There’s Always Room for Eco

You probably can’t find a sharper division between myself and PClem than how we’re likely to feel about a story like “The Gorge” by Umberto Eco in this week’s New Yorker, but I dug it. Who else but Eco could start a story My memory is proglottidean, like the tapeworm, but unlike the tapeworm it has no head, it wanders in a maze, and any point may be the beginning or the end of its journey, and for an encore have his main character call God a fascist?