I enjoyed The Name of the Rose tremendously, so I began Eco's latest novel, which takes place in the 12th century, with great anticipation. And it is with tremendous disappointment that I report how little I enjoyed the novel. Eco is erudite to a fault; he knows more about everything than you do, and he loves to steep his writing in inconsequential details. When this detail is hung on a murder-mystery (as in Name of the Rose) or in worldwide conspiracy (as in Foucault's Pendulum), the result is entertaining. Here, where the only plot is the far-fetched tale of a pathological liar, the result is just boring. If the story had centered on Baudolino's studies in Paris, or on the seige of Alessandria, or on the Fourth Crusade's pillaging of Constantinople, Eco might have maintained my interest. But unfortunately he moves from set-piece to set-piece with little logic and not enough sense of place and time.