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Labyrinths (New Directions Paperbook) Paperback – May 17, 2007
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The classic by Latin America's finest writer of the twentieth century―a true literary sensation―with an introduction by cyber-author William Gibson.
The groundbreaking trans-genre work of Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986) has been insinuating itself into the structure, stance, and very breath of world literature for well over half a century. Multi-layered, self-referential, elusive, and allusive writing is now frequently labeled Borgesian. Umberto Eco's international bestseller, The Name of the Rose, is, on one level, an elaborate improvisation on Borges' fiction "The Library," which American readers first encountered in the original 1962 New Directions publication of Labyrinths.This new edition of Labyrinths, the classic representative selection of Borges' writing edited by Donald A. Yates and James E. Irby (in translations by themselves and others), includes the text of the original edition (as augmented in 1964) as well as Irby's biographical and critical essay, a poignant tribute by André Maurois, and a chronology of the author's life. Borges enthusiast William Gibson has contributed a new introduction bringing Borges' influence and importance into the twenty-first century.
- Print length240 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherNew Directions
- Publication dateMay 17, 2007
- Dimensions5.3 x 0.8 x 8 inches
- ISBN-100811216993
- ISBN-13978-0811216999
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Editorial Reviews
Review
― BBC
"Borges is arguably the great bridge between modernism and post-modernism in world literature."
― David Foster Wallace, The New York Times
"Borges anticipated postmodernism (deconstruction and so on) and picked up credit as founding father of Latin American magical realism."
― Colin Waters, The Washington Times
About the Author
William Gibson is a professor of ecclesiastical history at Oxford Brookes University. He is also academic director of the Westminster Institute of Education.
Product details
- Publisher : New Directions; Reprint edition (May 17, 2007)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 240 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0811216993
- ISBN-13 : 978-0811216999
- Item Weight : 9.3 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.3 x 0.8 x 8 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #93,549 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #22 in Caribbean & Latin American Literature
- #1,935 in Short Stories (Books)
- #5,776 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
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About the authors

Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges KBE (/ˈbɔːrhɛs/; Spanish: [ˈxorxe ˈlwis ˈborxes] 24 August 1899 - 14 June 1986), was an Argentine short-story writer, essayist, poet and translator, and a key figure in Spanish language literature. His work embraces the "character of unreality in all literature". His best-known books, Ficciones (Fictions) and El Aleph (The Aleph), published in the 1940s, are compilations of short stories interconnected by common themes, including dreams, labyrinths, libraries, mirrors, fictional writers, philosophy, and religion. Literary critics have described Borges as Latin America's monumental writer.
Bio from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Photo by Grete Stern (1904-1999) (http://www.me.gov.ar/efeme/jlborges/1951-1960.html) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Discover more of the author’s books, see similar authors, read author blogs and more

Growing up as a teenager in Ann Arbor, I developed an insatiable taste for detective fiction. Since most of the books I came across were written for adults, I skipped juvenile-type mysteries entirely and began reading the genre’s mainline authors. By the time I had passed from Slauson Junior High on to Ann Arbor High, I was giving some thought to what I wanted to do with my life. When I was given the choice to decide what kind of curriculum I wanted to pursue after high school, I unhesitatingly elected Pre-Law. I had consumed dozens of Erle Stanley Gardner’s Perry Mason novels and was entranced by the prospect of becoming myself a crackerjack courtroom lawyer.
So it was that I entered the University of Michigan in the fall of 1947 on the Pre-Law track. I had enjoyed and done well in my high school classes in English and Spanish, but now I was getting down to serious preparation for my career in law. There were, of course, some basic class requirements to satisfy, but I was willing to be patient.
In my sophomore year I ran into a history course that slowed me down quite a bit. I forget what it was called--it might have been English Constitutional History--but I discovered that I just couldn’t hack it. It all seemed so cut and dried, dusty and lacking in drama and emotion. My exam results were genuinely alarming. The professor who taught the course--by the name of Leslie--took note of this and asked to see me for a moment one day after class. I frankly and perhaps over-dramatically explained to him that I was not finding much sense of fulfillment in the course material. He listened attentively and then asked me a single question: “What is your academic program?” I said it was Pre-Law. (I remember this moment very clearly.) He thought a bit and then said: “Mr. Yates, I need to tell you that you are going to have to take a goodly number of other courses--much like this one--in order to complete the Pre-Law curriculum.” He paused to let that sink in. Then he said, “Let me offer you a bit of advice. In your circumstances, I would give serious thought to changing your major to something else.”
