When will Goodreads finally allow for half star ratings? I give this work 3.5 stars. Collections of stories and essays are difficult to review, especially if (as was the case for me when reading this book) there are pieces that speak to you and that delight you and then others that you find grating or just ho-hum. And there are undoubtedly added difficulties in reviewing works of parody, many with culturally specific references (in this case dealing with the author's familiarity with Italian literature and pop culture), translated nonetheless from Italian into English. There were passages in some of these works in which I felt Umberto Eco was misinterpreting certain theorists' views -- as in his essay on the "culture industry" in Ancient Greece, which, although very funny, perverts the ideas of critical theorist Theodor Adorno. Of course, I couldn't tell if this misreading of Adorno was intentional or not, given the title of the book (Misreadings) and the fact that Eco's essay was not so much poking fun at Adorno himself but at the wave of Italian authors who were prone to "Adornizing" (as Eco puts it) at the time.
Similarly, while Eco here is using humor to criticize those who are "overintellectual" and “elitist,” there are certain works contained in the collection ("The Phenomenology of Mike Bongiorno" for example) that make Eco seem as much an elitist as those he is criticizing. In some cases parody and other forms of humor come across clearly on the written page, in other cases (and this may be owed in part to culture as well as to translation) the efforts fall flat.
An added problem with a work such as this is that it requires reader and author to have a fairly equivalent level of cultural capital, having read or at least be well-acquainted with the same works of fiction, pop culture, philosophy and criticism. But knowledge is, of course, historically relative as much as it is culturally relative. In some pieces contained in this work, “Fragments” for instance, Eco (in the original) seasoned the work with references to Italian pop songs from the 1950s (and earlier). Of course, these references would not be well understood by an American reader, so in the translation many of the lyrics from the original were changed to lyrics from well-known American pop standards (just as in a work of fiction like Don Quixote translators may convert popular proverbs that were well-known at a particular time and place to modern equivalents in the language into which they are translating). If they were not to do this, then footnotes or end notes would likely be required and this doesn’t work very well for a work of humor; when one has to explain a joke, it’s not really so funny anymore. The problem with many of the pieces contained in this collection is that they may have required more footnotes making certain passages more accessible to the modern English reader.
So then, given these criticisms, why do I give this book 4 stars instead of 3 (or even two), given this heavy load of uncertainty? Well, as I stated at the very beginning, in a work of short stories or essays there are undoubtedly going to be works that one finds enjoyable and others that are perhaps only moderately amusing at best. The first few works in this collection had me laughing uncontrollably, perhaps because here Eco was dealing largely with works with which I was already very familiar.
In the first of these, “Granita,” Eco parodies Nabokov’s Lolita, telling the story of the young Umberto Umberto, who is given to gerontophilia. The work, written very much in the style of Nabokov’s controversial novel (though Eco says it is more a parody of the Italian translation than of Nabokov’s work itself) is written from the perspective of an unreliable narrator and peppered with parenthetical passages in French, and with passing allusions to writers such as Proust and Baudelaire. How can one not laugh at the following, especially having read Lolita: “From the deepest labyrinth of my beardless being, I desired those creatures already marked by stern, implacable age, bent by the fatal rhythm of their eighty years, horribly undermined by the shadow of senescence.”
The second, “Fragments”, is a futuristic piece, written millennia after nuclear warfare destroyed life on Earth (in the year 1980 – amid the uncertainties brought on by the Cold War). The style reminded me of Woody Allen’s Sleeper, though this piece was written almost 15 years before Allen’s film was made and released. In this story, professors of the future fawn over the brilliance and complexity of newly discovered poetry from this ancient civilization. Of course, as noted earlier, many of the popular song lyrics referenced in the original have been changed to American equivalents and those that remain from popular Italian songs are understood in context easily enough, as these popular lyrics, often thought of as banal by the highbrow, can be distinguished well enough from what one might call poetry of a higher worth (but again, although very funny, I think this piece helps support my claim that Eco is – perhaps to a lesser extent (I don’t know) – an elitist, just as those he criticizes throughout).
