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The 'Aleph' is a small iridescent sphere of almost unbearable brightness which lives under the ninth stair of a dark basement in Buenos Aires. The basement is in the house of would-be poet, Carlos Argentino Danieri, whose life's work is a never-to-be-completed poem, inspired by the images he claims to see in the iridescent sphere, and which becomes an impossibly detailed geography of the world as revealed to him by his many sessions lying on the basement floor gazing up at the Aleph.
The story of the Aleph more than deserves its place as the title story of this collection. It is not really about Danieri however, but rather about the narrator of the story and his own mystical experience with the Aleph, so what I've said here about Danieri won't spoil the story for you. As is the case with all of Borges's stories, this one has to be experienced, no words of mine will do.
But if I focussed on Danieri and his interminable poem about the geography of the world, it was because he reminded me of a favourite French author, Gustave Flaubert. Alongside his many novels and stories, Flaubert worked for years on a bizarre and never-to-be-finished writing project which involved trying to investigate/summarise all the knowledge in the world, including geography. But because he also had a marvellous sense of fun, Flaubert created a pair of buffoon characters called Bouvard and Pécuchet to help him exploit his obsession with knowledge. The two characters get transformed by the knowledge they keep accumulating, but are not necessarily wiser for the accumulation, and even though Flaubert constantly satirises his comical pair, the reader feels he is more like them in their crazy desire to accumulate mountains of knowledge than he admits.
Borges himself seems to have an equal fascination with knowledge about the world—his character Danieri is not unlike himself (even though it is the narrator of The Aleph who comes across as most Borges-like). I've now read four collections of Borges's stories in two separate editions and I feel I've roamed across the geography and history of the known world—and several unknown worlds—alongside him. But unlike Danieri, and Bouvard & Pécuchet, there has been no sense of being overwhelmed by an accumulation of detail. Instead I've been impressed by the way Borges hones everything down to the size of a walnut shell.
Yes, his stories are each in their own ways little iridescent spheres which allow us to transcend our own daily reality. Some of them I'd like to keep in my pocket and rub from time to time as you would a talisman. Others I'd probably want to lose rather than hold onto because they might haunt me in the long term.
But I'll never be not glad I read them.
The story of the Aleph more than deserves its place as the title story of this collection. It is not really about Danieri however, but rather about the narrator of the story and his own mystical experience with the Aleph, so what I've said here about Danieri won't spoil the story for you. As is the case with all of Borges's stories, this one has to be experienced, no words of mine will do.
But if I focussed on Danieri and his interminable poem about the geography of the world, it was because he reminded me of a favourite French author, Gustave Flaubert. Alongside his many novels and stories, Flaubert worked for years on a bizarre and never-to-be-finished writing project which involved trying to investigate/summarise all the knowledge in the world, including geography. But because he also had a marvellous sense of fun, Flaubert created a pair of buffoon characters called Bouvard and Pécuchet to help him exploit his obsession with knowledge. The two characters get transformed by the knowledge they keep accumulating, but are not necessarily wiser for the accumulation, and even though Flaubert constantly satirises his comical pair, the reader feels he is more like them in their crazy desire to accumulate mountains of knowledge than he admits.
Borges himself seems to have an equal fascination with knowledge about the world—his character Danieri is not unlike himself (even though it is the narrator of The Aleph who comes across as most Borges-like). I've now read four collections of Borges's stories in two separate editions and I feel I've roamed across the geography and history of the known world—and several unknown worlds—alongside him. But unlike Danieri, and Bouvard & Pécuchet, there has been no sense of being overwhelmed by an accumulation of detail. Instead I've been impressed by the way Borges hones everything down to the size of a walnut shell.
Yes, his stories are each in their own ways little iridescent spheres which allow us to transcend our own daily reality. Some of them I'd like to keep in my pocket and rub from time to time as you would a talisman. Others I'd probably want to lose rather than hold onto because they might haunt me in the long term.
But I'll never be not glad I read them.