By CARLOS EDUARDO ARAÚJO*

Considerations on the film directed by Davide Ferrario.

1.

Umberto Eco: the library of the world, a fascinating film directed by Davide Ferrario, full of reflections on the complexity of our time, opens with a powerful image: Umberto Eco walking among shelves crammed with books, surrounded by a universe he has built throughout his life. This opening scene already sums up the core of the work and of Eco's very existence: an intellectual whose home was, above all, a library.

The physical space through which Umberto Eco circulates reflects his persona: books are everywhere, with a variety of titles and themes intertwining like a vast network of knowledge. His personal library was not just a repository of texts, but a living organism, a space for research, invention and ongoing dialogue. The Italian writer and semiologist argued that a library should be largely composed of unread books – not as a simple collection of completed works, but as an instrument to stimulate curiosity and continuous learning.

This conception manifests itself in an allegorical way in his novel. The name of the Rose, his first novel, published in 1980, in which the library of the Benedictine monastery plays a central role in the narrative. More than a repository of books, it is configured as a labyrinth that restricts and regulates access to knowledge.

The librarian monks impose strict rules on how to consult the works, and much of the collection remains inaccessible to most religious people. Thus, the library in the novel becomes a metaphor for the so-called “anti-library”: a space where hidden, forbidden or unattainable knowledge acquires a meaning that is as powerful or even more powerful than that which is within reach.

This notion inspired the thinker Nassim Nicholas Taleb, who, in The Black Swan Logic, coined the term “anti-library” to describe precisely the value of the unknown – a reserve of as yet unexplored knowledge that humbly reminds us of the vastness of what we ignore. In this sense, Eco’s library, with its more than 30 thousand volumes, anticipated and materialized, decades before, the idea that Nassim Taleb would later theorize. More than a collection, it was a laboratory of possibilities, where the books that had not yet been read were as essential as those that had already been discovered. Let us listen to Nassim Taleb, who titles Part I of his book: “Umberto Eco’s anti-library, or how we seek validation”:

“The writer Umberto Eco belongs to that small class of learned scholars who are encyclopedic, insightful and not boring at all. He owns a vast personal library (containing 30 books) and separates visitors into two categories: those who react with “Wow! Mr. Professor Doctor Eco, what a magnificent library you have! How many of these books have you read?” and the others—a very small minority—who understand that a private library is not an ego-boosting appendage but a research tool. Read books are far less valuable than unread ones. Your library should contain as much of what you don’t know as your financial resources, mortgage rates, and the currently very tight housing market will allow you to fit in there. You will accumulate more knowledge and more books as you grow older, and the ever-growing rows of unread books on the shelves will stare back at you with a menacing expression. In fact, the more you know, the more crowded the shelves of unread books will become. Let’s call this collection of unread books the antilibrary.” (Nassim Nicholas Taleb.) The Black Swan Logic).

2.

The film's opening scene also serves as a metaphor for Umberto Eco's obsession with memory and intertextuality, reflecting his thinking rooted in a vast array of references, ranging from medieval manuscripts to comics and popular novels. It encapsulates the essence of Umberto Eco as a thinker and bibliophile, while the documentary as a whole reveals itself to be a celebration not only of the author, but of the very idea of ​​the library as a space of knowledge, mystery and creation.

One thing that stands out is the way Umberto Eco treated his books not as mere objects, but as interlocutors, activating them in his thinking and connecting ideas from different eras and fields of knowledge. His library was a true labyrinth of memory, where each book fit together like a piece of a great intellectual puzzle assembled over the course of a lifetime. The expression “vegetable memory,” the title of one of his works, illustrates this relationship well, evoking both the materiality of books – paper coming from trees – and the idea of ​​knowledge that grows, branches out and intertwines, like a vast forest of ideas.

In the film, Umberto Eco's walk through the book-filled corridors of his library is not only a physical act, but also a symbolic one. Each bookcase, each shelf, each volume is an anchor point for reflections on time, culture and intertextuality. Eco understood the library as a living organism, where the past dialogues with the present and the future.

His library was not just a den of knowledge, but an intellectual battlefield. As he walks through the narrow corridors of his library, one gets the feeling that he is on an autobiographical journey, where the books are not just external references, but chapters in his own story.

Umberto Eco was a voracious reader and an encyclopedic thinker, moving between medieval philosophy, semiotics, literature, popular culture and history. His library reflected this Renaissance spirit: it was a palimpsest of influences, a true archive of human thought. In browsing it, Eco is not just traversing a physical space, as we have said, but revisiting the layers of his own knowledge, the ideas that formed him and the debates that shaped his worldview.

This walk also evokes the Borgesian idea of ​​the infinite library, where each book is a mirror of another, where the search for knowledge never ends. As in The name of the Rose, the library becomes a microcosm of the world, a place of discoveries, but also of mysteries, of hidden truths and of ever-renewed interpretations.

3.

Furthermore, Umberto Eco's library is a testament to the materiality of books in a time of digitalization of knowledge. He argued that physical books have an irreplaceable presence, and that their organization on shelves allows fortuitous and unexpected associations – a book forgotten on a shelf can, when found again, generate new ideas and new connections.

Therefore, Umberto Eco's walk through his library is also a metaphor for his own intellectual life: a wandering, labyrinthine journey, made up of constant discoveries. The library not only holds his memory, but is, in a certain way, his memory.

Umberto Eco’s library functions as a double of himself, a mirror of his restless and multidisciplinary mind. Each book there is a trace of his readings, research and intellectual obsessions. In the documentary, this almost organic relationship between him and the books manifests itself physically: the way he browses the shelves, the way he touches the volumes, the way he seems to know exactly where each title is. It is as if he were walking inside his own mind.