That was, I believe, a critical turning point in my life.
The next day I went over to Angell Hall and switched my major to Spanish. I had continued taking Spanish courses in every semester at the university and was receiving high marks. So that seemed to be the thing to do.
Thus it was that I completed the A.B. degree, with a major in Spanish, in January of 1951. And then was promptly drafted into the U.S. Army for a two-year stretch.
With my Army service behind me, I was over two years separated from the first phase of my university education. I had given over those two years to military service, but I was compensated by my country with the benefits of the G.I. Bill. So I returned to Ann Arbor in the fall of 1953--as a graduate student in Spanish. In one year I had my Masters degree and then pushed on in pursuit of the Ph. D.
I found these graduate years to be enormously rewarding. It turned out that I did indeed have a real gift for languages. (Before leaving for the Army, I had also learned French) These language courses were particularly compatible with my continuing interest in English language and literature, absorbed as I was in fiction and creative writing. With Professor Leslie’s well-timed and well-intended nudge, I had moved onto an academic career that was particularly suited to my talents and interests
I was very fortunate to be able to take graduate courses from two distinguished members of the Romance Language Department faculty--Irving A. Leonard and Enrique Anderson Imbert. Leonard was one of the country’s highly regarded specialists in Latin American Literature and also in Latin American history. Anderson Imbert, who left Michigan in 1968 for Harvard, was a consumate classroom teacher and had published the first comprehensive history of Spanish American literature. Eventually, I wrote my dissertation with Anderson Imbert on the subject of Argentine detective fiction.
I finished my course work for the Doctorate and passed the oral exams in 1957, and went to Michigan State for what was to be a one-year appointment to replace a faculty member who had to spend a sabbatical year in Europe. I stayed in East Lansing for twenty-six years. It was a wonderful ride that included many trips to Spain and France and especially to Latin American countries, whose literatures became my area of specialization. I published extensively--articles, essays, reviews for the New York Times, a memoir in The New Yorker, many Spanish-language textbooks as well as translations of novels and short stories of Spanish American writers, especially those from Argentina, where I spent nearly five years over the span of almost twenty trips to Buenos Aires. Writing was always a pleasure and a source of deep satisfaction. In 1954 I won a Hopwood Award in drama. More than once I considered that if had become a lawyer what I might well have been limited to composing was courtroom briefs. I was wisely steered away from that destiny.
After spending a total of thirty years teaching, I retired in 1983 to California’s Napa Valley, where I carry on my second career as a writer. Thank you, Professor Leslie.
An afterthought. Looking back on it, you realize that you never see Perry Mason playing golf, relaxing at a pool, hitting the casinos at Lake Tahoe, or even sipping a glass of wine. Whew, that was a close one!
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While translated, and I cannot speak to the degree of translation accuracy since I only speak English, Borges' intent for each piece comes through clearly. Or, at least, as clearly as the several-decades gap between then and now and the deep cut references will allow it to be; this is one of those authors that will inevitably take some degree of study or analysis to pick up on everything, but even though I am certainly missing some of the subtler or niche elements present, these remain remarkably powerful.
Also, to judge a book by its cover, but this is a pretty eye-catching cover. I suspect it will really show wear-and-tear with repeat use, and perhaps even more obviously than some books, but for now, it's visually striking in a way Borges deserves.
This book is divided into three sections. Most of the book is short fictional stories, far ranging in subject matter, and in my opinion, quality. The second section is rather straightforward critical essays, covering such subjects as the Argentinian Writer and Tradition, Franz Kafka, Paul Valéry and other literary figures. The third section is eight short parables. An introduction is provided by William Gibson, a science fiction writer most famous for his 1984 book, Neuromancer . The connection was hard to fathom.
