I would read borges on pretty much any topic at all. You never walk away from his stories or essays thinking that it was time wasted. And I rarely put them down and stop thinking of them.
I’m not the kind of person that often quotes books to prove points but I do reach for borges stories as metaphors to understand or explain situations.
I've read Borges after studying a little of philosophy. The amount of erudite references impressed me and made me see other layers of the stories. Probably there's a world I'm missing reading Borges, and that's what makes him so marvelous.
Where would you recommend starting with him? I've read The Library of Babel short story (because of this cool website: https://libraryofbabel.info/), but not sure where to go next.
He published a couple of short story anthologies in the 1940s: Fictions, Aleph - check your local library for a translation.
I smiled when in this lecture when he goes off on a tangent about Don Quixote and then imagines a fictional version of himself "I, for example, was born the same day as Jorge Luis Borges, exactly the same day".
That may well be Borges' inception concerning a fictional author with the nom de plume Pierre Menard. Ostensibly this is a lecture about Boswell but he has left a cue to an earlier short story.
One thing I noticed is the "this is the way I see it" manner of a reader who digested the works he mentions, but not citing chapter and verse the way we tend to do now since it became so easy ...
What’s interesting is that I’m pretty sure the beautiful quote about ghosts that he attributes to Carlyle is actually Borges himself (or at least, when I search for it, all I find is Borges “quoting” it, not any original). So the absence of citing chapter and verse has a little more to it sometimes...
You’re reading an English translation of a spanish paraphrase of something he possibly only read in Spanish translation to begin woth. Here’s the Carlyle quote.
> The English Johnson longed, all his life, to see one; but could not, though he went to Cock Lane, and thence to the church-vaults, and tapped on coffins. Foolish Doctor! Did he never, with the mind's eye as well as with the body's, look round him into that full tide of human Life he so loved; did he never so much as look into Himself? The good Doctor was a Ghost, as actual and authentic as heart could wish; well-nigh a million of Ghosts were travelling the streets by his side. Once more I say, sweep away the illusion of Time; compress the threescore years into three minutes: what else was he, what else are we? Are we not Spirits, that are shaped into a body, into an Appearance; and that fade away again into air and Invisibility? This is no metaphor, it is a simple scientific fact: we start out of Nothingness, take figure, and are Apparitions; round us, as round the veriest spectre, is Eternity; and to Eternity minutes are as years and aeons. Come there not tones of Love and Faith, as from celestial harp-strings, like the Song of beatified Souls? And again, do not we squeak and gibber (in our discordant, screech-owlish debatings and recriminatings); and glide bodeful, and feeble, and fearful; or uproar (poltern), and revel in our mad Dance of the Dead,—till the scent of the morning air summons us to our still Home; and dreamy Night becomes awake and Day? Where now is Alexander of Macedon: does the steel Host, that yelled in fierce battle-shouts at Issus and Arbela, remain behind him; or have they all vanished utterly, even as perturbed Goblins must? Napoleon too, and his Moscow Retreats and Austerlitz Campaigns! Was it all other than the veriest Spectre-hunt; which has now, with its howling tumult that made Night hideous, flitted away?—Ghosts! There are nigh a thousand million walking the Earth openly at noontide; some half-hundred have vanished from it, some half-hundred have arisen in it, ere thy watch ticks once.
It is unlikely that Borges preferred Carlyle in Spanish translation: “He learned to read English before Spanish and did most of his reading as a child in the former language.” [1]
It's true that Borges read books in their original languages, but he also did translations himself and even stated that a translation could improve upon the original--although I doubt that he'd say that his own translations were so-improved.
I think the same could be said even more emphatically of Boswell, and Johnson. Also since they wrote natively in English, there is level of virtuosity on display that is hard to preserve in translation.
