如莎翁剧本 Julius Caesar 所述，布鲁图斯竭力维持罗马共和政体，为此不惜诛杀有恩于他也是他所敬爱的功勋卓著的凯撒。在历史上仍未能避免凯撒的养子屋大维登基加冕，改制为罗马帝国。布鲁图斯犹豫不决时， Cassius 这样激励布鲁图斯 O, you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brook’d The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king.(I2: 154-157) 其中父辈之口代代传颂的让罗马没有帝王的 a Brutus ， 就是布鲁图斯的祖先老布鲁图斯。 大约在剧中恺撒时代五百年前，罗马王国就是在 Brutus 祖先鲁基乌斯·尤尼乌斯·布鲁图斯 ( Lucius Junius Brutus ) 手中颠覆，诞生了罗马共和国。老布鲁图斯堪称罗马共和国国父。米开朗基罗雕塑了布鲁图斯的胸像 ( 原作在佛罗伦萨巴格洛宫国家博物馆，似乎是米开朗基罗唯一的胸像 ) ，无疑是这位老布鲁图斯。照片不是我拍摄，取自网络。 Brutus (1538) by Michelangelo 莎士比亚的叙事长诗《鲁克丽丝受辱记》记载此事。老布鲁图斯从被国王强奸而自杀的贵妇鲁克丽丝身上拔下尖刀，率众宣誓 ( 朱生豪先生译文 ) 既然罗马的尊严被这帮恶人污损， 那就请天神俯允：让我们兴动刀兵， 从罗马干净的街衢上，把恶人驱除干净。 现在，凭着我们崇奉的卡庇托大寺， 凭着给丰腴的大地孳育了五谷的红日， 凭着罗马国土上留存的公理和法制， 凭着鲁克丽丝方才的申诉和嘱示， 凭着她不昧的精魂，这横遭玷辱的血渍， 凭着这血染的尖刀，我们在此宣誓： 要为这忠贞的妻子，洗雪这强加的羞耻。 于是众贵族推翻国王，有了罗马共和国。元老院、执政官和部族会议三权分立，布鲁图斯就任罗马首位执政官。 历史书 ( 可能是李维的《罗马史》 ) 还记载了布鲁图斯的誓词 ( 我从英译文翻译 ) 。 首先发誓不接受任何人统治罗马，渴望新自由的民众不许被国王们的威胁和贿赂所左右。 (First of all, by swearing an oath that they would suffer no man to rule Rome, it forced the people, desirous of a new liberty, not to be thereafter swayed by the entreaties or bribes of kings.) 无以罪之血，在国王不正义前发誓，并以你们和众神为见证，我要尽全力用剑、用火、用任何手段，推翻路修斯·塔昆纽斯·苏佩布斯 ( 自大狂 ) 及其邪恶妻子和所有孩子的统治，他们或者任何人都不能再统治罗马。 (By this guiltless blood before the kingly injustice I swear – you and the gods as my witnesses – I make myself the one who will prosecute, by what force I am able, Lucius Tarquinius Superbus along with his wicked wife and the whole house of his freeborn children by sword, by fire, by any means hence, so that neither they nor any one else be suffered to rule Rome.) 后来为了捍卫共和，老布鲁图斯不得不处死了自己两个儿子。这也是诸多美术作品的题材。 Julius Caesar 中布鲁图斯捍卫共和的想法，与其祖先一脉相承。可惜，民意有了变化。 老布鲁图斯的故事见于普鲁塔克《名人传》的普布利科拉篇，但没有独立的篇章。
阳光明媚的秋日，我们不希望你再“陪跑”，喜欢跑步的村上君，这次拿上早该属于你的奖牌狂奔吧！ 村上春树，请拿走你的诺贝尔奖 卡佛 2016-10-10 05:18 2016 年诺贝尔奖陆续公布，文学奖的归属又一次成为茶余饭后的热点，其原因大部分要归属于日本作家村上春树。近几年村上春树一直领跑着诺贝尔文学奖赔率榜，然而造化弄人，也可以说大热必死吧，村上春树数次落选。首先给大家陈列下英国博彩公司立博在2016年10月4日更新的诺贝尔文学奖赔率表（数据来源搜狐）： Haruki Murakami （村上春树，小说家，日本）5/1 Adunis （阿多尼斯，诗人，叙利亚/黎巴嫩）6/1 Philip Roth （菲利普·罗斯，小说家，美国）7/1 Ngugi Wa Thiong'o （恩古吉·瓦·提安哥，小说家、剧作家，肯尼亚）10/1 Joyce Carol Oates （乔伊斯·卡罗尔·欧茨，小说家，美国）14/1 Ismail Kadare1 （伊斯梅尔·卡达莱，小说家、诗人，阿尔巴尼亚）16/1 Javier Marias （哈维尔·马里亚斯，小说家，西班牙）16/1 Jon Fosse （乔恩·福瑟，剧作家、小说家，挪威）20/1 Ko Un （高银，诗人，韩国）20/1 John Banville （约翰·班维尔，小说家，爱尔兰）20/1 Antonio Lobo Antunes （安东尼奥·罗伯·安图内斯，小说家，葡萄牙）20/1 Laszlo Krasznahorkai （拉斯洛·卡撒兹纳霍凯，小说家，匈牙利）20/1 Peter Handke （彼得·汉德克，剧作家，奥地利）25/1 Peter Nadas （彼得·纳达斯，小说家，匈牙利）25/1 Amos Oz （阿摩司·奥兹，小说家，以色列）25/1 Abraham B Yehoshua （亚伯拉罕·B.耶霍舒亚，小说家，以色列）25/1 Adam Zagajewski （亚当·扎加耶夫斯基，诗人，波兰）33/1 Juan Marse （胡安·马尔塞，小说家，西班牙）33/1 村上春树又一次领跑赔率榜，紧随其后的是叙利亚诗人阿多尼斯。