Author: Umberto Eco
Eco never fails me. Except once… I didn’t care for Baudolino. But even after that epic let down, the work stayed with me – if only to prove that even a genius can manage to disappoint from time to time, because reading is a two way street.
The author must deliver, but the reader must be receptive.
Sometimes capturing the magic of that relationship is consistent, sometimes it isn’t…
Nevertheless, Eco never fails to resonate. I remember his name always. His words always mean something. His thoughts and opinions are ones I value and take into great consideration. He moves me.
He speaks of language and sounds, ideas that arbitrary and ones that are not. He writes about the things that speak to my soul every time. Eco and I, though of course he doesn’t know it, have a trust relationship. I trust him to deliver something that will mean something to me, and I suppose that he trusts that what he has to say needs to be said – what he writes is meant to be written.
Authors and books have a way of being there when you need them most. That comfort stays with me always.