Afterword

God willing, the intrinsic sameness of this miscellany - which has been compiled not by me but by time and includes early pieces that I have not dared tinker with, since they came out of a different view of writing - will prove less obvious than the historical and geographical range of its themes. Of all my published books, none I believe is so personal as this ragtag, random assortment, for the very reason that it is rich in reflection and in literary interpolation. Little has taken place in my life, but I have read a great deal. Or, rather, little has taken place more worthy of memory than Schopenhauer's thinking or the word music of England.

A man sets himself the task of depicting the world. Year after year, he fills a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and people. Just before he dies, he discovers that out of this patient labyrinth of lines emerge the features of his own face.

J.L.B.

Buenos Aires, 31 October 1960