Borges displays an astonishing erudition of the contemporary and ancient worlds across metaphysics, religion, history, literature and the arts. The very nature of time, and the choices one makes are a recurring theme, and certainly the word "labyrinth" features in most every fictional story. The maze that is life. I found the story "Garden of the Forking Paths" recalling the best of W.G. Sebald and Jarvier Marias. Of course, the actual antecedents are reversed. How much of an influence did he have on these writers? Time never seems to be linear in his stories; the choices are multiple, so there is a quantum mechanics edge to them. And at any given point in time, positions are only so many "possibilities." In "The Secret Miracle" Borges uses an epigraph from the Koran, long before many in the West did, for a story about a Czech Jew facing the firing squad. Time does a major compression in the story, as it supposedly does, at the moment of death. And for the following story, "Three Versions of Judas," I was impressed that the one line he chose from T. E. Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom for the epigraph was: "There seemed a certainty in degradation." Other stories involve Indians dying in prison, and a woman carefully plotting the ultimate revenge for the suicide of her husband. And "The Immortals" seems to be a rehash, with variations, of Illiad . "Funes the Memorious" concerns an autistic savant lacking, as they do, an ability to reason. In the essay section, there is a reasonable clear discussion of Zeno's paradox.
As with all collections, the quality of the stories, and the reader's reception to them, are variable. With these, I found the variation extreme. Some stories were well-composed, with incisive passages. Others, I was left wondering: Maybe it's my fault? I just don't get it. And then others, I finished convinced that this was a literary version of a Jackson Pollack painting. Borges took various erudite and insightful sentences, and splashed them on the page, with no apparent connective tissue, as though he was putting the reader on: You don't see the connections; then it is your fault. In real life, he seemed to exhibit some of these "poseur" qualities.
Also, as an aside, and confirming what another reviewer pointed out: there are a large number of misspellings in this book that a basic run through spell-check would have corrected.
I'd love for a commenter to urge me to reconsider, but I think this will be the only volume of Borges that I'll read. 4-stars.
I can't believe it took me over a week to read 250 pages... this book was *dense* yet thoroughly enjoyable and thought provoking. At some point I had to give up trying to read, understand, and retain each individual story as a whole and begin to focus on and underline specific lines and specific ideas in an attempt to glean just a tiny fraction of what the author was trying to impart to the reader. Even though he and I are, apparently, the same...
I was surprised when the collection shifted from short fiction to essays and happy when it shifted again to parables. The short works at the end were, perhaps, the easiest for me to grasp, the essays simply required too much knowledge I did not possess, and the fiction largely just flew over my head. At least until I realized I have not the capacity to fully understand with just a cursory reading.
As one who cites The Stranger (Everyman's Library) and Notes from Underground (Everyman's Library) as two of my primary influences, I feel like many of the philosophies espoused here were familiar territory... just presented in an incredibly deep and unique way. I wasn't particularly driven in any new direction by the content of the ideas (as best I could understand them), but the style was breathtaking and mind-bending. I was unprepared for the author's predilection for Cervantes Miguel de, religion, the plight of the Jews, and Zeno's paradoxes, but the redundancy probably helped my ability to follow and pretend that I understood. (Although I hate Zeno's paradoxes it is, perhaps again, because I just don't get it.) My grasp of South American history (both literary and political) is tenuous at best and yet another reason I feel like I have missed a large portion of what the author hoped (hopes?) to give to me. And, God, I wish I had a greater appreciation and understanding of Don Quixote...
It sounds like I am complaining, but it was amazing to see some ideas I already held to be presented in such beautiful language. "I reflected that there is nothing less material than money, since any coin whatsoever is, strictly speaking, a repertory of possible futures. Money is abstract, I repeated; money is the future tense." Yes. More, please. To have some things that I knew... yet did not know that I knew put in plain black & white in front of me was a thrill. "...except for man, all creatures are immortal, for they are ignorant of death..." With every turn of the page, I found another phrase burned into my mind. And how I wish I'd begun underlining earlier. I will have to read this again in the near future... To the best of my ability to remember, "The Secret Miracle" and "The Immortal" were probably my two favorite short stories. I think they seemed to be the most straight forward and, perhaps, mundane allowing me to finally feel like I understood something. "The Secret Miracle" particularly stuck with me. What a beautifully succinct and poignant tale...
