The Aleph and Other Stories by Jorge Luis Borges is Half-Brilliant

 “I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face any my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon—the unimaginable universe” (28)

Jorge Luis Borges is a brilliant man.

The Aleph and Other Stories, written by the Argentinian author between 1933 and 1969, attests to that. About half of the pieces in the famous short story collection are brilliant revelations about ordinary life and fantasy. Like the labyrinths which so often wind through their pages, they’re immersive, clever and filled with the terrible knowledge of bygone eras.

And the other half? Well, they’re also pretty good. But their author is an idiot about women.

“La Lujanera—she was Rosendo’s woman—had the others all beat by a mile. She’s dead now, and I can tell you years go by when I don’t give her a thought anymore. But in her day you ought to have seen her—what eyes she had!”

The Aleph contains twenty stories, a smattering of corpses, wives, mothers and prostitutes, but not one developed woman.

While Borges is aware of the patriarchy in Argentina, where many of the worse stories are set, he only has sympathy for its masculine victims. This problem is particularly egregious in “The Intruder,” which describes the relationship between two brothers in love with the same woman. Despite being central to the story’s plot, the girl in question is basically a nonentity. Perhaps the author wanted to comment on the myopia of the story’s protagonists, but it seems more likely that a human female character was beyond the scope of his brilliant imagination.

Borges’ pervasive sexism makes his stories more unrealistic than their concepts ever could. But the really great stories balance out the bad ones. Here are a few of my favorites:

• The Aleph: This is the foundation of most of the other stories, and is also the most magnificent. It’s about a point from which two men view all of space and time. Admittedly, there is a dead woman involved, but the presence of the Aleph overwhelms most of the human characters anyway.

• The Approach to al-Mu’tasim: Clever as hell, this one is a review of a fictional book that replicates the structure of its subject matter. It explores the concept of literary canon, and whether it’s possible to construct an idea from the impressions of others. Maybe I only like it because I’ve written so many book reviews but it feels so masterful.

• The Life of Tadeo Isidoro Cruz (1829-1874): I had no idea about the cultural context for this story, and the twist still resonated with me. It’s one man’s life and his search for meaning in the context of the Gaucho legend.

• Borges and Myself: Short and scary. For everyone who has separated the art from the artist.

• Rosendo’s Tale: This one is a response to an earlier story, Streetcorner Man, which I didn’t care for. It refutes the dirty bravado its predecessor, offering a more nuanced—and true—perspective on a fatal night.

As always, my appreciation for the stories is owed at least partly to their translator. The copy I read was translated by Norman Thomas di Giovanni, who worked with Borges to “rethink every sentence in English words” (9). This translation choice made the stories very readable. While I know one of my English teachers would disapprove of their infidelity, I have to admit I had fun following the threads di Giovanni lays out.

But liking The Aleph and Other Stories isn’t a matter of liking di Giovanni. It’s not even a matter of liking Borges—he’s a good writer capable of great stories. I just have to find the right handful to treasure, and I’ll appreciate him properly.