In “A Note on (towards) Bernard Shaw” Borges asks: “Can an author create characters superior to himself?” He is unsure of his answer, as he writes: “I would say no and in that negation include both the intellectual and the moral.” Now, the answer is not particularly interesting, nor does it seem so to Borges himself. He is sure of the problem he posed, however.

I have a few objections to this question. Why only superior? Why not inferior as well? Is it not implicit in the question, and especially in the answer, however questionable, that this is also impossible? Naturally, it is possible that Borges implied that the latter was trivially true, and therefore not interesting, but I still think that this is not plausible on account of its simple mindedness. Thus I choose to conclude as above. Now, it follows that an author is compelled to create only characters equal to himself. And here I pose my question: Can an author create characters equal to himself? I would say no… And precisely this is the background of his parable “Borges and I.” I would say that superior and inferior characters are the destiny of an author trying to catch his own tail. Literature is the result of the futile attempt to do precisely that: to catch one’s own tail, that is, the attempt to become equal to oneself. And here we have the criterion of success of an author: he will succeed to the extent to which his characters are authentic, that is, to the extent that these superior and inferior characters approach himself.

This becomes even more apparent if we think of an author in terms of his own development. Always chasing his creation, and always chased by it. Always between the devil and the deep blue sea…

Addendum I (April 15, 2013)

I am loath of thinking of myself as an author, but I cannot escape being one with respect to myself as a character. Together with Borges, I am bound to wonder whether I can create a character superior to myself. Regardless of my complaint in the original piece, valid as it still strikes me after so many years, I have always been eager to surpass myself. In this context, I am amazed by the testamenta from the first half of 1978, which I discovered quite by chance only last week. They have been brought back to life in eight batches of varying lengths over as many days, but they bring me back to Borges in a surprising way. He failed to consider the amount of time allotted to the author. Speaking from my own experience, I believe that I have indeed created a character superior to myself so many years back. And this character is no-one else than I. My recovered testamenta are my solemn proof. Pace Borges.

Addendum II (February 14, 2021)

Looking back, the first addendum lacks some technical detail. Namely, all the testamenta missing from Book III of 1978 can be found in Book XXXVIII of 2013. They appear in eight batches on eight consecutive days starting with April 8 and ending with April 15 of that year. The first batch comes with an introduction to the newly-discovered testamenta (“Testamenta I-XI,” April 8, 2013); and the last one offers a conclusion to this belated intervention (“Testamenta LXXIX-CVIII,” April 15, 2013). When going through Book III, it is worth the reader’s while to visit Book XXXVIII, as well. The missing testamenta round off the picture, which is characterized by much suffering. Indeed, they provide a new understanding of this particular period, one of the most difficult in my entire life. Returning to Borges, this addendum shows clearly enough what it takes to be an author worth the trouble. To wit, it takes a mindboggling amount of time. This year among years, I am putting together Book XLVI, no less.

Addendum III (April 28, 2025)

Well, well. The previous addendum misses the key event in my life that demonstrates beyond any doubt that I have managed to create a character superior to myself. And no kidding. With the help of my writing project, I reached liberation at the age of seventy (“No-Bullshit Enlightenment,” January 18, 2016; and “On Liberation,” October 4, 2017). Without my magnum opus, such an achievement would be difficult to imagine, if not also impossible. Indeed, I am my own creation, and I am definitely superior to myself at the onset of my writing project. As far as Borges is concerned, I am currently completing one more book, which is the table of contents of my gigantic Residua (“Residua: Directory,” January 13, 2017). This book, as it were, crowns everything I have written to date. It shows the wriggling path to liberation in no uncertain terms, and it is dedicated to no-one else but Borges. To my joy, it will be in the public domain at the end of this year, which marks fifty years of relentless writing. And relentless is the word. Alleluia!