Furthermore, this library is not just an archive of what Umberto Eco has read, but of what he could have read. He advocated the idea that a personal library should not be just a repository of readings already done, but an anti-library, as we alluded to above. The value of books lies not only in what we have already assimilated from them, but also in what we still have to discover. In this sense, Eco’s library is a kind of work in progress, always unfinished, always open to new possibilities of reading and interpretation. This resonates with his view of culture as something alive and dynamic, never fixed or definitive.

He says, verbatim, in the film, that “the library, in fact, symbolizes the reality of a collective memory. When Dante Alighieri reaches his last canto, Paradise, and has the beatific vision of God, how did he resolve the difficult task of describing him? Which is not an easy thing, he says that he saw gathered together, in one volume, what in the universe crumbles. So he sees God as the library of libraries, with a few centuries of existence.”

Umberto Eco takes the library to an even deeper level of meaning: it is not just a reflection of individual memory, but a metaphor for the collective memory of humanity. Citing Dante and the beatific vision of Paradise, he suggests that God is, so to speak, the ultimate library, the great volume where everything is recorded and organized.

The reference to the last corner of the Divine Comedy is particularly significant. In Canto XXXIII of Paradise, Dante describes his vision of God as a book containing all that exists, a volume that brings together the totality of creation in an orderly fashion. This concept directly echoes the Renaissance idea of ​​the universe as a free world, a “book of the world” that can be read and interpreted by the human intellect.

Umberto Eco, with his background in medieval philosophy and semiotics, captures this symbolism and translates it into a contemporary context: human libraries are partial attempts to imitate this divine volume, to gather and organize the world's knowledge. But unlike God's absolute book, human libraries are always fragmentary, incomplete, subject to oblivion and destruction.

This vision also connects with Borges and his Library of Babel, where all possible books exist but are scattered in a chaotic manner. Unlike Dante's divine order, Borges presents a cosmos of infinite but unattainable knowledge. Eco, as a mediator between these visions, sees the library as a synthesis: a human effort to give order to chaos, but always aware of its insufficiency.

4.

In another scene, the film portrays the repercussions of Umberto Eco's death, which occurred on February 19, 2016, at the age of 84. Television news outlets around the world reported the death of the renowned thinker, providing analysis and tributes. The multiplicity of languages ​​and media outlets featured in the film highlights the breadth of the impact of his passing.

This moment in the film reinforces the global dimension of Umberto Eco’s figure. His death was not only a loss for Italy, but for Western thought as a whole. The fact that newspapers around the world reported his death in several languages ​​is evidence of his universal impact. He was not just an academic or a successful novelist; he was a true public intellectual, someone whose voice resonated beyond the walls of the university and the literary circuit.

Umberto Eco constructed a body of work that engaged with diverse cultural and intellectual traditions. His research in semiotics, his passion for medieval philosophy, his critical analysis of mass culture and his erudition-laden novels created a bridge between academic knowledge and the general public. Few thinkers of the 20th century managed to achieve such breadth.

This scene also suggests a reflection on the permanence of memory. If, in life, Eco dedicated himself to preserving and interpreting the knowledge accumulated in books, in his death he himself became part of this collective memory that he valued so much. News of his death circulated in newspapers, on television, and on the internet – new media that echoed his existence, ensuring that his thought continues to live on.

In the next moment of the film, Umberto Eco's wife, now a widow, appears in front of his daughter, and they both start to remember moments of his life. The widow reads a news story from the time of the novelist's death, according to which the city of Milan was in mourning for the thinker's death.

This moment reveals a powerful intersection between the personal and the collective. By introducing Umberto Eco’s widow and daughter, Renate Ramge and Charlotte Eco, the documentary invites us to reflect on the void left by his absence in the intimate sphere of the family. After several years since his death, they do not seem to be caught up in melancholy; on the contrary, they remember him with lightness and even a certain irony. At the same time, the film highlights the mourning that is spreading throughout Milan and the intellectual world, highlighting the lasting impact of his loss and the permanence of his legacy.

Reading the news of mourning in Milan symbolizes how Umberto Eco’s figure transcended the personal sphere to become a public icon, whose influence reached every corner. At the same time, the intimate scene of a mother and daughter recalling moments from the thinker’s life reveals the human and emotional dimension behind his grandiose intellect. This duality – collective mourning and family memory – reveals the complexity of Umberto Eco’s legacy: a man whose work and life were, in themselves, a continuous dialogue between the private and the universal.

This episode makes us think about how the loss of a great thinker is felt in different ways, connecting the intimate sphere of affection to the historical and cultural dimension of a city in mourning. It underscores the idea that, although books and ideas are timeless, human existence is marked by relationships, memories and farewells that intertwine in each individual trajectory.

This scene brings a touch of humor and humanity that contrasts with the usual image of the distant intellectual. The magazine Linus, by dedicating a special edition to Umberto Eco, with drawings that portray him as Charlie Brown, Superman, Smurf and other popular figures, highlights how the thinker has become part of popular culture. The drawings emphasize his physical characteristic – the famous “paunch” – in an almost affectionate way, transforming a personal trait into a recognizable and even affable symbol.

This visual approach subverts the idea that intellectuals must always be serious or unattainable. By showing Umberto Eco through these caricatured lenses, the magazine suggests that genius can coexist with simplicity and that profound thought can also be accessible and fun. For his daughter and wife, these images not only record the memory of a brilliant man, but also bring to light the human figure behind the ideas, the same one who, with his relaxed and irreverent manner, captivated generations.

This balance between serious thinking and light humor is one of Umberto Eco's trademarks. His ability to engage with diverse audiences – from academia to popular culture – shows how he understood that knowledge can be transmitted in surprising and accessible ways. This approach humanizes the intellectual, bringing him closer to people, making his ideas more well-received and impactful.

