I remember Umberto Eco.  Foucault’s Pendulum was, briefly, a text I would consider seminal.  It didn’t stick, but I still greatly admire it.  In a way, it showed me that European literature was deeply engrossed (obsessed?) with history.  For someone who had, at the time, read only American writers (and genre writers at that), this was revolutionary to my understanding of literature.

-19 February 2016

This post is part of the I Remember series.