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"My purpose is merely astonishing"

I've read this short story, 'Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote', three times this week. It's by Jorge Luis Borges, is four pages long - you can read it, like I have, at work, and you'll be done before anyone notices it's a strange-looking PDF - and presents itself as an obituary/review of Pierre Menard's effort to write, word-for-word, Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes.

I don't have anything very smart to say about the story: I came across it because I was looking up postmodernism on Wikipedia, which should tell you the extent of my literary knowledge. But it's a beautifully arresting idea and peppered with sentences like this:
"Too impossible, rather!, teh reader will say. Quite so, but the undertaking was impossible from the outset, and of all the impossible ways of bringing it about, this was the least interesting."
And it has the perfect, impossible to replicate quality that I think fiction this short needs, of leaving you a little tantalised about its world - "That technique encourages us to read Mme. Henri Bachelier's Le jardin du Centaure as though it were written by Mme. Henri Bachelier" - without being frustrating, or making you feel it promised more than it could deliver.

Probably I will read it again tomorrow.