Umberto Eco's widow recalls the impressive crowd that gathered around the Sforzesco Castle, where the writer's body was being laid out. At one point, the number of people was so great that she herself had difficulty entering. Faced with the human barrier, she tried to move forward, asking permission:

" - Please let me pass.

But from the crowd came indignant responses:

– Do you want to go through? We’ve been here since morning. Get in line like everyone else.

She then explained:

– But I'm the widow.

Later, his daughter asked:

– Did they let you pass?

And Echo's widow replied, laconic:

– No, they didn’t let me.”

The scene poignantly illustrates the public dimension of the death of Umberto Eco, an intellectual whose influence went beyond academic and literary circles. The episode of the widow blocked by the crowd suggests a paradox: private mourning colliding with popular reverence. The tone of the crowd’s response – “Get in line like everyone else” – reveals not only their devotion to the writer, but also a certain distance from the personal reality of his family. Eco’s charisma was such that, at that moment, the public figure seemed to overshadow the man, making his own wife just another admirer.

The conclusion is almost tragicomic. When the daughter asks if they let her pass, the widow’s laconic response – “No, they didn’t let me” – expresses both resignation and irony. It is a symbolic portrait of Italian culture, where the cult of greatness can, in certain circumstances, overshadow even the mourning of those who were closest to the honoree.

This experience may have been extremely challenging: while the crowd represents the celebration and recognition of her work, she, as a widow, needs to reaffirm her identity and her unique role in this loss. The gesture of identifying herself as a widow thus becomes an act of personal affirmation amidst the disorder and the crowd that, in a way, dilutes the intimacy of the moment. This duality reflects how Eco's life and work transcended the personal, reaching proportions that, upon his death, manifested themselves in the form of an intense and overwhelming public demonstration.

5.

The next scene of the film takes us to Milan, to the house where Umberto Eco lived. It is 2022, six years after his death. The widow opens the apartment window, allowing light to fill the rooms, in a simple gesture, but one that is full of meaning. At that moment, the camera pans over a rustic wooden shelf, where a few objects and books are placed. Then, the focus turns to a table, on which are arranged photo frames, an old clock and a caricature of Eco, creating an intimate scene that evokes his presence.

The scene that follows is a mixture of wonder and melancholy. Before us stands the imposing library that Umberto Eco built over decades, with care, dedication and a tireless passion for knowledge. However, the grandeur of this collection now carries a palpable absence. Without their owner, the books seem to wait in silence, as if they were missing the one who collected, consulted and loved them.

Soon after, Umberto Eco's son, Stefano Eco, appears in his father's office, inside the house where he lived. He explains that the writer's library consisted of 30.000 modern books and 1.200 old volumes. According to him, the "room of old books" served as a personal refuge, where Umberto Eco would lock himself away to play his flute.

Next, the widow appears delicately placing the flute next to a sheet of music on a pedestal, in a silent gesture, but full of memory and affection. The camera then zooms in on the books, allowing us to contemplate old copies, with spines curved by time, beautiful and intriguing to the eye—a true delight for those who love books.

In the next scene, we see Umberto Eco talking to someone in the so-called “old books room”. With his usual good humor and playful spirit, he states that his “basic collection” is made up of a semiological, curious, lunatic, magical and pneumatic library. “For a librarian, I would say that it is about the occult sciences, but in reality, it is not quite like that. I have books on every language ever invented”, he adds, reinforcing the enigmatic and fascinating tone of his collection.

The excerpt highlights Umberto Eco’s witty personality, which plays with the idea of ​​his library as a space of mystery and unusual knowledge. The expression “occult sciences” suggests an esoteric tone, but he quickly downplays it, indicating that his collection encompasses exotic but not necessarily mystical knowledge. The mention of “languages ​​already invented” refers to Eco’s intellectual curiosity for signs, languages ​​and symbolic systems, central themes in his work.

In a later scene, Umberto Eco's daughter and a friend, Riccardo Fedriga, walk through the library, revealing the vast areas of knowledge it contains. As they move forward, they highlight the sections dedicated to physiognomy, magic, alchemy, chemistry and science, chemical theaters, occultism, hermeticism and semiology. Among the shelves appear volumes on emblems, hieroglyphics, astronomical sciences, demonology, theology, esotericism and Kircher. There are also spaces dedicated to the Rosicrucians, universal languages, linguistics and the souls of animals. Each category reflects Eco's encyclopedic spirit, his tireless curiosity and his search for understanding the multiple layers of human knowledge.

This scene is a veritable mosaic of Umberto Eco’s multifaceted erudition, where each area of ​​knowledge on display – from alchemy and the occult to linguistics and astronomical sciences – highlights the breadth and depth of his intellectual curiosity. As they explore these domains together, Umberto Eco’s daughter and friend seem to map out the symbolic and real universe that he constructed throughout his life.

The display of different areas reflects not only Umberto Eco's passion for diverse knowledge, but also the way he understood knowledge as something interconnected: magic and hermeticism mix with semiology and linguistics, esotericism dialogues with the exact sciences, and so on. This plurality shows that, for Eco, the boundaries between disciplines were permeable, allowing a reading of the world that encompasses both the rational and the mystical, the scientific and the poetic.

The scene also has an almost ritualistic dimension: it is as if each area were a stage in a great journey of discovery, in which the library becomes the sacred space where all manifestations of human knowledge come together. By revisiting these sectors, Eco's children not only pay homage to their father's memory, but also reaffirm the legacy of a thinker who saw knowledge as a complex and interconnected network.

This interdisciplinary and symbolic approach makes Umberto Eco's library a kind of microcosm, a place where each object and each book carries within itself the essence of ancient traditions and, at the same time, the pulsating vitality of contemporary knowledge.

6.

