The Infinite Library Read Online Free

Library seriously. I do not need to sift through self-serving entries on a CV to confirm a choice I have already made. Besides, this is no ordinary job and so why should the recruitment be ordinary?”
    “When do I start?” I asked, incredulous at my own credulity. This was likely the deranged fantasy of a lunatic, and I would be right.
    “You already have. Your first lesson begins now. Between two books is what?”
    “Space?”
    Castellemare emitted a sharp and tinny laugh. “You do have much to learn! Listen, between any two books is... a book.”
    “An invisible book?”
    “Infinitesimal calculus and Zeno both bear this out, my new assistant to the Craft. As does Leibniz in his own way, and Plotinus. Between two books is always another book - the trick is to know how to remove it from the continuum… for all libraries issue from the same source, the One Library, and all books on those shelves are in an infinite continuum. I am simply using these terms in a way that can be expressed in imprecise, conventional language. Most people have an infantile understanding of the infinite, and have no clear idea what a continuum is.”
    A clatter erupted from the kitchen with a cook’s fiery expletives in pursuit of the event.
    “Anyway,” Castellemare resumed, “what you see in a conventional humdrum library is merely what is on the surface of perceptibility. But what of all those minute and infinitely imperceptible books? You must train your eyes as one should train the ears to hear both the whole of the tide and each of its droplets. First, let me give you something to read - two things in fact.”
    My initial enthusiasm had crested and was now beginning to wane. His affectations and seemingly mystical statements were causing me to doubt if his offer was genuine or just a product of the delusions of mental illness. As if to dispel any doubt as to his credibility, Castellemare slipped a hand into his black coat draped on his chair and fetched two volumes that he placed by my elbow. I replaced my fork on the table and scanned their titles.
    “Since,” he continued, “you mentioned Borges, perhaps you will fancy this work. It is the entirety of his story, ‘The Library of Babel’, but written as one extended novel; this is volume number 8,230 of you-don’t-want-to-know-how-many, and the other is volume 45,781.”
    “But, he never wrote a novel by this name. Where did you find this? Is it really his? This must be fan fiction, or a bad emulation passing itself as being written by Borges. He only wrote short fiction and essays, as is my understanding,” I said, not concealing my instinctual, hardened doubt.
    “Precisely: as is your understanding .”
    The book felt like a precious object, and I could not help thinking two things: that the text was a forgery by someone inspired by and purporting to be Borges, and that if it were genuine it would fetch an obscenely high price among Borges scholars. The problem was, apart from this text not existing in any known catalogue or bibliography of works Borges bequeathed to history, the binding, paper, and type dated the book to be printed in the 1780s. The second volume was more perplexing. It smelled old. The binding was leather with ribbed spine, placing its publication most likely in the 17 th century, which further embroidered on the implausibility since Borges was a 20 th century author. The spine was blank. I opened it delicately and there was no title and no author. I turned another page and the text immediately began: it was nothing more than MCV repeated for 410 pages. I knew exactly what this book was, for it was mentioned in Borges’ short story, of which I was now in possession of the entire novel thereof. I recall Borges’ line: “All this, I repeat, is true, but four hundred and ten pages of inalterable MCV’s cannot correspond to any language, no matter how dialectal or rudimentary it may be.”
    “How?”
    Castellemare just gave me a wink. But the enigma