In the third piece Eco gives a social structural and very scholarly analysis of the art of stripping. And in the fourth – one of the funniest and most accessible, though not the best written (perhaps because he’s writing in the voice of reviewers of popular fiction) – titled “Regretfully, We Are Returning Your . . .” Eco writes rejection letters from modern publishing houses that specialize in popular fiction to famous authors, such as Homer, Dante, Kant, Kafka, Proust, Joyce and Cervantes, more often than not reviewing their works unfavorably. The Bible is praised in the first paragraph as: “Action-packed, they have everything today’s reader wants in a good story. Sex (lots of it, including adultery, sodomy, incest), also murder, war, massacres, and so on.” Then it is concluded that “The end result is a massive omnibus. It seems to have something for everybody, but ends up appealing to nobody. . . . I’d suggest trying to get the rights to only the first five chapters. We’re on sure ground there. . . .” In his review of Don Quixote Eco (as the fictitious reviewer) writes that it would interfere with the publishing house’s popular titles and he goes on to list such hits with readers as Amadis of Gaul – chivalric romances that Cervantes takes aim it in his classic. A la reserche du temps perdu is criticized for its horrible punctuation and lengthy paragraphs. And the author concludes that “the book is too – what’s the word? – asthmatic.” Kafka’s The Trial is praised for its Hitchcockian elements but derided for its lack of details: “These young writers believe they can be ‘poetic’ by saying ‘a man’ instead of ‘Mr. So-and-so in such-and-such a city.’” And, my favorite, Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake is returned with the following very short reply: “Please, tell the office manager to be more careful when he sends books out to be read. I’m the English-language reader, and you’ve sent me a book written in some other, godforsaken language. I’m returning it under separate cover.”
As can be deemed from some of the fictional reviews cited above, Eco is deliberately anachronistic throughout this work, mentioning Hitchcock in a review of Kafka’s The Trial and using the critical theory of Theodor Adorno to condemn writers from Ancient Greece for their lowbrow appeal, and including an entire piece that reads as a television transcript of reporters and commentators’ play-by-play discussion of Columbus’ “discovery” of the New World. Many of these pieces, reliant upon anachronism as their basis, I found a bit difficult to digest; while I appreciated what Eco was trying to do, I felt he failed in his delivery.
From that fourth piece on things became a bit less funny and enjoyable, though there were some pieces here and there that sparked my interest. “The Thing” was a fascinating little short story on the discovery of the first weapons (made of rocks) in ancient civilization. “Industry and Sexual Repression in a Po Valley Society” analyzes Milanese culture, written as though it were an ethnographic study by Mead, Boas or Malinowski – or some other classic early anthropologist – but in reading like an ethnography, it reads very dry, even though meant as humor, perhaps partly because it was one of the longest pieces in this collection. “Three Eccentric Reviews” was written in the style of “Regretfully, We Are Returning Your . . .”, but as critical reviews of certain works – including a Fifty Thousand Lire and a One Hundred Thousand Lire(!), a draft of the Ladies Home Journal and D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover – and was nearly as hilarious. And “Make Your Own Movie” provides readers with plot patterns that they can follow to make films in the style of famous directors like Luchino Visconti, Jean-Luc Godard and Michelangelo Antonioni (e.g., Antonioni: A foggy oil field. He looks at the camera without any expression as he touches her scarf). Of course, here, as elsewhere, Eco expects that readers will be familiar with the works of the filmmakers he is referencing and those without a knowledge of the works of such directors may appreciate some of the humor, but much will likely go over their heads.
What works in this collection works incredibly well – there are some sections that are laugh out loud funny, and in which Eco succeeds in making us see the ridiculousness of the overthinking and pedantic writer and critic while also raising important social and cultural questions along the way. But there are also many instances where Eco seems to fall into his own trap – in criticizing the pedant he shows that he is a pedant; his humor sometimes fails to transcend cultural and historical barriers, and his applications of certain theories seem either misinformed, meandering or the intended humor in the application is not entirely clear and we have to ask ourselves, ‘Is he trying to be funny or ironic here or not?’
Anthony Burgess suggested that Eco’s novel Foucault’s Pendulum needed an index, for it was packed so full of abstruse references. And others have pointed out that many of Eco’s little jokes in that and other works are obscure and go over the heads of many readers (and critics). As with readers of Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow, apparently readers of Eco’s novels might also benefit by buying a reader’s guide to make sense of the many references throughout, where Eco (like Pynchon) seems to be screaming, “Hey, look at me! Look at all I know!”
At his best, when reading these early pieces, Eco reminded me pleasantly of Edgar Allan Poe, and also of Woody Allen comedies and of Thomas Pynchon. At his worst, Eco also reminded me of Pynchon and he seemed so dreadfully similar to some of those he was knocking down – Eco seems in some pieces to (unintentionally) echo the stuffy elite whom he elsewhere ridicules (pardon the awful pun). I guess in all that the good outweighs the bad, but only marginally.