Umberto Eco is one of those writers whom I missed completely when he was happening. This week, I picked The Name of the Rose at Delhi airport. It took me more than an hour of reading two paragraphs at a time, to finally get into the book. I just could not read it continuously. And chances are, if I had not been on a flight and the phone had been on, I wouldn’t have managed to get hooked to it. Now I am and it is, so far, an interesting read.