“The renown Borges enjoyed during his lifetime, documented by a slew of monographs and controversies, still astonishes us today. We know that he himself was astonished, and that he always feared being declared an impostor or a bungler or a peculiar mixture of both.” Thus reads the entry devoted to Jorge Luis Borges in an Enciclopedia Sudamericana dated 2074. With irony, typographical errors and anachronism, it was written, of course, by Borges himself, a century before its hypothetical publication. Forty years after the death of the author of Ficciones and El Aleph, which occurred on June 14, 1986, that fear — if it ever existed, if it was not pure imposture or shy modesty or a blend of both — could be declared abolished. The passage of time has raised his stature even higher and enriched both his figure and his work: Borges has long been ranked among the greatest authors of world literature, and undisputedly occupies the throne of Argentina’s greatest writer.
It was not always so, at least in his own country. In fact, until his death, when he was 86 and living in Geneva, a significant number of his fellow Argentines, especially within the cultural community, resisted accepting the place already occupied by his stories, poems and essays — largely because they rejected his conservative, “foreign‑looking” imaginary universe and the public persona Borges constructed in interviews and other appearances.
“While alive, Borges was an enemy to debate with, an adversary to refute. After his death, Borges becomes a writer to be won over,” and an ally courted across the political and cultural spectrum, summarizes the literary scholar Lucas Adur at one of the many tributes being held in Argentina, in this case organized by the Argentine Association of Hispanists (AAH). For Adur, that shift in Borges’s reception was completed in 1999, on the centennial of his birth, when “a kind of ecumenical consecration” took place.
The four decades since his death have illuminated different facets of Borges, complicating the image of the blind, wise and venerable old man who seemed to have read every existing book. As Adur, author of a Borges biography, explains, a series of shifts broadened the public view of the writer. These included restoration of the contemporary political context of his activity, a context obscured by Borges himself, and the ideological positions he took (his brief enthusiasm for the Russian Revolution or for nationalism, his antifascist activism, his fervent anti‑Peronism).
Other factors were the emergence of manuscripts, letters and documents, and even the books he read, underlined and annotated while he ran the National Library, which provide a material basis for Borges studies. Also revealing were intimate disclosures in the diaries of his friend Adolfo Bioy Casares, where everything from jokes and gibes to concerns about literary politics emerge. And there was the transformation of a writer and a body of work once seen as elitist into a pop figure through adaptations and appropriations in books, comics, films and even memes.
In a similar way, Borges’ work itself transformed. During the author’s lifetime he often introduced changes with each new edition. Even after his death new material kept cropping up. In the 1990s early books he had disowned were republished, as were the essays from Inquiries, El tamaño de mi esperanza (or The size of my hope) and El idioma de los argentinos (or The language of Argentines). Later, numerous articles, reviews and profiles he had written for magazines such as Sur and El hogar — which he had never collected — were assembled. And during this century another central strand of his production began to be investigated and recovered.
“Not everyone has read Borges. Everyone, however, has heard him. Everyone knows how he spoke; everyone would recognize his voice,” observed Alan Pauls in his book The BorgesFactor. “By a curious paradox,” he added, “the most ‘bookish’ writer in Argentine literature, the one most wedded to the protocols of the written word, is also the writer who best exploited the possibilities of the spoken record — the most oral, most spoken writer in Argentine literature.”
The research, part archaeological dig and part detective work, conducted by scholars has made it possible to locate and publish the literature classes that Borges taught at different universities, as well as the lectures that took him around Argentina and to other countries. At the same time, it has revealed another side of the writer: the man who, after losing his job as a librarian amid Peronism’s rise in the mid‑1940s, was forced to work as a public lecturer to support himself. “He prepared his classes and lectures obsessively, with huge amounts of research and reading,” noted Dr. Mariela Blanco, compiler of the 2025 El habla de Borges. Access to Borges’s notebooks, she added, shows “how he moved from writing to orality and from orality to writing.” For example, his lectures on Franz Kafka contain the seed of a key essay for the renewal of literary criticism, Kafka y sus precursores.
An author of the future
The 40th anniversary of Borges’s death has been commemorated in Argentina over the past weeks with a range of cultural activities: tributes, courses, debates, performances and exhibitions that will continue through the end of the month. In Buenos Aires, the program titled Borges. Echoes of a Name is being hosted by the Centro Cultural Recoleta, co‑organized with the Jorge Luis Borges International Foundation, where manuscripts, personal items, first editions of his books, photographs, a hologram reproducing his phrasing and a recreation of the austere room in which he lived for most of his life are on display. At the Mariano Moreno National Library there will be a series of talks and readings dedicated to the author of El hacedor (or The maker) in the coming days, as well as programming this weekend at the Casa del Bicentenario, among many other options.
One recurring theme in the commemorative events is the particular resonance of Borges’s work with the 21st century — its capacity to address an era so different from his own, a present shaped by information technologies and artificial intelligences. Perhaps because of the fragmentary character of many of his texts, perhaps because of the unsettling interplay of reality and fiction his stories and essays propose.
The tension between national literature and world literature in Borges also crops up repeatedly in debates. “One of Borges’s distinguishing traits is that he places Argentine literature on a world stage. His ambition is to build a mythology of the pampas and the suburbs that stands alongside the Iliad, the Odyssey or the Icelandic or Anglo‑Saxon sagas he so admired. And he succeeded,” writer Carlos Gamerro said at an event organized by the Centro Cultural Borges under the title Borges, author of the future.
