The Aleph

The expansion of the universe “growing away from” the narrator’s dead beloved inspires him to action. He claims that “The universe may change, but I shall not” (118). Borges resolves to annually visit the home where Beatriz lived to pay respects to her family, revealing an enduring resolve: five years of such visits have occurred, each with an attempt to prolong these “melancholy and vainly erotic anniversaries” (119). He brings a cake, for example, in the hope of being invited for dinner before he finally comes to “receive the gradual confidences of Carlos Argentino Daneri” (119). Yet another seven years pass before their conversation leads to Argentino’s revelation about his massive poetic project The Earth. This length of time reinforces Borges’s loyalty while foreshadowing the revelation that she was not as devoted to him as he was to her.

Borges’s relationship with Argentino drives the narrative long before the Aleph is introduced. Their rivalry is fierce from the beginning, but it is not until Borges spies the “obscene” letters Beatriz sent Argentino that the narrator and reader appreciate what was transpiring. Argentino, portrayed as conceited and mediocre in the one-sided narrative, is revealed as a rival to Borges. The Aleph unveils a particularly biting truth that the narrator either could not or did not want to see. And when Argentino remarks to Borges about sticking his nose where it isn’t wanted, he claims a victory that portends the success of his book—an ironic success, given what the reader has seen of his work (no doubt a jab at the critical establishment). Borges’s denial of the Aleph, said to be his revenge, is the same denial of reality he makes early on when claiming “The universe may change, but I shall not” (118).

The Aleph’s ability to reveal all of space simultaneously applies exclusively to that dimension. This is a benefit to Argentino, who wishes to render all the space on earth in his poem. However, for the narrator, time is of the most interest, particularly his frustratingly linear perspective of it. His vow to “consecrate myself to her memory” (118) is ultimately futile—Borges is confined to his limited perception of time much as he, as reminded by the Aleph, is limited by the confines of space. It is his ambition to deny this that becomes the main source of his strife.

The story’s tone is as once sentimental and cynical. Borges’s devotion to Beatriz’s memory remains unwavering many years after her death, and it seems that he maintains his acquaintance with Argentino partly because he is a living connection to Borges’s dead beloved. The revelation that his devotion was not reciprocated makes the story a melancholy tale of unrequited love. Yet Borges (the character) is unsparing in his derision toward Argentino and the literary establishment. Borges seems to have a narcissistic view of the world, one in which he overestimates a woman’s love for him and underestimates the merits of fellow writers. The tone shifts throughout the story as the narrator views people and events through this narcissistic lens.

As with most of Borges’s work, “The Aleph” does not fit squarely into an established literary genre. It is, on the surface, a work of fantasy in which one character possesses a secret and magical power that another comes to understand and possess through a ritual of initiation. The story also touches on traditional fantasy themes like the quest for knowledge (the Aleph grants a kind of omniscience) and coming of age (as a child Argentino doesn’t know what to do with the Aleph). Yet nothing else about the work marks it as fantasy literature. The setting is mundane to an extreme, and the characters embark on no grand quests or adventures. Their motivations are superficial and self-interested, and their actions are trivial given the potential that lies in the Aleph. Borges offers an anti-fantasy story in which magical objects and powers have no significant effect.