I enjoy reading Neal Stephenson. I find his works so much fun - especially since the topics he chooses to take on are close to my heart - virtual reality, a bleak portrait of the future that seems to already be happening, and a glimpse into the lives and minds of World War 2 cryptographers (with much of the action set in the Philippines, to boot).

And I love Neil Gaiman. Sandman, American Gods…his are stories that transport me to fantastic other worlds.

I have several other favorite writers - Isabel Allende, Amy Tan, and Martin Amis, to name a few.

But of them all, Umberto Eco is the one I respect the most.

This may be due to the words or expressions he uses, which always make an interesting read for me, partly because still I have to look up so many of them in the dictionary. Or the way he generously peppers his text with passages in Latin and other languages. And also partly because he oftentimes takes it for granted that his reader knows about and understands his historical, theological or philosophical allusions.

Whatever it is, when I read his works, I feel somewhat more intelligent than I really am.

Posted under Navel-Gazing