G A N Z E E R . T O D A Y

Borges himself was a translator of some note, and in addition to the translations per se that he left to Spanish culture—a number of German lyrics, Faulkner, Woolf, Whitman, Melville, Carlyle, Swedenborg, and others—he left at least three essays on the act of translation itself.

From Andrew Hurley's A Note on the Translation, printed in the back of this Penguin edition of Borges' FICTIONS (which is oddly hard to find actually).

In “Versions of Homer” (“Las versiones homericas,” 1932), Borges makes it unmistakably clear that every translation is a “version”—not the translation of Homer (or any other author) but a translation.

This is one reason I have resolved to learn Spanish (aside from my desire to spend more time in Mexico City). Having been exposed to works by Arabic authors in both the original Arabic as well as in translation to English, I can see how a work in translation genuinely isn't the same as the original. If I could have things my way, I'd also be learning French, Mandarin, and Hindi, but as a man in his 40s who sucks at multitasking, I've only got so much time for so many battles, and it seems wise to start narrowing one's struggles down to just one or two, maybe three.

#journal #reads

Now I get why they say Borges is a writer's writer.

“I had wondered how a book could be infinite. The only way I could surmise was that it be a cyclical, or circular, volume, a volume whose last page would be identical to the first, so that one might go on indefinitely.”

His FICTIONS is filled with these kinds of narrative hypotheses, a variety of which are sometimes presented on the very same page.

In all fictions, each time a man meets diverse alternatives, he chooses one and eliminates the others; in the work of the virtually impossible-to-disentangle 'Ts'ui Pen', the character chooses—simultaneously—all of them. He creates, thereby, 'several futures,' several times, which themselves proliferate and fork. That is the explanation for the novel's contradictions.

Some story hypotheses are even given diagrams. Like this one:

But it is not the worlds proposed by 'April March' that are regressive, it is the way the stories are told—regressively and ramifying, as I have said. The book is composed of thirteen chapters. The first reports an ambiguous conversation between several unknown persons on a railway station platform. The second tells of the events of the evening that precedes the first. The third, likewise retrograde, tells of the events of another, different, possible evening before the first; the fourth chapter relates the events of yet a third different possible evening. Each of these (mutually exclusive) “evenings-before” ramifies into three further “evenings-before.” all quite different. The work in its entirety consists, then, of nine novels, each novel, of three long chapters.

It isn't so much a book of stories as much as it's a collection of thought experiments about what can potentially be done with stories, without actually attempting to put any of it to the test, not really. The influence on Calvino is very obvious, as is certainly the influence on, say, a Christopher Nolan. Especially in regard to his structurally interesting stuff: MEMENTO, INCEPTION, and INTERSTELLAR. And you can even see it a bit in his earliest work, FOLLOWING.

I'm beginning to think I'm not smart enough for Borges though, because only 86 pages into this unassuming volume and I can already feel my brain bleed.

#reads

The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite, perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries. In the center of each gallery is a ventilation shaft, bounded by a low railing. From one hexagon one can see the floors above and below—one after another, endlessly.

Excerpt from The Library of Babel from Jorge Luis Borges' FICTIONS, which I can absolutely see being adapted into a graphic novella by the likes of François Schuiten (as an aside, check out this great scene from the film LE DERNIER PLAN directed by Schuiten's regular collaborator Benoit Peeters).

Like all the men of the Library, in my younger days I traveled; I have journeyed in quest of a book, perhaps the catalog of catalogs. Now that my eyes can hardly make out what I myself have written, I am preparing to die, a few leagues from the hexagon where I was born. When I am dead, compassionate hands will throw me over the railing; my tomb will be the unfathomable air, my body will sink for ages, and will decay and dissolve in the wind engendered by my fall, which shall be infinite. I declare that the library is endless.

Beautiful visuals, until Borges starts to break your brain with things like:

(Mystics claim that their ecstasies reveal to them a circular chamber containing an enormous circular book with a continuous spine that goes completely around the walls. But their testimony is suspect, their words obscure. That cyclical book is God.) Let it suffice for the moment that I repeat the classic dictum: The Library is a sphere whose exact center is any hexagon and whose circumference is unattainable.

Or maybe it's just too early in the morning for me to be reading this sort of thing.

#reads

It's been gray and rainy all day. Less than ideal day to venture out for a haircut and groceries, but I'd already planned it that way and stuck to the plan.

• Work: Only had enough time to rough out one TSG page, and did some sketching/thinking on PROJECT BLOSSOM.

• Reads: Past the 50-page mark on Borges' FICTIONS which I have heard much lore about and have been dying to read for a while now. It's true what they say: slim volume containing universes within. Starts off with what read like reviews of non-existent books, completely fictionized but written about completely straight-faced as if they genuinely existed, despite the absurdity of such a notion, given the nature of said books. The first one is fantastic, and the second one is very good, but by the third I had gotten a little tired of the formula. Fourth and fifth stories take on a more traditional approach to what one might expect of a short story, though the fourth one was quite meta and may require a second read for me to wrap my head around. I can certainly see how he must've influenced an author like Italo Calvino, who does in fact have a blurb printed in the front: “I love his work because every one of his pieces contains a model of the universe.”