今年村上春树的命运如何，很大程度上要看评委对叙利亚的关心程度如何了。其实回望历届诺贝尔文学奖，可以看得出评委的评选标准并不以作品的优劣为唯一标准，更看重的是作家在世界文学领域，甚至政治领域上的影响程度。 政治领域上最典型的例子是丘吉尔。文学领域上的例子就多了，拿我们最熟悉的莫言来说，他获奖的理由是“用魔幻现实主义的写作手法，将民间故事、历史事件与当代背景融为一体，他创作中的世界令人联想起福克纳和马尔克斯作品的融合，同时又在中国传统文学和口头文学中寻找到一个出发点。”通俗来说，就是将魔幻现实主义带入了东方，并将其发展成具有东方特色的文学体裁。实际也可以理解成莫言是魔幻现实主义文学继承人，因为现在世界范围内，魔幻现实主义作家已经不太多见了。而如果单从作品上来说，莫言作品的影响力并没有中国其他一流作家的影响力大，比如王朔，贾平凹。 再回来说村上春树，村上春树的作品与日本的传统文学是有很大区别的，这跟他早年创作的经历也有关系。他并不是一开始就靠写作为生，而是一边经营咖啡馆，一边写作。他对西方文化的研究多于本国文化，这就造成了他的作品中西化痕迹很深，这种文化差异使得他一直游离于日本文学圈之外。被孤立的环境也使得村上春树愈加关心边缘人物的生活，所以其作品总是以边缘人物为主角，故事的主线也是游离在现实与虚构之间。 读村上的作品，给人的感觉就是似曾相识，但不曾谋面。 但是如果讲到其作品对世界文学的影响力，恐怕远没有其他候选人那么深远。村上春树总是沉浸在自己的虚构世界里，他会关心某些重大的事件，也会将这些事件写到作品中，但往往，这些事件成为了他的故事中的铺垫。 不可否认，村上春树是个伟大的作家，今年他也再一次冲击诺贝尔奖，但是笔者认为他获奖的机会并不大。原因就在于，他仅仅是个作家，并非文学家。 不过从情感上，笔者还是希望他能拿走诺贝尔奖。毕竟我们这一代人是读着他的作品成长起来的。《挪威的森林》，《海边的卡夫卡》，《1Q84》，这些作品令人印象深刻。我们这一代人，很多都尝试过模仿他的风格，模仿那些忧郁而又充满哲理的句子。 所以，村上春树，请拿走你的诺贝尔奖。
SSCI 不收录文学期刊，文学期刊是被AHCI收录，2015年AHCI收录美国文学期刊20种。 2015 年 AHCI 收录美国文学期刊 20 种目录 ARTS HUMANITIES CITATION INDEX LITERATURE, AMERICAN - JOURNAL LIST Total journals: 20 1. AFRICAN AMERICAN REVIEW 《非洲美国人评论》 Quarterly ISSN: 1062-4783 AFRICAN AMERREVIEW, DEPT ENGLISH, INDIANA STATE UNIV, TERRE HAUTE, USA , IN, 47809 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 2. AMERICAN LITERARY HISTORY 《美国文学史》 Quarterly ISSN: 0896-7148 OXFORD UNIV PRESSINC, JOURNALS DEPT, 2001 EVANS RD, CARY, USA ,NC, 27513 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 3. AMERICAN LITERARY REALISM 《美国文学现实主义》 Tri-annual ISSN: 0002-9823 UNIV ILLINOIS PRESS, 1325 S OAK ST, CHAMPAIGN, USA , IL,61820-6903 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 4. AMERICAN LITERATURE 《美国文学》 Quarterly ISSN: 0002-9831 DUKE UNIV PRESS,905 W MAIN ST, STE 18-B, DURHAM, USA , NC, 27701 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 5. EARLY AMERICAN LITERATURE 《早期美国文学》 Tri-annual ISSN: 0012-8163 UNIV NORTH CAROLINA PRESS, BOX 2288, JOURNALS DEPT, CHAPEL HILL, USA , NC, 27515-2288 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 6. EMILY DICKINSON JOURNAL 《狄更生学刊》 Semiannual ISSN: 1059-6879 JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVPRESS, JOURNALS PUBLISHING DIVISION, 2715 NORTH CHARLES ST, BALTIMORE, USA, MD,21218-4363 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 7. ESQ-A JOURNAL OF THE AMERICAN RENAISSANCE 《爱默生学会季刊》 Quarterly ISSN: 0093-8297 WASHINGTON STATE UNIV, PO BOX 645020, PULLMAN, USA , WA, 99164-5910 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 8. LEGACY 《美国妇女作家杂志》 Semiannual ISSN: 0748-4321 UNIV