After working my way through some of Eco's nonfiction (The History of Beauty and The History of Ugliness -- both fantastically fascinating and fabulous) I thought it was time to try out his fiction. In truth, I still can't tell if I liked it. I liked the illustrations, and the ending. I liked the atmosphere Eco is able to so delicately create. I could taste and smell Italy while I read this book, and not in a gross Under-the-Tuscan-Sun kind of way. I loved the richness of the cultural allusions. There is even a secret room in an old house that holds treasures! But there's something about it that I didn't quite get into. Perhaps it was intended for another generation, or at least someone a bit older? Was it too cerebral for me? Was it just a few pages too long (or quite a few -- it is 480 pages, after all)? I don't know...another mystery, I suppose, that Eco doesn't even hint at the answer to.