2 Books By Pears Equally Enjoyable

“An Instance of the Fingerpost” By Iain Pears (Riverhead Books, 683 pages, $27)

“Death and Restoration” By Iain Pears (Scribner, 221 pages, $22)

Iain Pears is a double-threat author, the kind who has pulled off the writing equivalent of scoring on both offense and defense.

On one hand, Pears, an art historian and journalist, has produced “An Instance of the Fingerpost,” a massive, literary opus that no doubt will end up on many year-end top-10 lists. Meanwhile, he has whipped out a light and frothy mystery novel, “Death and Restoration,” an installment in his Jonathan Argyll series. These books are miles (and centuries) apart, yet both are equally successful and enjoyable.

Enjoyable may not be the perfect word to use for “An Instance of the Fingerpost.” The characters are mostly gloomy, and 1660s Oxford is even gloomier. The entire book is best compared to Umberto Eco’s “The Name of the Rose” in both density and sheer poundage.

That’s enough to scare away many people. Few books are as dense and obscure as “The Name of the Rose,” but “An Instance of the Fingerpost” sometimes gives it a run for its money. It’s full of Eco-like digressions on subjects such as 17th Century medicine and English court politics.

As for obscurity, the title of the book should serve as warning; What in heaven’s name is an instance of a fingerpost? The title comes from a Francis Bacon quote used to open the book’s final section, but I didn’t grasp the meaning until I went to the dictionary and looked up the definition of “fingerpost” (a signpost in the shape of a finger). And even then, I’m not 100 percent sure.

That said, the historical lore, mysticism and candle-lit Oxford atmosphere are exactly what make this book so fascinating. We meet such famous Oxford figures as Robert Boyle, John Locke and Christopher Wren. We are present as the doctors and scientists of the age slowly puzzle out the workings of the circulation system. And Pears conveys all of this through a murder-mystery plot that immerses us in a 1660s controversy involving the death of a famous Oxford don in his room. Was he poisoned? And by whom?

Pears tells this story in a Rashomon-like fashion, discussing the same event from the perspectives of four different people: a strange Italian physician, a rabble-rousing ex-con, a spy for the king and a bookish Oxford historian. They all see the same event in vastly different ways.

Pears tends to overreach toward the end of the book when one of the characters, a wise and intelligent woman, is revealed as having virtual Messianic properties. Yet overall, just like “A Name of the Rose,” this book can be read as a simple mystery story and also as a much deeper look into the mysteries of the past.

By the way, I happened to love “A Name of the Rose,” which gives you an idea of where I’m coming from.

Even so, it was with a sense of relief that I embarked upon Pears’ latest book, the slim “Death and Restoration.” Despite the title, this is a light and sometimes even silly art-theft mystery starring Pears’ creation Jonathan Argyll.

Argyll is an art expert who has foiled art crimes in several previous Pears mysteries; this time, he is trying to live a more tranquil life teaching art history to bored students in Rome. This time it’s his fiance, the fiery and intelligent Flavia de Stefano, who becomes embroiled in an art heist mystery. She’s a detective in Rome’s art theft squad.

Pears sets the action in a monastery in the middle of historic Rome, the charming and colorful old Monastery of San Giovanni, The brothers themselves are just as colorful, and nearly as old.

One morning, the head of the order is found bleeding on the floor of the little chapel. Someone has bashed him on the skull and stolen a historic painting; but to everyone’s astonishment, the missing painting is not the chapel’s valuable Caravaggio. It’s a small, dirty, nondescript icon of Mary.

Flavia and Jonathan pursue this mystery through the crowded streets of Rome, with help from an unlikely source. Mary Verney, elderly English art thief, is in Rome, too, and she ends up as both pursued and pursuer. Mary is one of Pears’ more delightful creations, a kind of Miss Marple gone bad.

In typical Pears fashion, the solution to the mystery involves ancient art lore. In this case, it’s about a long-lost Byzantine artwork, supposedly painted by St. Luke himself.

Both books display some of Pears’ less-effective tendencies. His sentences are occasionally awkward and hard to follow, as if English were not his first language. He also tends to rely a bit too much on contrivance. Not only was a garbage truck in the area at the time of the theft, but the driver delivers so much valuable information that he must have sat there for five minutes taking notes instead of doing his job.

But both books also display Pears’ strengths: a keen grasp of history, a nimble hand with character, and a remarkable erudition about art, science and religion.

One book is a heavy read with commensurate rewards; the other is a light read with a bit of depth. Taken together, they add up to a very good year for Iain Pears.