• Screens: Finished watching KAOS on Netflix, and Warren did not lie, it is very good. Judge it not by the first episode, it gets so much better real fast. Like Warren, I also did not like that they did not adequately tie it all up in the last episode. Doing so wouldn't have denied them the opportunity to create a second season—which is clearly what they're aiming for—the world they created is certainly fertile enough ground for more stories even with a firmly closed first story arc.

• Status:

#journal

It is hard to believe that this chapter may very well be the last time I draw her for a very long time if not forever.

My plan for the day turned out to be a little too ambitious after all, but TSG pages are coming along smoothly.

Today's background listening included:

• Bret Easton Ellis interviews Paul Schrader — Really great. I particularly love the few Pauline Kael anecdotes Schrader shares. Kael is grossly overrated in my opinion, and I say this having enjoyed a number of her books. She did good to bring actual critical criticism to the field, but neither her taste nor how she expressed it really jive with me.

• TRACKMARKS by Hamed Sinno — Sinno, who is one of the most talented and creative people I know, was on a train in London when it got held up because a man on the tracks in what was apparently a suicide attempt. Folks on the train started to get irritated, and that irritation soon ballooned into rage, directed squarely at the distressed man who messed up their schedules. Hamed was wise enough to record this vocalized rage and weave it into a powerful song together with lyrics drawn entirely from advertising slogans seen on the London Underground. 👌

#journal #work #comix #tsg #resistdystopia #radar

The good air blowing through Houston is apparently the result of a tropical storm brewing right off the coast, for which we are being informed to brace ourselves. Third one this year. The city of Houston really ought to consider replacing all its roads and freeways with canals and moats, Netherlands style. The soil doesn't take too well to asphalt anyway, every new paving cracking and morphing within a couple years' time. Americans will criticize communism for its top-down authoritarian inflexibility, but then will insist on constructing all their cities with motorway-first logic irrespective of geography or topography. One-size-fits-all logic but through “free enterprise”. 🎉

Finished Calvino's WINTER'S NIGHT last night and moving onto Jorge Luis Borges' FICTIONS this morning before charging into the jampacked workday ahead.

Two pages worth of TSG pencils on the docket, along with some sketches for PROJECT BLOSSOM, and some thinking about PROJECT TWENTY-FIVE. I'll have to remember to break for exercise at some point, and perhaps take my bike out for a grocery run. A little too ambitious maybe, but things are oddly less daunting when you get that good pre-storm breeze.

#journal

You are about to read Ganzeer's review of Italo Calvino's IF ON A WINTER'S NIGHT A TRAVELER, a book which Ganzeer devoured in a week and immediately upon completion couldn't wait to write his impressions of, the task he is embarking on at this very moment. In doing so, however, he must be careful not to spoil too much of the plot or even concept for you, because he's very aware of the added enjoyment he derived from not knowing anything about the book other than it having been authored by Italo Calvino, and he didn't have the slightest idea of the compounded surprises that awaited him within its pages. How sad it would be if he were to deny you the opportunity to experience the same thrill he got from the unexpected events that unfold in the novel. Is it even possible to write a proper review without giving anything away though?

Full review at Ganzeer.Reviews.

#reads 

A cool sea-like breeze blew through the city all day today, finally [hopefully] announcing a genuine end to that Texan summer. Day started on a good enough note, was finally able to take my bike out after many months of its sitting idly in my living room. Kiddo started soccer practice again, which is always fun to watch. Spent the remainder of the day tidying up and reading. Then I started meal prepping for the week, and things took a bad turn.

Decided to try my hand at a creamy eggplant curry, with ground beef and potatoes. Things were going well until I realized the coconut cream I added was REALLY EXTRA SWEET! Like CONDENSED MILK SWEET!

I should've just tossed the thing out then and there, but I was foolish enough to carry on anyway, thinking I could fix it. Couple hours of simmering later, the dish was just completely inedible. Put in through a strainer, one scoop at a time, till all the sauce was separated, and still no use.

Now I have a big terrible mess in the kitchen to contend with after four hours of cooking and no food whatsoever to show for it. Fml, I'll deal with it tomorrow.

#journal

“How many years has it been since I could abandon myself to a book written by another, with no relation to what I must write myself?”

From IF ON A WINTER'S NIGHT A TRAVELLER by Italo Calvino.

Image above is a screen grab showing one of Calvino's mad manuscripts, from a great 1985 interview conducted with him on the BBC's Bookmark show.

#reads #radar #quote

Artwork to go with my review of Bob Dylan's CHRONICLES, VOL. 1. A poster edition of the artwork is available from Garage.Ganzeer. I'm afraid I'll be keeping the original.

Issue #212 of my newsletter, RESTRICTED FREQUENCY, went out last night. The Art of Subversion is the title. Here's the web version.

#journal #work