given for much of his life to dithery romantic obsessions

the limpid, witty, pansophical, profoundly adult writer we know from his stories

the limpid, witty, pansophical, profoundly adult writer we know from his stories

an inquisition into dreams, reality, guilt, augury, and mortal terror

was the Flaubert who wrote Madame Bovary eo ipso suicidal?

The truth, briefly stated, is that Borges is arguably the great bridge between modernism and postmodernism in world literature. He is a modernist in that his fiction shows a first-rate human mind stripped of all foundations in religious or ideological certainty--a mind turned thus wholly in on itself. His stories are inbent and hermetic, with the oblique terror of a game whose rules are unknown and its stakes everything.

And the mind of those stories is nearly always a mind that lives in and through books. This is because Borges the writer is, fundamentally, a reader. The dense, obscure allusiveness of his fiction is not a tic, or even really a style; and it is no accident that his best stories are often fake essays, or reviews of fictitious books, or have texts at their plots' centers, or have as protagonists Homer or Dante or Averroës. Whether for seminal artistic reasons or neurotic personal ones or both, Borges collapses reader and writer into a new kind of aesthetic agent, one who makes stories out of stories, one for whom reading is essentually--consciously--a creative act. This is not, however, because Borges is a metafictionist or cleverly disguised critic. It is because he knows that there's finally no difference--that murderer and victim, detective and futigive, performer and audience are the same. Obviously, this has postmodern implications (hence the pontine claim above), but Borges's is really a mystical insight, and a profound one. It's also frightening, since the line between monism and solipsism is thin and porous, more to do with spirit than with mind per se. And, as an artistic program, this kind of collapse/transcendence of individual identity is also paradoxical, requiring a grotesque self-obsession combined with an almost total effacement of self and personality. Tics and obsessions aside, what makes a Borges story Borgesian is the odd, ineluctable sense you get that no one and everyone did it. [...]

hence the pontine claim above

next to which the epiphanies of Joyce or redemptions of O'Connor seem pallid or crude