Umberto Eco was an Italian philosopher, literary critic, and novelist best known for his novel, The Name of the Rose, which was made into a film. In “How to Write a Thesis”, first published in English in 2015, Umberto walks students through the craft and rewards of sustained research, and the larger lessons that can be carried into life.

The book first appeared on Italian bookshelves in 1977. For Umberto, there was a practical reason for writing it. Up until 1999, a thesis of original research was required of every student pursuing the Italian equivalent of a bachelor’s degree. Collecting his thoughts on the thesis process would save him the trouble of reciting the same advice to students each year. Since its publication, “How to Write a Thesis” has gone through twenty-three editions in Italy and has been translated into at least seventeen languages. Its first English edition is now available, in a translation by Caterina Mongiat Farina and Geoff Farina.

But why bother with a seemingly esoteric book about thesis writing? The short answer, as I alluded earlier, is that Umberto’s witty book is much more than a treatise on thesis writing; it’s also a manual about how to navigate our lives in a chaotic and impossibly demanding world.

Eco wrote his book in the 1970s, which was long before the advent of widespread word processing and the Internet. Hence, there are no mention of Google searches, research portals and fancy typesets to produce a slick-looking thesis. Instead, there are long passages on quaint technologies such as note cards and address books as well as strategies to overcome the limitations of the local library. Importantly, Umberto reminds his readers that a thesis then (and now) must conform to strict academic standards, and writing it is an exercise in mental discipline. Not only must the main thrust of the thesis stand up to intellectual scrutiny, the ideas that build up to the main argument must be articulated in a way that is clear and coherent to the examiners. This discipline, argues Umberto, carries over to life in general, because nothing in life which good and exacting can ever be achieved without a combination of passion, dogged determination and methodical attention to details. To Umberto, the thesis represents a process of self-realization, a kind of careful, curious engagement with the world that need not end when one graduates. “Your thesis,” he says, “is like your first love: it will be difficult to forget.” As one who has written not one but two thesis, I can testify that I can’t remember much beyond the final all-nighters, and those awkward acknowledgments to so-and-so that only four human beings will ever read. This is likely to be the case for all thesis-writers; at the end of the day, all you can recall might be the excitement of handing your thesis to the departmental office and then walking out into a possibility-rich, sun-drenched day. But it will be a day that is difficult to forget.