Si bien la prosa es impecable, esta colección de cuentos me pareció algo aburrida y, por momentos, tediosa. Lejos de atraparme como El libro de arena y El informe de Brodie. No lo recomendaría para una primera lectura de Borges.

This is the 2nd time I try to read these stories. This time I tried in Spanish (very bad idea- too difficult for my level) and then came back to the Romanian translation.

I liked the ideas (such as for the Immortals) but the author continually put references of different names, places, dates, literary and historical citations that in my opinion made the story unpleasant to read. I understand the author is very well read and he drew inspiration from all the book he cites (Iliad, Hamlet, etc) but i think they disrupt the flow of the story.

I will come back to it after I read more and I will be wiser.

Για άλλη μια φορά ο Μπόρχες κατάφερε να με κάνει να ταξιδέψω μέσα στα δαιδαλώδη μονοπάτια της φαντασίας του...

Η συγκεκριμένη συλλογή διηγημάτων απαρτίζεται από ιστορίες που έχουν μια κοινή βάση -τουλάχιστο οι περισσότερες- κι αυτή είναι η αναζήτηση του Θεού. Όχι όμως ενός συγκεκριμένου θεού, αλλά κυρίως της έννοιας του ή της πεμπτουσίας του. Σχεδόν σε όλα τα διηγήματα υπάρχει διάχυτος ένας μυστικισμός ενώ οι επιρροές από την Βίβλο, το Κοράνι και άλλα θρησκευτικά βιβλία είναι καταφανέστατες.

Λαβύρινθοι, καθρέφτες, σωσίες και περίεργα σύμβολα εμφανίζονται συνεχώς σε όλα διηγήματα, ενώ παράλληλα ο Μπόρχες δεν σταματάει να μας υπενθυμίζει την αγάπη του για την αστυνομική λογοτεχνία αλλά και την γεωμετρία!

Στην διαπίστωση σας κύριε Μπόρχες πως "όλοι οι άνθρωποι είναι είτε πλατωνικοί είτε αριστοτελικοί" εγώ προτιμώ να αυτοχαρακτηριστώ ως "μπορχεσικός".

5/5

What is there to say about Jorge Luis Borges that hasn't been said before?

Not much. Borges is a wonderful story-teller. His world is one of mysticism and magic, and paradoxically, of raw realism. It's a world of serious philosophical thoughts and of detective plots. The Aleph is a window for everything that the world contains; perhaps that is the perfect description of Borges's stories.

I must admit, however, that some of the stories didn't awe me that much. I infinitely prefer when Borges writes about Arabs within the atmosphere of One Thousand Nights or about Jews and the Kabbalah. I prefer the stories that have a supernatural element, or that suffered the clear influence of Conan Doyle. The stories about gauchos and Argentine folk if we can call it that, leave me strangely unimpressed. Perhaps because I cannot connect to that world as I connect to others. I must mention the exception: the story about the death of Pedro Damián which I thought was truly extraordinary. As Borges says in his commentaries at the end of the book, "all theologians have denied God one miracle - that of undoing the past". (One can argue that this story fits more the "supernatural" category than the Argentine gaucho category but no matter).

The stories where Borges dissociates from himself and sees himself through a mirror are some of my favourite as well. The blind Homer which isn't Homer at all but Borges, was unexpectedly moving, as though Borges was revealing one of his inner secrets.

Still, apart from the Aleph and another couple of stories, I found that the most interesting writing of this volume is Borges's autobiography. It is always refreshing and comforting to read the thoughts of a man who has learned much about life and is willing to share that knowledge. Despite being 71, he wrote of his future plans with the enthusiasm of youth. And he was right: he went on to live more 15 years.

I finish this review with the final lines of his autobiography:

"In a way, youthfulness seems closer to me today than when I was a young man. I no longer regard happiness as unattainable; once, long ago, I did. Now I know that it may occur at any moment but that it should never be sought after. As to failure or fame, they are quite irrelevant and I never bother about them. What I'm out for now is peace, the enjoyment of thinking and of friendship, and, though it may be too ambitious, a sense of loving and of being loved."

