stories you get in
El Aleph
and in
Ficciones
are becoming rather mechanical, and that people expect that kind of thing from me. So that I feel as if I were a kind of high fidelity, a kind of gadget, no? A kind of factory producing stories about mistaken identity, about mazes, about tigers, about mirrors, about people being somebody else, or about all men being the same man or one man being his own mortal foe. And another reason, which may be a rather malicious one, is that there are quite a few people all over the world who are writing that kind of story and there’s no reason why I should go on doing it. Especially as some of them do it far better than I do, no?
BURGIN: Well, they followed you, and no, I don’t think they do it better or as well. Though, of course, some of your stories, like “The Form of the Sword,” are more “realistic.”
BORGES: That’s one of the stories I like least, because it’s a trick story after all. Now a friend of mine told me that he saw through the trick, and I thought that is as it should be because I did think of the story as a trick story. I thought that if the reader felt that the man was talking about himself, it would make the whole thing more “pathetic,” but if he were merely telling a story about somebody who betrayed him, then that’s a mere episode. But if a traitor in a bashful way found that the only way of telling the story was to think of himself as outside the story, or rather, joining together with the central character, the story might be better and besides it might be said for the story that, well, let’s suppose—let’s suppose you made me some confession about yourself, no? You told me something that nobody knew or that nobody was supposed to know, or that you wanted hidden and suppose that in the moment you were telling it to me, you felt outside the whole thing because the mere fact of telling it made you the teller and not the told.
BURGIN: I think you underrate that story because, though, as you say, it ends in a trick, an O. Henry kind of reversal, I think that …
BORGES: But of course, when I wrote that story I was quite young and then I believed in cleverness, and now I think thatcleverness is a hindrance. I don’t think a writer should be clever, or clever in a mechanical way, no?
BURGIN: I think it’s deeper than the plot. I think it’s thematically very interesting and I think it’s somewhat akin to that story “The Theologians” because …
BORGES: No. “The Theologians” is a better story.
BURGIN: “The Theologians”
is
a better story.
BORGES: But, perhaps, perhaps “The Form of the Sword” makes for easier reading?
BURGIN: Yes, but what I’m saying is that essentially the person who was telling the story could have been either one of the men. Just like in “The Theologians,” the two men were the same to God.
BORGES: Yes, that’s true. I never thought of that.
BURGIN: He could have been either one of the men, and in a sense he was.
BORGES: I never thought of that. Well, you have enriched the story. Thank you.
BURGIN: You noticed something very interesting about DonQuixote. That he never does kill a man in all his adventures, although he often engages in fights.
BORGES: Ah, yes! I wonder about that.
BURGIN: And then you wrote that parable.
BORGES: Well, I suppose the real reason or the obvious reason would be that Cervantes wanted to keep within the limits of farce and had he killed a man, then the book, then that would have been too real, no? Don’t you think so? I mean if Quixote kills a man, then he somehow is a real, bad man, whether he feels himself justified or not. I don’t think Cervantes wanted to go as far as all that, no? He wanted to keep his book within certain bounds, and had Don Quixote killed a man that would have done Cervantes no good.
BURGIN: Also, there’s the idea you’ve mentioned that the author at some time in the book becomes the main character. So perhaps Cervantes couldn’t bear
El Aleph
and in
Ficciones
are becoming rather mechanical, and that people expect that kind of thing from me. So that I feel as if I were a kind of high fidelity, a kind of gadget, no? A kind of factory producing stories about mistaken identity, about mazes, about tigers, about mirrors, about people being somebody else, or about all men being the same man or one man being his own mortal foe. And another reason, which may be a rather malicious one, is that there are quite a few people all over the world who are writing that kind of story and there’s no reason why I should go on doing it. Especially as some of them do it far better than I do, no?
BURGIN: Well, they followed you, and no, I don’t think they do it better or as well. Though, of course, some of your stories, like “The Form of the Sword,” are more “realistic.”
BORGES: That’s one of the stories I like least, because it’s a trick story after all. Now a friend of mine told me that he saw through the trick, and I thought that is as it should be because I did think of the story as a trick story. I thought that if the reader felt that the man was talking about himself, it would make the whole thing more “pathetic,” but if he were merely telling a story about somebody who betrayed him, then that’s a mere episode. But if a traitor in a bashful way found that the only way of telling the story was to think of himself as outside the story, or rather, joining together with the central character, the story might be better and besides it might be said for the story that, well, let’s suppose—let’s suppose you made me some confession about yourself, no? You told me something that nobody knew or that nobody was supposed to know, or that you wanted hidden and suppose that in the moment you were telling it to me, you felt outside the whole thing because the mere fact of telling it made you the teller and not the told.
BURGIN: I think you underrate that story because, though, as you say, it ends in a trick, an O. Henry kind of reversal, I think that …
BORGES: But of course, when I wrote that story I was quite young and then I believed in cleverness, and now I think thatcleverness is a hindrance. I don’t think a writer should be clever, or clever in a mechanical way, no?
BURGIN: I think it’s deeper than the plot. I think it’s thematically very interesting and I think it’s somewhat akin to that story “The Theologians” because …
BORGES: No. “The Theologians” is a better story.
BURGIN: “The Theologians”
is
a better story.
BORGES: But, perhaps, perhaps “The Form of the Sword” makes for easier reading?
BURGIN: Yes, but what I’m saying is that essentially the person who was telling the story could have been either one of the men. Just like in “The Theologians,” the two men were the same to God.
BORGES: Yes, that’s true. I never thought of that.
BURGIN: He could have been either one of the men, and in a sense he was.
BORGES: I never thought of that. Well, you have enriched the story. Thank you.
BURGIN: You noticed something very interesting about DonQuixote. That he never does kill a man in all his adventures, although he often engages in fights.
BORGES: Ah, yes! I wonder about that.
BURGIN: And then you wrote that parable.
BORGES: Well, I suppose the real reason or the obvious reason would be that Cervantes wanted to keep within the limits of farce and had he killed a man, then the book, then that would have been too real, no? Don’t you think so? I mean if Quixote kills a man, then he somehow is a real, bad man, whether he feels himself justified or not. I don’t think Cervantes wanted to go as far as all that, no? He wanted to keep his book within certain bounds, and had Don Quixote killed a man that would have done Cervantes no good.
BURGIN: Also, there’s the idea you’ve mentioned that the author at some time in the book becomes the main character. So perhaps Cervantes couldn’t bear
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