I've only read The Name of the Rose myself, for a class back in high school. I remember thinking at the time that I hadn't read a story that complex before, and that it was maybe even a little above me; I ought to reread that someday. I've got Foucault's Pendulum on my to-be-read shelf as well, and I'll have to seek out some more of his work. He sounds like a wonderful author.

—doctorlit

“We often have to explain to young people why study is useful. It’s pointless telling them that it’s for the sake of knowledge, if they don’t care about knowledge. Nor is there any point in telling them that an educated person gets through life better than an ignoramus, because they can always point to some genius who, from their standpoint, leads a wretched life. And so the only answer is that the exercise of knowledge creates relationships, continuity, and emotional attachments. It introduces us to parents other than our biological ones. It allows us to live longer, because we don’t just remember our own life but also those of others. It creates an unbroken thread that runs from our adolescence (and sometimes from infancy) to the present day. And all this is very beautiful.”
-- Umberto Eco

Eco wrote books. Lots of books. I only have a few, but one of them is probably my favourite book of all time. Inventing The Enemy is a collection of his essays and lectures and I could feel myself learning when I first read it. In one of the essays he makes an entire story out of the moments of exegesis in other works (exegesis being the technical term for a massive, world-changing, frequently overblown plot twist of the "Here's a pretty ring" from Les Miserables variety), and I laughed aloud. In another, he explored the wisdom (and lack thereof) in common sayings and phrases and running a country on the principles of this "common sense". I didn't feel talked down to. I didn't feel out of my depth. I just felt... good. Like I was thinking better, and in better ways, than I had before.

He made me think more, and that's the best thing an author of books can do.

Rest in peace.

I love his feuilletons! *sigh* Excuse me, I need to sulk for a moment.