The Prague Cemetery by Umberto Eco

First published in Italy in 2010; published in English by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt on November 8, 2011

The story that underlies The Prague Cemetery is told, for the most part, by Simone Simonini, a forger who thrives on hatred -- of Jews and Germans, Jesuits and Masons, the French and Italians (although he is half French and half Italian), artists and women, his parents and God -- a man whose motto is “I hate therefore I am.”  In an introductory note, Umberto Eco tells us he tried to create “the most cynical and disagreeable” character in the history of literature.  He may not have succeeded, but he put forth a worthy effort.  Recognizing that it is possible to laugh at (rather than with) hateful people frees the reader to enjoy (or at least tolerate) the absurdly bigoted ramblings of Eco’s scornful rogue.

As the novel opens, Simonini is having an identity crisis -- or an identities crisis, given his suspicion that he is not only Simonini but Abbé Dalla Piccola, about whom he knows nothing.  We soon learn that Dalla Piccola is having the same crisis, wondering whether he is, in fact, Simonini -- except that Piccola seems to know more about Simonini than he knows about himself.  Simonini and Piccola begin leaving messages for each other.  This clever device allows Eco to explore Simonini’s (mostly repulsive) moral character from both an objective and a subjective perspective.  The mystery of the apparent dual identity binds the unfolding story.

Although set in the late nineteenth century, Simonini’s reconstructed memories of his own past begin in mid-century Piedmont and offer an opinionated view of European history in the century’s last half.  Simonini is often employed as a spy for the police and various governmental entities in Italy, France, Russia, and Prussia.  When the truth (in which nobody is particularly interested) is either difficult to find or inconveniently innocent, Simonini concocts stories and documents to satisfy his clients.  At one point, Simonini borrows and embellishes the story of a conspiratorial gathering in an abandoned Jewish cemetery in Prague, a meeting allegedly designed to further a long-standing, sinister plan to control the world.  Standing always in the middle, with loyalty to none and hatred of all, Simonini pits nation against nation, Freemason against Jesuit, and everyone against the Jews, all the while revising his story of the Prague cemetery as new potential buyers for his conspiracy theory come along.

Eco provides a bit of everything to entertain his reader in this grand novel:  drama, intrigue, humor, action, philosophy, brilliant prose, strong characters, and a lengthy history lesson that culminates with the Dreyfus affair.  Eco advises that all but a few minor characters (other than Simonini) really existed, and that the major historical events described in the text actually happened.  Knowing that, I read the novel with Google close at hand.  Learning more about the historical references probably doubled my reading time but the added context made the story more comprehensible.  Serious fiction often demands something from the reader; in this case, the serious reader’s effort will be repaid.

Many of the themes in The Prague Cemetery resonate in modern times, including the attempts governments make to instill fear of the “other” in their citizenry as a means of gaining power and control, an exercise that supposedly justifies “harsh measures” to control alleged criminals.  There is little difference between the detentions without trial in nineteenth century French prisons that Eco describes and those that occurred at Guantanamo in our recent past.  The recycling of lies and the ease with which people are fooled when told what they want to hear -- a recurring theme in Eco’s novel -- is also a truth that readers might recognize in the modern world.  As Simonini frequently observes, a jaded writer can dredge up a twenty year old discredited story and pass it off as new, confident that most readers (who are likely reading what they want to believe) won’t know the difference, or won’t care.

Some readers might be offended by a rather graphic scene involving a devotee of Lucifer named Diana and the erotic role she plays in a Black Mass.  The scene is far from gratuitous -- it is, in fact, critical to the story, and beautifully written -- so I mention it only as a warning to those who might be put off by content of that nature.

Lush prose, confident storytelling, a Byzantine plot of dizzying breadth, even a series of sketches illustrating scenes in the novel -- all these elements combine to form a novel that is both serious and extraordinarily fun.

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