Borges versus Proust: Towards a combative literature

Comparative Literature, Winter 2003 by Conley, Tim

Fuera de algunas amistades y de muchas costumbres, el problematico ejercicio de la literatura constituia su vida; como todo escritor, media las virtudes de los otros por lo ejecutado por ellos y pedia que los otros lo midieran por lo que vislumbrabra o plaeaba.

Jorge Luis Borges (OC 5:161)

Apart from a few friends and many routines, the problematic pursuit of literature constituted the whole of his life; like every writer, he measured other men's virtues by what they had accomplished, yet asked that other men measure him by what he planned someday to do. (SNF 158-59)

FANFARE AS THE LIGHTS come up in the arena. In this corner, the challenger: the blind Argentinian librarian, sometime poet, essayist and lecturer, erstwhile poultry inspector, eclectic yet conservative. And in the other corner, the beloved recumbent French champion, weighing in with seven weighty volumes of protracted sentences and winding (perhaps literally breathtaking)1 meditations on the slightest sensations. An unlikely match, it may be soberly remarked, with unlikely combatants. Why should these two authors be in contest with one another, how should they combat, what title is at stake-quite simply, what purpose is served by placing them in opposition? The opposition is actually not just a whim: Borges, in whom we find such impeccable literary knowledge and taste, disliked Proust, that other paragon of cultural refinement. Why this should be so is a question that inspires this essay, a speculation upon a possible antagonism-for, after all, Proust could not be bothered to foresee, let alone fortify against or rebuke in anticipation, his future adversary.

Borges and Proust: crudely compared, both are Nobel-lacking mamma's boys; both might be termed or criticized as (in the manner of Paul Claudel) literary anchorites; both have steered startlingly into and through the maelstrom of metaphysical solipsism, wherein so many other artists have foundered. Weighty is the cultural capital attached to either of their names and yet light their touches (Borgesian, Proustian, both mind-warping adjectives, tricks of shadows and thoughts). Why, then, should Borges disapprove of Proust? Apart from this blunt question-though obviously I think it is a good and intriguing one-there are two specific, intertwined reasons for this match. The first concerns the rudimentary observation that so much of literary study and theory is predicated upon comparative diagnoses of authorial (dys)functions? Indeed, there are favorite couplings, kinds of canonical prom dates: Racine and Corneille, Spenser and Milton, Melville and Hawthorne, and (to borrow George Steiner's well-known title) Tolstoy or Dostoevsky. The pairings are typically made between authors of the same nationality and language, though of course there are popular exceptions (Dante and Beckett, Joyce and Flaubert, etc.), especially with authors who share genres and forms. It might be worth speculating that within any canon or critically endorsed set of authors each author has or is assigned an "other" author, the usual suspect called up for comparative line-ups when new critical charges are laid or accolades bestowed.

In any case, many of these comparative studies represent something of an imperialist enterprise, when the critic's conclusions map the territories and boundaries of "a" determined body of literature, however subdivided or segregated that body of literature may be. This position, self-declared or otherwise, of the critic as a marker of poles and tropics is the second of my concerns, and I hope the Don King mask (wig?) I have donned for this particular match suggests a not altogether irreverent recognition of the pressures to pimp inevitably felt-if not always addressed-in academic scholarship. Rather than either impartial judge or exuberant fan, I admit myself as promoter, an opportunist who likes a good show. But my agenda is ultimately corrupt, for, as I will detail in the pages ahead, this "fight" is not a metaphor for dialogue; rather, it is what Swift meant by his "battle" between books. This essay's arranged opposition of authors represents an informal argument against comparative literature. Specifically, I propose to reject the indifferent, often prescribed conjunction "and" within the title and method of critical comparison and to substitute "versus" in order to articulate an agenda of differentiation by way of competitive evaluation.

"According to manuals of aesthetics," writes Vincent Descombes in Proust: Philosophy of the Novel, "aesthetic judgment consists in pronouncing, before a work of art or a performance: `This is beautiful.' Proust is more accurate in seeing evaluation as comparative: `This is better than that, this is more precious than that'" (119). Indeed, A la recherche is among the great modernist novels-such as Joyce's Portrait and Broch's Der Tod des Vergil-whose narrative is nothing less than an attempt to come to a comprehensive aesthetic. Descombes invokes Louis Dumont's distinction between "individualistic" and "holistic" ideas of order. The latter system ranks works and performances according to "the general economy of the whole" of the work of art, while the former is organized according to a ranking of individuals. This classification does not correspond to a totality (as a tragedy may be a totality), but to a simple list of individuals (for example, a list of actors, as distinguished from a "holistic" enumeration of the roles to be filled in the production of the tragedy). This order represents the results of a contest for first prize. Its purpose is not to justify existence by function, or the variety of disparate elements by the diversity of roles to be filled. Its purpose is to vindicate individuality. It is right for the best to have first place. As for second place, it does not correspond to a subordinate function in the economy of the whole. Second place belongs to the individual who proves to be second best. (Descombes 122-23)