| Some years ago I was trying to establish
myself more firmly as a scholar and had an idea to look at non-linear notions
of time in Borges, hoping that a more fluid structure than that of "eternal
recurrence" would present itself. I was perusing the recent material
on Borges presented in the DAI (Dissertation Abstracts Index) when I came
across a rather curious work submitted as a dissertation at San Diego State
University by one Carol Shields (subsequent investigation reveals no relation
to Canadian novelist Carol Shields, author of The Stone Diaries,
The Republic of Love, and other works.) The entry went as follows: No 17,678 This dissertation follows the biographical life of Borges, arriving at various dead-ends. The author submits that Borges was in fact the product of a collaborative effort by a group of intellectuals, under the direction of Orson Welles, working in a Swiss Villa to create a work called Fictionnes. Only afterwards do they create an author persona in the name of the Argentine Borges. Tracing letters and other documents, the author theorizes that Borges indeed emerged only after the publication of Fictionnes--there being no mention of his earlier publications of any earlier work in any verifiable publications. Related Subjects: Orson Welles Jean Cocteau Salvadore Dali Theodor Adorno Roland Barthes: Death of the Author 1969 This to me seemed a puzzling matter indeed. I had read remarks about the young Borges which commented about his youthful enthusiasm for books, his gift to his father of a translation of Oscar Wilde, his schooling in Geneva, etc. Yet, thinking of these kinds of details, I was more and more inclined to see them as just the kinds of details that one would fabricate to make the perfect twentieth-century man of letters. I abandoned my rather unconvincing theory of Borges and time, and went to find more details of this seemingly unpublished dissertation. I took a trip to San Diego State to read, in their library, the full version of this curious dissertation. It was not to be found in the stacks or in the computerized listings in the library. I took the search to the department of English and Comparative Literature, gaining an audience with the Department Chair, Professor Eric Noble, (whose work on Shelly's "Byzantium" had caused a minor stir in Romanticist circles in the late 50's, but was not much heard from in publishing circles since). Professor Noble had indeed been at the University in 1969, the year the dissertation had been completed, but he admitted no recollection of any Ms. Shields or her project. When confronted with the copy of the page from the DAI, he seemed a bit angry, defensive, but the only explanation he could give was: "Must be a misprint." Looking at faculty rosters of this Department and that of the Spanish Department, I was able to locate only one likely candidate to know anything about this--all other faculty arriving subsequent to the year 1969. I made an appointment with Dr. Oscar Sifuentes, an elderly but affable man, who walked with a cane, though nimbly, and was more than willing to join me for coffee (though he himself ordered tea, taken British style, with milk and sugar). I spoke for a while of my interest in Borges; graciously, he feigned interest in my project (which I had abandoned) and was set up as a colleague and mentor when I broached the subject of Carol Shields and her dissertation. "Nonsense," he said, when he caught the drift of what I was implying. "Believe me, sir," he said, emphasizing the formal quality of the address, "I would have had nothing to do with such, such, blatant foolishness." With that he abruptly rose and strode off, quite forgetting the use of his cane, which he carried now like a club. "Thou dost protest too much," I thought to myself, vowing to get to the bottom of this strange case. It has cost me much--this quest--and I fear that the result will be not sufficiently scholarly to earn me a reputable teaching position, and may in fact be quashed for reasons that will be clear to those who know the machinations of academia. Nonetheless, obsession and compulsion being linked, I am compelled to share with the reader what I have learned. Soon after meeting with Professors Noble and Sifuentes I began a painstaking inquiry into the archival paraphernalia of the principles listed under the dissertation's subject headings. I was able to read some personal memoirs owned by the Welles Estate, found the letters of Salvador Dali stored at the library in Barcelona to be invaluable, got as far as Jean Cocteau's niece (and administrator of his will) before running into a wall of silence, and made a major breakthrough in reading (between the lines) the correspondence of sculptor Albert Giocometti and the playwright Eugene Ionescu. Briefly, what I discovered: In 1936 Swiss Banker Auguste Arnaud began amassing a not-inconsiderable fortune by foreclosing on accounts that had been set up in his banks by wealthy Jews who had deposited their fortunes in his bank while awaiting the tide of history that was Hitler and his infamous solution. Three years dormancy on any account was sufficient for the banker to gain access and ownership of said accounts. With a portion of this wealth he built an extraordinary pleasure palace on the Western shores of Lake Geneva Through a chance meeting at an eastern shore hotel, Mr. Arnaud met Mr. Welles at a time when the latter was despondent over the seeming lack of new artistic endeavor for him (having been successful as a director and actor and more, he despaired at once again creating himself anew). A chance comment by Arnaud (himself a rather accomplished dilettante in several areas) along the lines of : "Why not invent