Tercera vez en mi vida que leo este libro y cada vez encuentro nuevas puertas metaliterarias por las que ingresar. Cada frase de estos relatos es una referencia intertextual. Es literatura sobre la literatura. Los hilos que cosen las composiciones están a la vista: el narrador sabe que narra, que ha leído, que está citando, que parafrasea y que su identidad es un reflejo, una mímesis desvergonzada de su autor. Borges es un personaje más de su literatura y trae consigo a sus abuelos, sus lecturas, sus sueños, sus poesías. La palabra laberinto se repite infinidad de veces, los guiños a autores reales (Kipling) o inventados también abundan. Quiero recordar esa técnica de remate que Borges maneja tan bien, ordenando todos los componentes para que sea la última frase, la final, la que devele todo el sentido previo. También, que es sucinto, solo dice lo que necesita para que la historia se comprenda, sin decoraciones innecesarias. El barroco aquí es de la prosa; no de la estructura. Gusta de las palabras rebuscadas, que honestamente no creo que en él sea un acto de pedantería, sino el reflejo honesto de su refinado léxico. Es difícil entrar al mundo borgiano, a veces hace sentir que hay que haber leído mucho para disfrutarlo; otras, creo que solo es complejo en su vocabulario, porque la anécdota es limpia y visible. Siempre es la misma historia la de Borges, la de la paradoja, la de los paralelismos, la de los laberintos. Helénico, místico, mítico, teológico y poético. Escribe en español con chispazos de inglés, italiano, latín. Quiero perdirle disculpas públicas porque una vez le tuiteé un epíteto soez. Es un grande el caballero, nomás un poco pasado a falocentrismo. Sus citas son de autores varones y habla de "el hombre". Todo texto que caiga en aquello de reducir la humanidad a la masculindiad me merece un epíteto. Hasta Gabrielita Mistral lo hacía. No creo yo que eso se deba a un tiempo pasado, sino a una forma patriarcal de pensamiento. Tanta astucia, tanta inteligencia y aun así, repetir vicios machistas. No me gusta, me cae mal. Como sea, me arrodillo ante la grandeza de quien puede escribir magnánimamente. Arrúyame, viejito Borges, cuéntame tus cuentos al oído. Gracias a mí misma por haber robado esta edición vieja y pinochetista del Aleph, a mi santa madre, que fue la primera bibliotecóloga que en mi vida conocí.

Heavy going in places, but lovely short stories just the same.

Want a great description of what it's like to look at the World Wide Web through a browser for the first time? Read the long beautiful paragraph in which Borges describes his first look into the Aleph.

I keep coming back to these stories and those in Labyrinths. Borges captures so much, so quickly.

Ci ho provato e riprovato. Ogni volta mi impegnavo a leggerne un pezzetto in più, ma ogni volta mi ritrovavo con un testo cervellotico, artificioso e saccente, che faticavo ad afferrare; anzi, mi infastidiva. E ogni volta mi sentivo come quel rudimentale troglodita del primo racconto, tuttavia priva di immortalità.
L’ho ripreso infine da poco, quando ho scoperto su GR un gruppo di lettura che aveva scelto proprio "L’Aleph” per il mese di dicembre.
Sono rimasta dietro le quinte in attesa, e anche un po’ curiosa, di leggervi confronti, trovare spiragli e magari una qualche chiave.
Ringrazio gli intervenuti, benché nessun aiuto abbia ricevuto in quel senso; tutto ciò che ne ho ricavato è che la "logica" di Escher è chiara e mi affascina, mentre quella di Borges è contorta e mi innervosisce.
Ma li ringrazio con convinzione, perché mi hanno fatto decidere di liberarmi definitivamente del “grande” Borges; alla fine con soddisfazione e sollievo. Tanto di cappello a chi sa apprezzarlo; io mi accontento della mia normale… “mortalità”, potendo gustare altrove la lettura come regalo, e piacere!

Mi primer libro de Borges. De él solo leí un microrrelato muy bueno, pero nada más.

El Aleph es un libro que exige al lector/a una gran parte. Cada cuento es un universo cargado de referencias, de significados; es un paseo a la biblioteca y a las experiencias del autor.
A su vez, las historias van a lo concreto, en el sentido de que deja las florituras de lado, y te muestra con genialidad y eficacia la construcción de un cuento. Un estilo único.

Pienso que es fundamental que el lector o lectora vaya con paciencia porque es un contraste comparándolo con la mayoría de los libros de hoy en día (sin ser despectivo). Acompañarlo con un audiolibro pienso que mejora la experiencia, y si luego se busca un análisis de cada cuento para que no quede nada suelto, aún mejor.

