Mystery Meets History

Whe

n Umberto Eco published his surprise best seller The Name of the Rose in 1980, he created a new kind of novel, one that combined a murder investigation with philosophical inquiry and introduced the world to the unfamiliar experience of reading about medieval theology while actually remaining awake. Eco helped invent the modern Euro-thriller: a sinfully addictive page turner that nevertheless leaves you feeling virtuous and cultured, without the hangover of shame that follows a sleepless night with Crichton or Clancy. This summer the Euro-thrillers are back, and they're not just good — they're good for you too.

The hero of Stephen Fry's novel Revenge (Random House; 316 pages) goes by the name of Neddy Maddstone, which should tell you right off the bat that you're not in Clancyland. Young Maddstone's problem is that he's insufferably perfect; the son of a member of Parliament, he's also handsome, handy at cricket and a nice guy to boot. Naturally, his pals are jealous, but when they play a prank on him that backfires, he winds up in possession of a secret message from an I.R.A. terrorist. The I.R.A. promptly whisks Ned away to a mysterious Scandinavian oubliette, where he clings to sanity only by studying literature and philosophy and playing chess.

Can he escape? Will he get his revenge? It's an old story — The Count of Monte Cristo by way of TV's The Prisoner — but Fry (who played the pompous detective in Gosford Park) has the wit and erudition to make it run like a well-made pocket watch. Be warned: the vengeance promised by the title has an unabashedly nasty flavor that's distinctly British and quite refreshing compared with our more Puritanical American brand.

Iain Pears' The Dream of Scipio (Riverhead; 398 pages) ticks along at a slower, statelier pace, more like a grandfather clock. Set in Provence, it tells three stories from three eras that unfold in parallel: a 5th century Roman sophisticate faces the fall of his empire; a Renaissance man stares down the Black Death; and a French classicist watches as his country is overrun by the Germans in World War II. The thread connecting these three men is an ancient philosophical manuscript that each man encounters, but the real bond among them is that they face a common paradox. Civilization has made them men of learning, but in order to save it they must leave their studies and become men of action. "Right action is a pale material reflection of the divine," Pears writes. And after all, a good Euro-thriller is all about reconciling the virtues of the contemplative life with the sinful thrills of a good car chase. What could be more civilized than that?