traces complex designs and patterns, and inveigles the reader to delve ever more deeply into the strange world it describes. You don’t have to be a medievalist to enjoy the narrative, but it helps if you are obsessive about some of the topics it touches on.

The novel becomes absorbing as soon as we are introduced to the two main characters: William of Baskerville, a Franciscan monk, and Adso of Melk, a Benedictine. Reflecting the Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson partnership, they are master and pupil. William will be our guide and mentor, a mature, clever and resilient detective (though there were probably no gumshoes at the time) who has been tasked with the unenviable job of investigating the murders which have disturbed the peace and quiet of our monastery.
William early shows his powers of deduction when he correctly deduces that the monastery horse, Brunellus, has galloped away from his usual haunts. He belongs to a relatively new order, the Franciscans, who were at the time acquiring a reputation for innovative thinking, scientific experimentation and a certain scepticism in doctrinal matters.

Though Adso, William’s pupil and companion, is young and impressionable, he belongs to a more established order, the Benedictines, who value silence, recollection, introspection, and detachment from worldly cares. But this world of meditative peace has been turned topsy-turvy by a series of gruesome murders.

The first death is that of Adelmo of Otranto, a skilled illuminator who included comical drawings in the marginalia of his manuscripts, and thereby drew the wrath of Jorge of Burgos, the old, blind monk who lurks in the darkest corners of the abbey, scriptorium and library.

The next victim is Venantius of Salvemec who knows Greek, a rare accomplishment at the time, and has been translating Aristotle. His death is particularly striking: he is found drowned in a vat of pigs’ blood.

The mysterious deaths seem to be related to the special task performed by the victim either in the scriptorium or the library. Monasteries were seats of learning, the medieval equivalent of a university, a storehouse of precious books, codices, maps, encyclopaedias, bestiaries and illuminated gospels. In the novel, the library is only accessed by the librarian and his assistant, Malachi and Berengar, with the permission of the abbot, Abo of Fossanova.

When William and Adso penetrate the inner sanctum of the library, they are assaulted by devices constructed to frighten, dissuade and unnerve the intruder. Mirrors are strategically placed that enlarge and distort what they reflect. There are minatory texts derived from the Apocalypse, in the different rooms, which strike terror into the visitors’ hearts: ‘primogenitus mortuorum’- the first born of the dead. The air is heavy with the powerful scent of burning herbs which induce visions and hallucinations. Fissures in the walls allow gusts of wind to blow across the empty spaces, creating a low moan and creepy sound. Adso feels an invisible hand stroke his face and says: ‘we thought a ghost was breathing on our face.’ The library, located in the two top floors of the imposing Aedificium, the massive, fortified tower which dominates the monastery, is forbidden territory for all except a few select monks.

The Aedificium has four towers at the four cardinal points. The library itself has a total of fifty-six rooms and each room has a scroll inscribed with a verse from the Book of Revelation or the Apocalypse. The first letter of the verse is the letter corresponding to that room. The letters of adjacent rooms, read together, spell the name of a region and those rooms contain books from that region. A few examples follow: Hibernia, Ireland, west tower; Fons Adae, the earthly paradise, contains bibles and commentaries, east tower; Yspania, Spain, southwest tower. The central room on the south tower, the so-called finis Africae, (the outermost limits of the known world), contains the most heavily guarded books and can only be entered through a secret door.

The reader enters a labyrinthine construction, reminiscent of buildings which are purpose built to baffle, confuse and lead astray. Critics have noticed that the presiding spirit of the library, if only because he tries to dissuade others from entering it, is Jorge of Burgos, a blind, old monk who is always ready to deliver a scathing attack on ‘new’ learning. Jorge reflects Eco’s admiration for Jorge Luis Borges, the Argentinian writer and fabulist, who wrote metaphysical stories full of labyrinths, mirrors, conundrums, and a passionate love of books. Borges was also blind and a librarian.

Books and the signs they contain are at the heart of our story. Signs are there to be interpreted and monastic culture was heavily invested in the deciphering and understanding of signs. Early in the novel, Adso is bemused by the riot of figures that decorate the great tympanum over the entrance to the abbey church. But the most powerful impression is caused by the figure ‘seated on a throne. The face of the Seated One was stern and impassive… I saw four awful creatures - awful for me, as I looked at them…’ The artist has included the whole of creation, and it would require detailed exegesis to grasp the intricate meaning of the whole composition.

On another occasion, Adso is again challenged by the ambiguity of signs. Malachi has failed to return some books to their place on the shelves of the scriptorium. Adso feels slightly intoxicated with the perfume that pervades the room but decides to open a ‘richly illuminated volume’ which hails from a monastery of Ultima Thule (probably Ireland). The page is decorated with an image of a lion, the symbol of the evangelist Mark. Adso assumes the artist was inspired by the sight of lions in Hibernia (lions in Ireland?). He thinks that the country must be ‘a land of monstrous creatures.’ He is convinced the animal concentrates in itself all the characteristics of the things at once most horrible and most regal: ‘so the image suggested to me both the image of the Enemy and that of Christ our Lord, nor did I know by what symbolic key I was to read it…’ Adso is nonplussed by the lion, which combines a paradoxical meaning beyond his comprehension.

In the second part of this article, we will need to examine the central topics of the novel. Eco revels in quoting examples of medieval heresies; he dwells on the controversial theme of evangelical poverty; a number of popes are excoriated for their hubris and their opposition to the Holy Roman Emperor; the figure of the Antichrist looms in the background and is variously identified with some historical characters; the Fraticelli and the Spiritualist branch of the Franciscans are given a great deal of prominence; Joachim of Fiore, an early medieval abbot and prophet, must be looked at and explained. So, there’s still a lot to be getting on with.