For Umberto Eco, memory is the foundation of culture and civilization. Without memory, the future cannot be planned, because it is the memory of past experiences that allows humanity to build new paths. In this sense, books play a central role: they are life insurance, a small foretaste of immortality. Not an immortality for the future – unfortunately – but one focused on the past, ensuring that the experiences of a given era do not dissipate into oblivion. And, for him, “libraries are the memory of humanity”. This statement by Umberto Eco masterfully summarizes the fundamental role of libraries in preserving knowledge and culture.

Umberto Eco understood that we do not know whether our individual memories will persist after death. However, we are certain that collective memory remains, recording the experiences of those who came before us and preserving ours for those who will come after us. Books are one of the main instruments of this continuity, a physical support of the “plant memory” that spans centuries and ensures that knowledge survives.

Umberto Eco, in his book Plant memory and other writings on bibliophilia, explores the evolution of human memory from its primitive forms to the digital age. Initially, the elderly, he says, transmitted knowledge orally, functioning as an organic memory. With writing, mineral memory emerged, engraved in stone, clay and architecture, which in addition to recording information, transmitted teachings through images and symbols.

Later, plant memory was developed, associated with paper and books, allowing for more accessible and personalized storage of knowledge. Unlike inscriptions on stone, books allow for a dialogue with an author, even if that author lived centuries before, becoming objects of interpretation and questioning.

Reading broadens human experience, allowing a person to live not only his or her own life, but countless others through recorded accounts. While an illiterate person only knows what he or she experiences directly, those who read appropriate the experiences of many, becoming richer in memory and knowledge. Plant memory, unlike the fragile recollection of individuals, can be consulted and verified, serving as a reliable testimony of human history and culture.

In another scene from the film, we find Umberto Eco in a moment of family intimacy. He is holding his grandson on his lap, while the television remains on in front of him. With his left hand, he holds a glass, while at the same time devoting attention to his grandson. The latter asks him whether 10 seconds pass quickly or slowly. And Umberto Eco answers him: “Look, 10 seconds tend to always pass in the same amount of time. Well, what’s more: 10 seconds always pass in 10 seconds.”

The film excerpt describes an intimate and everyday moment of Umberto Eco, highlighting his family side. Unlike the image of an intellectual immersed in books and academic debates, here he appears as a grandfather, sharing a simple moment with his grandson. The presence of the television suggests an ordinary domestic environment, contrasting with the grandeur of his work and his role in culture.

The detail of the glass in his hand can symbolize relaxation, while the attention given to his grandson demonstrates affection and closeness. The film, by capturing this scene, seems to want to humanize Umberto Eco, showing that, in addition to being a brilliant thinker, he was also someone involved in family life, balancing his intellectuality with everyday affections.

It is interesting to see, in the following scene, that child, once welcomed into Eco's lap, is now a young man reflecting on his childhood shared with his grandfather: “I had a very pleasant childhood, largely thanks to him”. The young man recalls his grandfather's sense of irony. He recalls books they read together, including a school assignment completed with his grandfather's help.

The excerpt reinforces the emotional dimension of Umberto Eco, highlighting his influence not only in the intellectual field, but also in family life. The transition from the opening scene – Umberto Eco with his grandson in his arms – to the young man's testimony, now a teenager, creates an effect of continuity, showing the lasting impact of this relationship.

The fact that the grandson remembers his grandfather's irony suggests that Umberto Eco not only transmitted knowledge, but also cultivated a critical spirit and a sharp view of the world. The mention of the books they read together indicates that this bond was built, in part, through literature, which is not surprising given that the writer and semiologist understood reading as an essential means of transmitting memory and culture.

The young man's testimony carries a note of gratitude and affection, revealing that Umberto Eco, in addition to being an intellectual and renowned writer, was a present grandfather who left a significant mark on his childhood. This humanizes his figure even more and suggests that, beyond the essays and novels, his legacy also lives on in the emotional memory of his family.

7.

The film presents excerpts from several conferences and interviews given by Umberto Eco over the years, in which he discusses a wide range of cultural themes. However, it is clear that the issue of books and memory occupies a central place in his reflections, being approached from different angles and perspectives.

This recurrence is not accidental. For Umberto Eco, the book represents not only an instrument for recording knowledge, but a true foundation of civilization. He saw it as “life insurance,” a means of preserving human thought beyond the ephemerality of individual existence. Memory, in turn, was a theme that he explored both in its biological aspect and in its cultural and technological manifestations. From oral tradition to writing, from printing to digital, Umberto Eco reflected on the impacts of these transformations on the way societies store and transmit knowledge.

The film, by highlighting this thematic axis, highlights the coherence of Umberto Eco's thinking over the decades. Even when dealing with varied issues – such as history, literature, semiotics or mass culture – he returned to the importance of books and memory as the foundations of human knowledge. This demonstrates not only the depth of his thinking, but also his concern for the future of written culture in a world increasingly dominated by an excess of information and the volatility of digital records.

Umberto Eco had a great fascination with Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680), one of the most prolific and eccentric scholars of the XNUMXth century. Athanasius Kircher's name appears more than once in the documentary about Umberto Eco, evidencing the Italian writer's admiration for this Jesuit polymath.

Athanasius Kircher was a singular figure of the Baroque era, a true “universal man” who devoted himself to a vast spectrum of fields of knowledge, including linguistics, Egyptology, optics, geology, magnetism, medicine, mathematics, and even the search for a universal language. His encyclopedic approach and his tendency to combine science with philosophical speculation and mysticism made him a figure who echoes (no pun intended) many of Umberto Eco’s interests.

Umberto Eco mentions Athanasius Kircher at various points in his work, such as in Foucault's pendulum (1988), where Athanasius Kircher emerges as one of the exponents of the esoteric traditions that fuel the plot. In his personal library, Umberto Eco had several works by Athanasius Kircher, demonstrating how much this author was a constant intellectual presence in his universe.

