âErudite, wide-ranging, and slyly humorous.â âThe Atlantic
One of the great novelists and public intellectuals of our time gives a master class on the philosophy of fiction.
Umberto Eco was fond of pointing out that all writing is narrative. He published his famed debut novel The Name of the Rose when he was forty-eight years old, yet he believed that everything he had written to that pointâfrom treatises on semiotics to essays on mass cultureâtook the form of a story. To Eco, scholarship, much like fiction, was shaped by narrative. It was the stuff of life itself.
Six Walks in the Fictional Woods, a collection of essays based on Ecoâs 1992â1993 Norton Lectures at Harvard, illuminates fictionâs porous boundariesâin particular, the myriad ways that literary works conscript readersâ experiences and expectations. Fiction, says Eco, can offer metaphysical comfort by appealing to our desire for a smaller, more legible world, one that gives a definitive answer to the question of âwhodunnit?â But it also makes demands of us, presupposing a model reader who possesses the cultural knowledge necessary to interpret the text, as well as a willingness to follow the never-quite-specified rules of the literary game.
âErudite, wide-ranging, and slyly humorous.â âThe Atlantic
One of the great novelists and public intellectuals of our time gives a master class on the philosophy of fiction.
Umberto Eco was fond of pointing out that all writing is narrative. He published his famed debut novel The Name of the Rose when he was forty-eight years old, yet he believed that everything he had written to that pointâfrom treatises on semiotics to essays on mass cultureâtook the form of a story. To Eco, scholarship, much like fiction, was shaped by narrative. It was the stuff of life itself.
Six Walks in the Fictional Woods, a collection of essays based on Ecoâs 1992â1993 Norton Lectures at Harvard, illuminates fictionâs porous boundariesâin particular, the myriad ways that literary works conscript readersâ experiences and expectations. Fiction, says Eco, can offer metaphysical comfort by appealing to our desire for a smaller, more legible world, one that gives a definitive answer to the question of âwhodunnit?â But it also makes demands of us, presupposing a model reader who possesses the cultural knowledge necessary to interpret the text, as well as a willingness to follow the never-quite-specified rules of the literary game.