What Borges did with the Spanish language,” Gamerro added, “was something totally new and foundational,” and with that tool he built “a place of literary centrality.” He even allowed himself to dispense with the major genre of his time, the novel. “If you think of world literature as a building,” he added, “Borges is one of the pillars and, if you remove Borges, world literature collapses. Nothing like this can be said of any other Argentine author, and I don’t know about Latin American authors either.”
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La brasileña que fue a practicar un deporte de alto riesgo y murió a causa de múltiples fracturas al ser lanzada sin ninguna sujeción desde un puente fue enterrada este domingo en Jandira (São Paulo). Los tres operarios que gestionaban los saltos de bungee (o puenting) fueron acusados de homicidio con dolo y encarcelados de manera preventiva después de arrojarla al vacío sin la cuerda pertinente, que suele ir amarrada a la cintura. Los sospechosos alegaron en el interrogatorio policial que sufrieron “un apagón” en los momentos previos al salto.
While waiting to complete paperwork at a notary’s office, Ms. Ivone Souza Silva, 64, who has deep-set circles under her eyes and shoulder-length hair, smiles as she recalls a childhood anecdote: “At school, the surname of half the class or almost half was Silva, like me… And like Ayrton Senna.” And so, unexpectedly, this housewife mentions a fact many of her fellow Brazilians do not know about the Formula 1 champion whose death behind the wheel at the peak of his career in 1994 shocked the sporting world. On Wednesday morning she learned that his full name was Ayrton Senna da Silva.
Although in Brazil the second surname, the paternal one, is the main one, the driver — like many other Brazilians — chose instead to use his first surname, the one with an Italian ring to in, instead of the surname shared by more Brazilians. No fewer than 34 million, according to the 2022 census. In other words, almost one in six citizens bears this surname, which means ‘forest’.
It’s rare to go a day without encountering several people with that surname on the street or on the news. The best known is undoubtedly Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, the president of the republic. No surprise — just like one in three people in his home state of Pernambuco. Lula was still taking his first steps in politics in 1982 when, shrewdly, he went to the notary to add his lifelong nickname to his official name. That is how the seasoned trade-unionist and budding politician ensured he appeared on ballots simply as Lula. Those four letters, which mean ‘squid’ in Portuguese, and the little finger he lost to a lathe at 19 are his electoral brand. Six decades later, he hopes to crown his political career with a fourth presidential term.
His wife, now Janja Lula da Silva, also belongs to the large Silva family by birth and by marriage. And so does one of the most emblematic ministers: environmentalist Marina Silva, who was born on a rubber plantation in the Amazon, managed to succeed in politics — even to dream of the presidency — without ever giving up the name, although in this country she is known simply as Marina, with that typically Brazilian familiarity. Another member of this big club is the country’s most controversial and admired footballer on his way to the World Cup, Neymar da Silva Santos Júnior.
The surname Silva arrived in Brazil with the Portuguese colonizers starting in the 1500s. Many adopted it to bury their past. Among those who settled inland, Silvas proliferated. Coastal residents preferred Costa. Forced to take Catholic baptisms, enslaved people were given only first names. But after abolition, they needed surnames for life in freedom. Many received their owners’ names, often with a preposition — da Silva, de Souza — to make ownership clear.
While some exalted Silva as a surname of the people, many born with it tucked it away on identity cards in order to shine in life under a less common name. “He was just another Silva (…) a star that doesn’t shine,” goes the chorus of a rap by MC Bob Rum (or Moysés Osmar da Silva) that was a hit in the 1990s. It told the story of an ordinary poor man, a family father who goes to a funk dance in a neighborhood and is shot dead for no apparent reason.
In recent years, just as pride in growing up in a favela has grown, more people have embraced surnames that were once considered ordinary. In that context, the television series Not just another Silva was launched a couple of years ago, featuring interviews with famous and anonymous people united by those five letters. “We want to reclaim the name, which many associate with poor people, but today belongs to powerful people,” said the show’s presenter, another Silva named René, at the premiere.
“When we were teenagers, we all wanted foreign surnames,” recalls the notary’s client in central São Paulo. Her attitude changed with age. Married to an Italian, she started a life in Palermo. And she decided to keep her very Brazilian surnames. “I did not give up my surnames; I remained Souza Silva, although that wasn’t the custom there. Unfortunately, when I lived in Italy there was no option for children to take the mother’s surname. I would have liked that,” she admits. “Now you can,” she adds with a triumphant smile just as her number appears on the screen. It’s her turn.
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Autoridades de seguridad de Baja California encontraron el viernes un cadáver en un estacionamiento ubicado frente al Estadio Caliente, donde realiza sus entrenamientos diarios la selección de Irán, en la ciudad de Tijuana, frontera con Estados Unidos. El cuerpo, que tenía signos de violencia y estaba envuelto en una bolsa negra, fue hallado en la cajuela de una camioneta abandonada en el estacionamiento de un supermercado. Aunque las investigaciones están en curso, las autoridades locales se han apresurado a asegurar que este hecho no está relacionado ni con el equipo iraní ni con el Mundial de Futbol, una de cuyas sedes es México.