I finished The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco around Christmas. As someone who's spent a lot of time staring at and reading about the plan of Saint Gall it was a great experience seeing it brought to life. Since then I've been reading The Books of Jacob by Olga Tokarczuk, which I'm loving so far. It also revives one of my favorite literary conventions, the ridiculously verbose subtitle: The tremendous journey across seven borders, five languages and three major religions, the little ones not to be forgotten: narrated by the dead by means of a method developed by the author for conjectures, enriched by a sumptuous selection of books, also supported by the imagination, which is nature's greatest gift to man: to wise for the support of memory, for patriots for reflection, laymen for study, melancholics for amusement