Labyrinths

The philosophical density beats some readers outright: “many of the stories flew over my head,” one admits, and another puts it more bluntly, “Borges is just way too smart for me.” A harsher critic accuses him of leaning on obscure references to signal cleverness rather than earn it, dismissing several pieces as “pedantic, mediocre pieces of short fiction.” The prose itself splits readers too, striking some as overwrought rather than precise. A story built on a runner-never-reaching-a-destination paradox gets waved off by one critic as a puzzle stunt rather than fiction, someone better off buying a Sudoku book instead. Even a sympathetic reader concedes the collection “very rarely attempts to engage your emotions,” staying in pure intellect from start to end.