The relationship between Athanasius Kircher and Umberto Eco is, above all, due to the Italian writer's fascination with the boundaries between knowledge and mystification, erudition and charlatanism, a central theme not only in Foucault's pendulum, but in other novels and essays by the author. Athanasius Kircher, with his amalgam of science, faith and esotericism, represents a perfect example of this zone of ambiguity that Umberto Eco explored with irony and depth.

The film, by quoting Athanasius Kircher, reaffirms Umberto Eco's curiosity about these intellectuals who tried to encompass total knowledge, even if, in some cases, they fell into exaggerations or historical errors. After all, as Umberto Eco himself said, books and libraries are not only about the truth, but also about the errors and illusions that help shape human thought.

When Umberto Eco states in the documentary that books are irreplaceable, he reaffirms a conviction that permeates his work and thought. Eco saw books not only as a means of information, but as a perfect technology that has survived centuries of cultural transformations and technological advances.

Em Don't count on the end of the book, he argues that, unlike other ephemeral media, the book has an incomparable durability: it does not need electricity, it does not become obsolete with updates and it can span centuries without losing its essential function. For Umberto Eco, even in the digital age, the tactile and visual experience of reading on paper is irreplaceable, and the linear structure of the book imposes a type of intellectual discipline that the dispersed navigation of the internet does not provide.

His point of view did not imply a rejection of digital, but rather the defense of complementarity between media. He recognized that the digital world expanded access to information, but emphasized that books would continue to be fundamental for the formation of critical thinking and the preservation of human knowledge. As he stated: “Papyrus and manuscripts will survive for thousands of years. We have 500-year-old books that look freshly printed, but we still do not know how long electronic formats will last. Today's computers can no longer read files that were recorded only two decades ago.”

Umberto Eco presents a relevant argument about the complementarity between digital and printed formats, highlighting the permanence of physical books in contrast to the volatility of digital formats. The final quote reinforces this concern by highlighting technological obsolescence, a real problem in the preservation of digital information.

On one occasion, during an interview, his interlocutor asked him if it was true that he did not have a cell phone. With his characteristic humor, Umberto Eco responded, to the delight of the audience, whose presence was felt by the laughter he provoked: “Yes, but always turned off. It’s great, because people think they can call me, but they can’t, since it’s turned off.” The interviewer continued: “So it’s as if you don’t have a cell phone, right?” Umberto Eco replied: “No, because it serves as a diary. You can write things down.” The interlocutor insisted: “But it should still work as a telephone.” And Umberto Eco, ironically: “Yes, but I don’t want to receive or send messages. At my age, I earned the right not to receive messages.” Finally, he concluded: “This world is overloaded with messages that say nothing.”

The audience burst out laughing, witnessing once again Umberto Eco's well-known biting and ironic humor.

8.

At a certain point in the film, when addressing the issue of memory once again, Umberto Eco makes reference to the short story “Funes, the Memorioso” by Jorge Luis Borges. In this short story, the protagonist, Ireneo Funes, has an absolutely perfect memory capacity: he remembers everything, without any filter or selection. Every detail, no matter how small, is recorded with absolute precision.

However, this abundance of information, instead of being an advantage, becomes an unbearable burden. Funes is incapable of thinking abstractly, of generalizing, or of establishing connections between the data stored in his mind. His perfect memory prevents him from carrying out any type of analysis or synthesis, imprisoning him in a world where each instant is isolated and incomprehensible in its excess of details. For Umberto Eco, Funes represents what we could call a “memory idiot”: he retains everything, but is unable to process or make sense of what he knows.

According to Umberto Eco, memory, whether individual or collective, has two essential functions: preservation and selection. If everything were remembered indiscriminately, without a criterion of relevance, the excess of information would become an obstacle to thought and intelligence. The ability to forget, paradoxically, is as important as the ability to remember, because it allows our mind to organize and hierarchize knowledge, discarding what is irrelevant so that we can focus on what is essential.

Umberto Eco’s use of Funes’ allegory is a thought-provoking reflection on the limits of memory and the fundamental role of forgetting in the construction of knowledge. In times of information overload, in which we are bombarded with data and facts at every moment, the lesson of Eco and Borges remains relevant: memory without criteria is a form of paralysis. Intelligence does not lie in the mere accumulation of data, but in the ability to filter, interpret and assign meaning to what we retain. Forgetting is not a flaw, but an essential mechanism for understanding and creating meaning.

Something truly fascinating and thought-provoking in the film is the succession of images of large, majestic libraries, which parade before our eyes like temples of knowledge and beauty. The grandeur of their shelves filled with books, the architectural harmony and the aura of contemplative silence envelop us in an almost mystical ecstasy. These scenes not only fill our eyes with their grandeur, but also nourish our souls with the infinite promise of wisdom and discovery. As Borges once metaphorically put it, this is perhaps the closest vision of paradise that we can achieve.

Umberto Eco makes an intriguing association between the aforementioned short story Funes, the Memorable, by Jorge Luis Borges, and the contemporary internet. He observes: “The internet is an encyclopedia like Funes’s memory. Everything is recorded, but there are no tools to filter the content. It is a new challenge for humanity. If the previous challenge was to obtain all possible encyclopedias, now the challenge is to get rid of as many encyclopedias as possible. Until now we have relied on an encyclopedia accepted by all, although some points that were believed to be erroneous could be refuted. Without this common encyclopedia, there would be no relationship between humans. There is the possibility that 6 billion inhabitants of the planet, each navigating independently on the virtual network, could form 6 billion different encyclopedias, which would be an absolute lack of communication.”