yourself anew in another person," together with an exhilarating combination of brandy and Riesling, turned the conversation into an all-night planning session. At a dinner party the next week at the chalet, the conversation was continued--but this time joined by Salvadore Dali, Eugene Ionesco, Lilian Hellman, Georgia O'Keefe, Jean Cocteau, and (although there is no record of his having participated in the scheme) Thomas Mann. "There are nights," writes Cocteau in a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre some years later, "when the combination of intellect, heady sensuality, imagination, and spirit convinces one that they are part of a new epoch in the life of man. This night was one of those." The plan was simple. Combining assets and talents, the group was to fashion a collection of inventive stories all of which were speculations on reality and fiction, knowledge and illusion. It was founded on the premise that, with no real original work to be done there really is no credit to what used to be called "individual genius." By evoking a group genius, this would be proven. In the summer and fall, indeed into the winter of 1941, while troop movements and megalomania were devastating Europe around them, the group bunkered in opulence in this neutral country and devised a number of clever stories. The decision was made to publish these in Spanish, in Argentina, under the moniker "Jorge Luis Borges." This rather productive coterie made for their "author" a detailed biography, and even found the wherewithal to develop several volumes of work that author had "published" prior to this initial volume, Ficciones. (Thus, it seems, such "predecessors" as A History of Infamy were actually written subsequent to the writing of the short stories). Having sent their creation into orbit, the group disbanded and went their separate ways, each determined to be like an indifferent god, watching the fate of their creation. Needless to say, the group was tickled at the way that their creation was accepted. The mysterious Borges was on the tongue of the literati--and not only in Argentina. Through a secretary assigned to these duties, one Fernando De La Veaga (who would later head up the Mexico City house of Knopf Publishing) they released, in timely fashion, biographical details about the author along with information on his "prior work." All this was a great game, and the collaborators had several more publications ready for release when the time would be right . Never, (they had taken a solemn oath, all but sealed in blood), would they alert the public about this great dupe. This improbably secret society of most famous people were sent into a vertiginous tailspin of their own, however. Word came through Buenas Aires that the man who was causing such a great stir in literary circles was to emerge for his first live radio interview--Borges himself was to appear. Welles sent word to his Argentinian friend Enrique Buckhorst that there was an author in whom he was interested being interviewed, asking Buckhorst to record. What emerged was the voice of a man speaking a stylish, mannered Spanish, elegant and eloquent, who spoke of the writing process and the life of the imagination with a sure authority. He was able to talk convincingly of his life, not only from the details that had already been leaked to the press by the "creators" of Borges, but also using details that had been fabricated but withheld. Also, details of his life that had yet to be devised by the Arnaud group. This radio interview also featured details of stories the group had written and not released, and of other stories they hadn't dreamed up yet. The amazement felt by this scattered group of intellectuals was tinged with dread and foreboding. At first it was suspected that one of the members was in collaboration with this "Borges," that the group had been betrayed for financial gain. Yet as each member was approached, this suspicion proved unsustainable. and as each member retreated from the group and back into their own lives, the figure of Borges moved more and more in the public eye, until there was no doubt that the tall, thin man with the thick glasses and precise mannerisms was indeed Jorge Luis Borges. I am at present invested in tracking down, from biographical material, a sure record of Borges' childhood. Although each of his biographers details the childhood in much the same way, there are no official documents to be found at any court registry. There is a picture of him, posed in a sailor suit, that has been used in each of the biographies. Imagine my own elation when, on a short respite at Olivia del Mar in northeastern Argentina, in a small resort restaurant owned by Isabel and Oscar Macundo, I spied behind the bar a small framed picture--the picture of "the young Borges." "Our son, George," beamed the proud parents when I asked, pointing to a fleshy man of about 40 delivering meals to a family of vacationers. I send this on, gentlemen, for your perusal, but with a sure premonition of what is to become of this and further documents of my investigation. The academic world, after all, is founded on the cult of the author, of the individual genius working to fashion a world from the imagination (and attendant upon this world, a host of explicators). An admission that they had been duped with regard to one of the foremost geniuses would send this world I seek to enter into a decline from which it may never recover. Yet I press on, despite fear and wondering as to the whereabouts of the intrepid Carol Shields. I have, on the morrow, an interview with a sound technician from a certain radio station in Buenas Aires, a man who has been with the station since 1948. |