So I've been reading Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose (Il nome della rosa) to satisfy my Sherlock cravings. (I recast it, though, hope that doesn't offend anyone. [nevermind, never you mind who is who...]) It is an intellectual mystery wherein the author assumes the reader is comfortable with stretches of Latin (check), French (une petit) and Italian (niente affatto). They are all thrown together pell-mell whilst I do my best to recall anything that remains of my past studies. Yikes. The story is gripping though and there's enough English that I can keep up.
I only know one person who has read this: my friend Josh. He knows I'm trying to read it. Yet, yesterday he went out and bought the next Dune book for me. So much for improving my romance languages. I'm about halfway through Heretics of Dune as of tonight. And I'll read a bit more before bed.
