The University Wits

At the centre of the novel — four years in the writing, two years in revision — is a medieval text, the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, literally, Poliphilo’s Struggle for Love in a Dream. When the two friends started writing, there were no English translations of the 1499 work, written in a composite of Latin, Italian, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, Chaldean and Egyptian hieroglyphics and illustrated with bizarre, often disturbing, woodcuts.

In a recent interview, Caldwell and Thomason said they were ‘‘thrilled’’ when they discovered how much of their conclusions dovetailed with a Colgate University professor’s translation of the book. But during the writing, the duo interpreted Hypnerotomachia in their own way, tweaking history and geography while seeing it through the eyes of two Princeton seniors obsessed with solving the medieval riddle. In the process, the text evolves from a perceived treatise on love, eroticism and religious faith to a carefully constructed code that will lead the genius humanist to unforeseen treasures.

The tightly written drama opens in a snowy university campus over Easter weekend, 1999. Tom Sullivan, the narrator, has had his life defined by the Hypnerotomachia. His father was one of its foremost scholars but died a broken man despite revolutionary research; his best friend Paul Harris is now hours away from the final key that will unlock the Renaissance puzzle.

But even as Tom tries to distance himself from the all-consuming book, the two friends suddenly find their lives torn apart by violence. A close collaborator on their research is killed, a mentor threatens to steal their work, close friendships are put to test and, in an unforgettable finale, a century-old university club goes up in flames (and no, this is not a spoiler).

The authors’ triumph lies in tying these unabashed thriller elements to an unapologetically cerebral core. By making protagonists of intellectuals, by using art, music, science as key elements, by directing the drama in library correls and art galleries, by positioning an esoteric literary tract as the principal player, they manage, in some ways, to echo the mesmerising pull of the original Hypnerotomachia.

The Rule of Four is not perfect — the romance element seems a tad tired, Katie, the girlfriend, is never flesh-and-blood like Tom and Paul are, and several minor riddles remain unsolved in the rush of answering the big one — but it makes Renaissance history accessible in a way few bestsellers have since The Name of the Rose. Don’t take it to the beach, flaunt it at Barista.