As much as the fictions relied on the knowledge of the reader, (should I have been as happy as I was to pick up on the Raskolnikov reference?) the essays were even more daunting. Not to say that I did not benefit from them, but without the base knowledge, I often found myself lost... Lost and disappointed that the short fictions had ended. Which is why, again, I appreciated the structure of this collection placing the short parables at the end giving me some semblance of understanding.
I feel as though I could talk about this for ages all the while saying nothing. I don't feel like I'm worthy to press these keys and push my thoughts into the world. But everything that has happened to me and to the Universe as a whole, thus far, has led to this exact and specific present, which I will now make my past. Which does not exist.
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Allowance has to be made for the fact that the English translations in this collection are not those revised and approved by Borges. The sparks of stylistic brilliance occurring every now and again in this book made me wonder how different an impression I would get from the authorised translations (which, sadly, cannot be published any longer).
The majority of the stories introduce metaphysical ideas dressed as fiction, which is something that I do not care for - though this, of course, is a matter of personal preference. Some stories appear to be merely jokes of philosophic or literary nature while some closely (perhaps too closely) remind the style of Poe or Bierce. This quality may or may not be an artefact of translation; however, I certainly feel that the central premise of 'The Secret Miracle' is essentially the same as that of 'An Occurrence on Owl Creek Bridge' by Bierce. I recognised this even though I only ever read the latter story some 40 years ago, in a Russian translation - so the similarity must be real.
On the other hand, there are some true gems in this book - for example, 'Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius', whose intense poetic beauty transcends the metaphysical content, or 'Averroes's Search', which I find quite disturbing.
In the latter, a Moorish scholar writes, "with slow sureness, from right to left", a commentary on Aristotle's 'Poetics' (accessible to him only as a translation of a translation) and struggles with the meaning of the words 'tragedy' and 'comedy' that keep cropping up in this work but are not to be found in any other book in his library. The scholar tries to console himself with the thought that what we seek is often nearby, and later that day attends a learned gathering at a cleric's home. There, a theological and literary discussion takes place and a famous traveller tells, by way of an entertaining account, about a large painted house he visited in China: the house had balconies on the inside and was full of people watching other people who were wearing crimson masks and doing strange things. The whole thing is dismissed as lunacy by the listeners, including the scholar - who thus misses the revelation and remains in the dark about the meaning of the puzzling words in Aristotle: theatre and drama are unknown to his medieval Islamic world.
In the final paragraph of 'Averroes's Search' Borges reveals that his intention was "to narrate the process of a defeat ... of a man who sets himself a goal which is not forbidden to others, but is to him". Borges then ponders over his own difficulty with imagining Averroes based on the scraps of information about him found in various sources. The multi-lingual versions of people's names, book titles and place names scattered around the story also point to the difficulty of penetrating Averroes's way of thinking and understanding the world in which he lived; this mirrors the difficulty experienced by Averroes in the story. Fittingly, an extra layer of the same nature is added in the translation by the fact that the title of the Spanish-language original (La Busca de Averroes) cannot be adequately rendered in English because it has a dual meaning - "the search of Averroes" and "the search for Averroes" - and both interpretations are relevant to the story. Another aspect of the sublime irony of the whole situation is that the Western world largely owes its re-discovery of Aristotle to Averroes, who is also known as Ibn Rushd. Moreover, his commentary was read by medieval European scholars as the Latin translation of a Hebrew translation - not unlike the way in which Averroes reads Aristotle in the first place according to Borges (it is not known whether the real Averroes was able to read in Greek or Syriac).
The description of a failure to understand in 'Averroes's Search' is so compelling that it got me thinking: could it be that I miss the point of some of the stories in this collection in a similar way? I reckon that I will have to return to them one day and try again - and perhaps this time read these stories in the authorised translation if I can get hold of it.
This collection includes some of Borges's greatest short pieces;without wanting to name names (that wouldn't be in keeping with the act of reading Borges) there's one whose conclusion is so earth-shattering that I imagine quite a number of atheists will be born of its reading.
This collection of "Fictions, Essays and Parables" are essential reading for anyone who reads Borges. I am not his biggest fan but I found much of this book quite enthralling but have to admit I found it difficult to follow at times. Overall a nice volume by a highly acclaimed writer.