Stevenson, Wells, Twain, Verne, the Arabian Nights, were some of the references for Borges very early on, back in Argentina. At his father’s library he read a lot. Then he went to Europe...

n  n

Borges: “American, old and a blind poet “ he realized once, later in life. Afterwards he had to live up to it and face old age as a “time of happiness”; the “animal being dead…man and soul go on”.

n  n
Borges “a shy man who longed for oblivion” (“siempre tímido”, as he said of himself). But not shy stories, he wrote. Stories venturing into strange worlds of past times and mythologies and religious beliefs.

n  n
(by Borges)

Of his infancy he recalls the horror of mirrors: “that reflection”…”an enemy of me”. For some time, before complete blindness, he’s seen “vague whitish shapes”. He’s seen the black and the red. Then the “silver color left”, blue and yellow “blended”. Yellow was the “last color” to be seen. Blindness “came very quietly”. He knew about family blindness. Some family members had died blind.

n  n
(by Borges)

Now blind, books have “no letters”, ”friends are faceless”. And yet he pursues the search for his “(secret) center...my Algebra,…my mirror, my key…soon I shall know who I am.”
Borges in search for himself.

"Time has been my Democritus".

The first story is about the writing of God. About a magician, Tzinacan, imprisoned. He finds a way out….but decides to stay. Imprisoned.

The second story is about the Zahir, the coin, first gotten as money change from a drink ("aguardente").

n  n

It all starts with the death of actress Teodelina Villar. According to the author, she committed the solipsism of dying right on the “bairro der sur”. She was more interested in perfection rather than beauty.

It’s a story full of reflections on currency:”money is abstract”,”unpredictable” …it may be “coffee,…Brahms music”.

On the 16th of July the narrator bought 1 sterling pound and studied it under the magnifying glass. In August, due to insomnia, he had to consult with a psychiatrist. He could not get rid of a fixed idea.

The narrator has had a dream: “I was the coin, …a Griffin watched”
...

Plus, reflections on Sufi wisdom: the repetition of names for 99 times: “maybe behind it is God”.

Ah, the zahir, the coin. The narrator got rid of it. In a drink.

“The zahir is the shadow of the rose, and the parting of the veil”;… “now I use both”.

n  n


Mostly, stories to ponder. To enjoy their full color. Maybe to get perplexed. To start searching for meaning. Identity too.

Stories to be read not once. But 9 times. Or 99 times. Over 9 years. Preferably over 99 years.

-If you've got the time.

UPDATE

Nice interview
https://borgestodoelanio.blogspot.com...

Leí este libro hará cosa de un año y medio; en su momento, entendí apenas un par de cuentos, lo juzgué indescifrable, pretencioso. Hoy regreso, como es mi costumbre, a Borges; hoy, luego de tanto andar a su lado, me atrevo a decir que entiendo más, que disfruto su escritura, que me siento menos ajeno al mundo borgiano. Hoy vencí otro reto más, hoy volví a reunirme con un viejo amigo.

Relectura 2020. Leí este libro hace un par de años; qué viejo y melancólico me parece el mundo ahora, de la mano de los inmortales y Averroes. En este libro, esta vez, sentí los artificios de Borges algo hastiantes, como si fueran la eterna pampa; el sentimiento, en cambio, sigue igual de solitario, pensativo, agradecido.

This is the second Borges book that I have read (though the first in Spanish), and I have found that my reaction was an echo of the first. With Borges, I have the constant sensation that the writing is superlative and the style very much to my taste; yet somehow I often manage to be uninspired. The typical Borgesian themes—the collapse of personal identity, the sense of a mysterious connection, the obsession with a sort of occult understanding of a higher reality—make me uneasy, and at times strike me as a kind of armchair mysticism: the translation of spiritual impulses into erudite literature. And I am suspicious of anyone who uses their learning to intentionally create obscurity.

This only applies when his style falls flat. But when Borges is at his best, such as (for me) in El inmortal, La casa de Asterión, and the title story, El Aleph—when Borges breaks through my instinctive suspicion of all art that is intentionally mysterious—I feel the floor collapse from under me, and I am lost in an expansive feeling of literary pleasure. This is the trademark Borges effect; and, to my mind, all of his stories are aimed at evoking this same feeling. As a result, the stories are hit or miss for me. My problem is that, when the mysterious Borges effect fails to manifest, I am left with dense and at times dry prose (no doubt intentionally so), which I have trouble enjoying.

I was hoping that reading the stories in the original would be a different experience; but, alas, it was déjà vu. Thus I was somewhat disappointed as I read—no doubt unfairly, since his literary talent is impossible to deny.