Umberto Eco's reflection points to a crucial dilemma of the digital age: if before the problem was the scarcity of information, today we are dealing with its uncontrolled excess, which can generate fragmentation of knowledge and make it difficult to build shared knowledge. Without a common reference base, there is a risk of a breakdown in communication, where each individual inhabits their own, non-transferable informational universe. Thus, the Internet, which emerged as an instrument to connect people and democratize access to knowledge, can, paradoxically, lead to the atomization of experience and intellectual isolation.

The excerpt from the film in which Umberto Eco states that “information harms knowledge, as happens with the media and the internet, because it tells us too many things. Too many things together produce noise, and noise is not knowledge” reveals a critical perception about the effects of the overabundance of information. This reflection, thought-provoking in itself, becomes even more relevant in the contemporary context, in which the proliferation of data and fragmented content on social networks and digital media makes it difficult to build structured knowledge.

Since Eco’s death in 2016, the problem he pointed out has not only persisted, but has worsened exponentially. The phenomenon of infoxication – the excess of information that compromises the capacity for discernment and critical analysis – has intensified, fueled by the rise of algorithms that prioritize engagement over depth and by the spread of disinformation on a massive scale.

Umberto Eco already denounced this threat to critical thinking when he warned about the fragility of the boundary between information and knowledge. Knowing something, in the deepest sense, requires not only accessing data, but organizing it, interpreting it and integrating it into a cohesive body of knowledge. An indiscriminate excess of information, on the other hand, tends to generate dispersion, making it difficult to distinguish between the essential and the superfluous, between the true and the false.

In a world dominated by the logic of hyperconnectivity and instantaneity, Umberto Eco's reflection serves as a call to the need to filter, select and, above all, cultivate the capacity for critical reflection in the face of the informational whirlwind that surrounds and inundates us.

9.

Umberto Eco, when asked about the number of readers in society, argued that there are not necessarily fewer readers now than before. What actually exists is a broader observation: the majority of the population has never read and continues not to read. This reality, which Eco observed in Italy, is equally valid for Brazil today. Recent studies indicate a significant drop in the number of readers in the country, evidencing a crisis in the reading habit.

For Umberto Eco, the root of this problem lies not only in the lack of access to books, but above all in the absence of intellectual curiosity. Reading requires an inner restlessness, a genuine desire to learn, to explore new ideas and perspectives. For him, curiosity is a sign of intellectual and existential vitality. “To be curious is to be alive,” he said. However, Umberto Eco concluded, there are few people who are truly alive in the world.

This diagnosis is disconcertingly lucid. In an era saturated with immediate stimuli and fragmented information, reading – which requires time, attention and reflection – becomes a challenge for many. Social networks and digital media offer an avalanche of brief and ephemeral content, making it difficult to develop the patience needed to enjoy a book. At the same time, the lack of consistent public policies to encourage reading, the precariousness of education and the elitism of culture further aggravate this situation.

However, reading continues to be an irreplaceable tool for developing critical thinking and sensitivity. Books not only inform, but also educate. They broaden horizons, challenge certainties and teach us how to deal with the complexity of the world. If, as Eco said, curiosity is a sign of life, then cultivating the habit of reading is an act of resistance against mediocrity and alienation. After all, a world with more readers is a world with more truly alive individuals.

For all of us who have been infected by the virus of love for books and libraries, the organization of a large personal collection always arouses curiosity. This fascination intensifies when we think of the library of Umberto Eco, one of the greatest intellectuals of the 30th century, whose collection exceeded XNUMX thousand volumes. How did someone with such a collection organize his books? Under what criteria? This question is especially important for those who see the library not as a mere repository of knowledge, but as a living organism, a space of thought in constant turmoil.

At one point in the film, his son gives us clues about this issue. He reveals that his father's vast library was organized into sections, but not in strict alphabetical order. Within these sections, there were also subsections, in which the books were relocated according to Eco's own needs or personal logic. Only he knew exactly where each volume was. More than an archive, the library was a dynamic system, an intellectual territory in constant reconfiguration.

This approach reflects not only a practical method of organization, but also a philosophy. Eco saw the library as a space for constant dialogue, where books converse with each other and with the reader. Unlike institutional libraries, which seek objective and impersonal cataloging, his private library responded to an internal, fluid, almost intuitive logic. This organic nature leads us to the idea that the accumulation of books is not just due to the fetish of possession, but also due to the intellectual need to be surrounded by references that instigate new connections, hypotheses and discoveries.

This perspective also leads us to Umberto Eco’s famous distinction between the “library of read books” and the “library of unread books.” For him, the volumes that had not yet been explored were the most important, because they represented the realm of the unknown, of what could still be learned. His library, therefore, was both a repository of accumulated knowledge and a horizon of future possibilities.

The way Umberto Eco organized his books reveals something essential about his worldview: knowledge is not static nor locked away in classificatory drawers, but a tangle of relationships, a labyrinth where erudition and curiosity meet and multiply.

10

One of the most intriguing moments in the film occurs when it addresses The name of the Rose, a novel published in 1980 that generated great repercussion in literary and academic circles. In recognition of its originality and depth, Umberto Eco received the Strega Prize the following year, Italy's most prestigious literary award.

In the film, Umberto Eco details the genesis of the work, addressing the historical context in which the narrative would unfold, the monastic environment chosen as the setting and even the process of naming the characters. A particularly revealing passage in the film recovers an audio clip, recorded many years earlier, in which the author makes an emblematic statement: if he were to ever write a novel, it could go in two directions – either it would take the form of a disguised essay, or it would be a work that, in a way, would destroy the very notion of a novel.

He then adds, in an ironic tone: “What I hate most is selling fiction.” However, contrary to this statement, The name of the Rose It was just the first of a series of novels that followed, also consolidating Umberto Eco as a great fiction writer.

