Author's Note: SPOILERS for The Name of the Rose - mostly the film since I haven't fully read the book or watched the 2019 miniseries.
Tis the season for spooks and spirits, mystery and magic, and of course witches and religious fanaticism.
Boo! Scared you, didn't I?
Anyway, depending on when this post actually goes live, it could be Halloween or more likely early November, so I'll cover my bases and say that we should also be thankful for the work Umberto Eco put into his 1980 debut novel, The Name of the Rose, that was then clunkily adapted into the 1986 film of the same name. To be fair, adapting a book that functions as a murder mystery iceberg for Eco to interrogate symbolism, philosophy, literary theory, and biblical analysis is no small feat, which is probably why the film kept its focus on the more easily digestible murder plot.
Set within the confines of a 14th century Benedictine abbey in Italy, Franciscan friar William of Baskerville (Sean Connery) and his novice, Adso of Melk (Christian Slater), are tasked with investigating the mysterious death of an illuminator days before a Papal Conference is set to begin at the abbey. When yet more deaths occur that eerily evoke signs of the End of Days, the abbey is awash with accusations of witchcraft and demonic possession that ultimately obscures the true horror at the heart of the mystery.
So, I'm going to spoil this right up front because you need to know the answer so I can talk about all the other stuff that pertains to archives and why I'm even talking about this movie.
Surprise, surprise, there was no witchcraft involved. It was just an old, blind monk librarian killing people over a seemingly lost volume of Aristotle's Poetics that specifically discussed the virtues of laughter and comedy. Why? Because he thought laughter made people less afraid of the Devil. If there's one thing this movie does right it's to show that the real monsters are always old men who think they know what's best and have no sense of humor. I'm shocked at how relevant this aspect of the film remains.
I'm not shocked. I wish I could be shocked by things at this point, but I don't have the luxury of it what with these interesting times in which we live.
While the story takes William and Adso all over the abbey, the primary setting quickly becomes the scriptorium and, eventually, the forbidden labyrinthine library. If you've seen the film, then you'd be right to say that I'm stretching the definition of archival when it comes to this particular property. There's no true archives to speak of in The Name of the Rose, nor is there anyone who would be considered an archivist, so why take an analytical eye to this movie?
Part of it is the evolution of archival practices that might not be immediately obvious upon watching the story unfold. Modern conceptions of archives don't begin until after the French Revolution where the issue of public access to government retained records was prioritized and remains a significant topic. Other institutions followed suit, to some degree, but the conversation around access to archival holdings never stops so long as the technology that provides access continues to evolve. Unfortunately, the 14th century didn't have an abundance of technological advancements, but it did have a lot of translators, illuminators, and scribes practicing preservation and conservation to the best of their abilities.
If you've played the game Pentiment or watched any Game of Thrones episodes where Samwell Tarly works to become a maester at the Citadel, then you might have a better understanding of the work involved at a scriptorium in Ye Olden Times. Yes, there was a lot of knowledge hoarding and gatekeeping, but maintenance of the hoard was critical to its survival. Paper, vellum, parchment, leather, ink, and all manner of binders used to create tomes and scrolls degraded over time for myriad reasons and it was the job of those in the scriptorium to make copies, repair, or re-house/re-bind materials as a means of preservation. The Name of the Rose gives us a glimpse of that work as William and Adso move amongst the friars and there stations where books and manuscripts are in various stages of this medieval archival process.
The other part is the actual gatekeeping by the blind librarian Jorge de Burgos (Feodor Chaliapin, Jr.) and how his actions are indicative of archival themes previously discussed on this website. Firstly, it's really on the nose that the man in charge of the library is blind because sometimes subtlety is highly overrated. But it's also a commentary on the institutional blindness of the abbey and the Church with a capital C and it rhymes with G as in Goddam these monks are hypocrites. The film shows exactly how privileged the Church is as they demand greater tithes from the people who seek guidance and comfort from godly men only to have their faith turned on them to garner fear and paranoia for the Church's agenda.
Even William of Baskerville experiences a form of blindness in that he physically needs his magnifying glasses to read properly but also he's more inclined to find emotional attachment to the written works in the abbey despite the blatantly horrid treatment of peasants and any undesirables right in front of him. Adso has to beg him to consider the humanity of the people being tried for witchcraft over his desire to seek out the forbidden library and solve the mystery. There's a reason why Eco named William in honor of Sherlock Holmes and it's not because of his effusive displays of emotion and empathy.
The forbidden library itself serves as a metaphor for the perception of archival institutions. Labyrinths can symbolically represent a journey embarked upon where the center acts as the end point and some truth is revealed or a monster is slain so the hero can escape. The Church even uses the labyrinth as a symbol for the path to God, or a meditative journey. On the flip side, labyrinths are also symbolic of confusion or being trapped, which appears to be the film's take.
After gaining entrance to the forbidden library, William and Adso find themselves in an M.C. Escher-esque space deliberately designed to create confusion. What better way to ward off intruders and prevent them from obtaining the many works contained in the library than an interior intended to disorient the senses? It's only through Adso's quick thinking, and his knowledge of Greek myth, that the pair manage to find their path and confront the true monster that is Jorge de Burgos at the center. And it's here that the truth is revealed and we see what lengths the monk will go to to maintain his beliefs and ensure that others are deprived of the wealth of knowledge within the library.
One thing I like about the movie is how the various plot points (multiple murders, the Papal Conference, Inquisitors determining witchcraft as the culprit) crash against each other in a way that obscures the original mystery. There's certainly fear at the heart of it, but there's also zealotry and indifference that wrench control of the narrative until William and Adso ground the story again in revealing de Burgos' motive. And the reveal is absurd because it has to be. All of this murder, conspiracy, and fear because one man doesn't want people to laugh. One man, backed by a power-hungry institution, prevented others from accessing and studying great works because he decided it was so. And instead of facing justice, or what could even be called justice in the 14th century, for his crimes, he decides to burn it all and continue to deprive others of what he perceives as a slight against God.
I continue to not be shocked.
From the outside, archival institutions can seem imposing and bewildering. Stacks upon stacks, rows upon rows or materials with no clear end in sight. Navigating a storage facility or any institutional holdings can be extremely intimidating, never mind the catalogues and databases with their own languages and methods of discovery. It's a lot if you don't know what you're looking for and it's still a lot even if you do. So when I see spaces like the forbidden library shown in The Name of the Rose, it reminds me of how those outside the profession often describe their idea of archival spaces where access is either limited or unavailable. It makes me wonder: what is the future of the profession when it's constantly couched in ideas and imagery of secrecy and isolation?
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