The origin of the idea for the book is narrated by the author himself in an almost casual manner. According to Umberto Eco, a friend once approached him to invite him to participate in a collection of detective stories written by authors from other fields, such as politicians and scientists. Faced with the proposal, he immediately responded: “If I wrote a detective novel, it would be at least 500 pages long and would be set in the Middle Ages.” From that moment on, the seed of the work began to germinate.

Back home, Umberto Eco began constructing his narrative universe with an unusual exercise: he listed a series of names for the monks who would inhabit his fictional abbey. He then consulted a chemist friend with a peculiar question: “Is it possible to kill someone while they are reading a book?” The chemist not only confirmed the possibility, but also explained the exact mechanisms by which the poisoning could occur. Realizing the danger of the information, Umberto Eco immediately tore up the letter with the answer, fearing that a future misfortune might place him under suspicion. Thus, starting from an intellectual dilemma and an investigative whim, The name of the Rose began to take shape.

Another passage in the film that resonates with disturbing relevance is when Umberto Eco discusses the distinction between fiction and lies. In the following excerpts, he presents us with the ills and dangers of lies, a central element in sustaining the most nefarious regimes in the history of humanity.

Umberto Eco reports that he began to take an interest in the issue of lying in the 1970s, addressing the topic in his work Treatise on general semiotics, which states that a sign is anything that can be used to lie. This principle opens the way for a broader reflection on the role of falsehood in the construction of manipulative discourses and their instrumentalization in the game of power.

In his analysis, Umberto Eco explores how false documents have had devastating impacts throughout history. One emblematic example he mentions is The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, an anti-Semitic pamphlet forged in the late 19th century and widely used to justify persecution of Jews, culminating in tragedies such as the Holocaust. The spread of falsifications and conspiracy theories, according to Umberto Eco, is directly linked to the strengthening of authoritarian ideologies, such as fascism and racism, which find in the distortion of the truth one of their main mechanisms of support.

Umberto Eco's reflection is crucial because it forces us to consider the boundaries between fiction and lies in a world saturated with misinformation. Fiction, even when invented, does not intend to deceive – on the contrary, it is a means of symbolic and narrative revelation. Lies, especially when institutionalized, aim to conceal, distort and manipulate. In current times, marked by the spread of fake news and due to the erosion of public debate, Umberto Eco's words become even more urgent.

His analysis shows that the fight against lies is not just an ethical issue, but a political and social necessity. History teaches us that societies that do not confront falsehood tend to succumb to barbarism.

Umberto Eco’s statement – ​​“All criminal movements are born from programmed disinformation” – masterfully sums up one of the most perverse aspects of political and social history: the deliberate manipulation of truth as a tool of domination and oppression.

Programmed disinformation is not a mere error or a casual misunderstanding, but a structured, meticulously crafted process to shape perceptions, induce behaviors, and justify actions that would otherwise be unacceptable. Totalitarian regimes, extremist movements, and criminal groups use this expedient to create imaginary enemies, cement fictional narratives, and eliminate critical thinking.

Nazism, for example, fed on the systematic spreading of lies about ethnic minorities, especially Jews, relying on falsifications as already mentioned. The Protocols of the Elders of Zion to legitimize their genocidal policies. Similarly, authoritarian regimes of the 20th century, such as Stalinism and various military dictatorships, manipulated information, erased historical records and rewrote events to justify persecutions and purges.

In the 21st century, this logic has intensified with the amplification of fake news and digital propaganda. The internet and social media, while democratizing access to information, have also become fertile ground for the proliferation of misinformation. Populist movements, conspiracy theories and hate campaigns use this environment to construct parallel realities, demoralize institutions and instigate violence.

Umberto Eco’s warning is therefore essential. Programmed disinformation not only precedes criminal movements, but sustains and strengthens them. Combating it requires not only a commitment to the truth, but also critical education and permanent vigilance over the discourses that shape our perception of the world.

11

Umberto Eco's observation on conspiracy paranoia, addressed in his novel Foucault's pendulum, is strikingly relevant today. In the book, he exposes how the obsession with finding hidden patterns in history can lead to the construction of fantasy narratives, in which secret groups would be the true controllers of humanity's destiny. The novel satirizes the human tendency to see conspiracies in everything, showing how the unbridled search for hidden meanings can turn into an intellectual and even political trap.

This conspiracy paranoia, which Umberto Eco unmasks as a self-fulfilling illusion, has nevertheless become one of the foundations of the rise of authoritarian and far-right movements around the world. What might once have seemed like a literary fantasy is now a mass phenomenon, fueled by the internet and social media.

Many of these movements are based on the belief that there are global elites, secret groups or hidden forces manipulating society for their own interests, and they present themselves as the only ones capable of “unveiling the truth” and “saving the people” from this supposed domination. In Brazil, for example, several far-right movements feed on conspiracy theories, ranging from the idea that there is a global communist plot to the belief that democratic institutions, such as the judiciary and the press, are part of a grand scheme to destroy the nation.

The irony, as Umberto Eco would certainly have noted, is that these conspiracies are often fabricated by populist leaders themselves to delegitimize opponents, justify authoritarian policies, and keep their bases mobilized by fear and artificial indignation. The side effect of this is the erosion of critical thinking and the destruction of public debate, since conspiratorial discourse operates outside the realm of reason and verifiable facts.

if in Foucault's pendulum Umberto Eco exposes conspiracy paranoia as a delusional construct; current political reality shows that this delusion not only persists but is strategically exploited as a tool of power. This reinforces the need for a critical culture and a continued commitment to truth to resist manipulation and the erosion of democracy.

The film about Umberto Eco ends with an emblematic scene: his granddaughter skates through the corridors of the library, while her grandfather’s “posthumous voice” echoes in a voiceover loaded with symbolism. The contrast between the childlike lightness and the solidity of the books he has accumulated throughout his life highlights the tension between agile movement and the silent permanence of written tradition. By gliding along the same paths that Eco followed, the granddaughter suggests a generational continuity, a transmission of knowledge that transcends erudition, also manifesting itself in the shared space and in the memory embedded in objects.

Umberto Eco’s quote – “Truth or creativity are found only in a silent search” – fits into this context as a testament to his intellectual method. For Umberto Eco, the search for knowledge was not a matter of immediacy, but of a meditative, introspective, almost monastic process. Silence here is not a mere absence of noise, but a state of deep concentration, essential for both philosophical inquiry and artistic creation.

However, the image of the child sliding suggests a reinterpretation of this idea: Eco’s silent search contrasts with his granddaughter’s free movement. This contrast can be interpreted as a reminder that the search for knowledge can also be playful, dynamic, and in motion. The library, a space that traditionally evokes austerity and seclusion, becomes, for a moment, a stage for play and lightness. In this sense, the scene perhaps suggests that the intellectual tradition, in order to remain alive, needs to dialogue with renewal, with the energy of the new, with the freshness of the unexpected.

The passage of time, the continuity of knowledge, the tension between erudition and spontaneity: all of this is condensed into this brief moment. As the documentary draws to a close with this scene, it seems to say that Umberto Eco, although absent, is still present – ​​in his voice, in his books, in his space and, above all, in the restless and curious spirit of the next generations.

Through images, interviews and scenes from everyday life, the documentary reveals an Umberto Eco who is simultaneously accessible and enigmatic. The rigorous intellectual, the meticulous academic who deciphered the codes of culture, coexists with the storyteller, the book lover, the grandfather who shares readings and ironies with his grandson. This intimate dimension is not a minor detail, but a fundamental element in understanding his worldview.

More than a semiotics theorist, a novelist, or a cultural critic, Umberto Eco presents himself as a humanist who navigates with equal ease between the erudite and the popular. The documentary captures this dialectic by revisiting his reflections on mass culture, the role of the intellectual, and even his subtle humor in the face of the contradictions of modernity. In revealing moments, we see Umberto Eco demystifying both high culture and the most ephemeral phenomena of communication, demonstrating that everything can be subject to analysis and interpretation.

12

But perhaps the most surprising aspect of the film is its ability to show us how Umberto Eco never saw knowledge as a sterile, self-enclosed exercise. On the contrary, for him, knowledge was a game, an intellectual adventure that unfolded in multiple directions: from the Middle Ages to digital culture, from detective novels to the deepest philosophical questions. And so, in the end, Eco remains alive not only in his work, but in the intellectual restlessness that he knew how to cultivate – and that the documentary now helps to perpetuate.

By giving space to his own voice – whether in lectures, interviews or spontaneous reflections – the film allows us to closely follow his thinking. Memory, writing and reading emerge as central themes, revisited from different perspectives. Umberto Eco reminds us that the book is not just a material medium, but a mechanism for preserving human experience. More than storing information, it records interpretations, dialogues and world views, allowing different generations to converse with each other. This idea resonates strongly in a time of information overload and digital dispersion, in which memory seems fragmented and volatile.

The film about Umberto Eco is a gateway to a vast and multifaceted universe, in which erudition, irony and a profound understanding of human culture are intertwined. Like all biographical sketches, it does not claim to be exhaustive – and how could it be? The life and work of Umberto Eco, so rich and polyphonic, defy any attempt at a definitive synthesis. What the film offers us, therefore, is not a compendium, but an invitation: an incentive to enter the immense physical and intellectual library of this man who was one of the great thinkers of the 20th and early 21st centuries.

But, like all cinematographic works, the film made choices. There are many aspects of Eco's life and intellectual production that are not explored in depth. His work as a semiologist, his forays into communication theory, his critical view of mass media – themes that marked his career – appear in a sporadic manner, but could be the subject of an entire film. Also included are his reflections on fiction literature and his own creative process, which are fundamental to understanding novels such as The name of the Rose ou Foucault's pendulum, are only touched on.

However, this selection does not impoverish the experience. On the contrary, it reinforces its main intention: not to conclude, but to instigate. The film does not seek to be an end point, but a starting point. At the end of the screening, we do not feel like we have completed a journey, but rather like we have opened a door to many other paths.

In this sense, the film's greatest merit is perhaps awakening the desire to continue this journey on one's own. To explore Umberto Eco's books, to delve into his reflections, to better understand his library and, who knows, build our own. Because, as Umberto Eco himself taught us, a library is not just a collection of read books, but a repository of possibilities, a space for future discoveries.

We therefore invite those who have followed us thus far to accept this challenge: to browse through Umberto Eco's real and metaphorical shelves and, in doing so, expand not only their own intellectual repertoire, but also their ability to see the world with greater depth and critical spirit. After all, as he himself said, a man who reads is not worth just two. He is worth a thousand.^[1]

*Carlos Eduardo Araujo Master in Theory of Law from PUC-MG.

Reference

Umberto Eco – the world’s library [Umberto Eco: the library of the world]

Italy, documentary, 2022, 80 minutes.

Directed by: Davide Ferrario.

Cast: Umberto Eco, Renate Ramge, Charlotte Eco, Stefano Eco, Guiseppe Cederna.

Note

[1] The fate of Umberto Eco’s library was determined by an agreement between his family and the Italian State, ensuring its preservation, study and appreciation. The collection was divided between two important institutions: the University Library of Bologna, which houses his working library, and the National Library of Braidense in Milan, which is responsible for his collection of rare and antique books. This initiative ensures that the writer’s vast intellectual heritage remains accessible to researchers and scholars, perpetuating his legacy in the academic and cultural world.

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