NEBRASKA PRESS, 1111 LINCOLN MALL, LINCOLN, USA ,NE, 68588-0630 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 9. LEVIATHAN-A JOURNAL OF MELVILLE STUDIES 《大海兽 : 麦尔维尔研究杂志》 Tri-annual ISSN: 1525-6995 JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVPRESS, JOURNALS PUBLISHING DIVISION, 2715 NORTH CHARLES ST, BALTIMORE, USA, MD,21218-4363 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 10. MELUS 《美国多族裔文学》 Quarterly ISSN: 0163-755X OXFORD UNIV PRESSINC, JOURNALS DEPT, 2001 EVANS RD, CARY, USA ,NC, 27513 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 11. NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY-A HISTORICAL REVIEW OF NEWENGLAND LIFE AND LETTERS 《新英格兰季刊》 Quarterly ISSN: 0028-4866 MIT PRESS, ONE ROGERS ST, CAMBRIDGE, USA , MA,02142-1209 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 12. POE STUDIES-DARK ROMANTICISM 《坡研究： 黑色浪漫主义 》 Annual ISSN: 0090-5224 WASHINGTON STATE UNIV, PO BOX 645020, PULLMAN, USA , WA, 99164-5910 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 13. POE STUDIES-HISTORY THEORY INTERPRETATION 《坡研究：历史理论解释》 Annual ISSN: 1947-4644 JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVPRESS, JOURNALS PUBLISHING DIVISION, 2715 NORTH CHARLES ST, BALTIMORE, USA, MD,21218-4363 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 14. RESOURCES FOR AMERICAN LITERARY STUDY 《美国文学研究资源》 Semiannual ISSN: 0048-7384 A M S PRESS INC,BROOKLYN NAVY YARD, 63 FLUSHING AVE, UNIT 221, BROOKLYN, USA, NY, 11205-1073 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 15. SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL 《南方文学杂志》 Semiannual ISSN: 0038-4291 UNIV NORTH CAROLINA PRESS, BOX 2288, JOURNALS DEPT, CHAPEL HILL, USA , NC, 27515-2288 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 16. STUDIES IN AMERICAN FICTION 《美国小说研究》 Semiannual ISSN: 0091-8083 JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVPRESS, JOURNALS PUBLISHING DIVISION, 2715 NORTH CHARLES ST, BALTIMORE, USA, MD,21218-4363 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 17. STUDIES IN AMERICAN INDIAN LITERATURES 《美国印第安文学研究》 Quarterly ISSN: 0730-3238 UNIV NEBRASKA PRESS, 1111 LINCOLN MALL, LINCOLN, USA ,NE, 68588-0630 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 18. STUDIES IN AMERICAN JEWISH LITERATURE 《美国犹太文学研究》 SemiannualISSN: 0271-9274 PENN STATE UNIVPRESS, 820 NORTH UNIV DRIVE, U S B 1, STE C, UNIVERSITY PK, USA, PA, 16802 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 19. THOMAS WOLFE REVIEW 《托马斯·沃尔夫评论》 Semiannual ISSN: 0276-5683 THOMAS WOLFE SOC,UNIV N CAROLINA, CHAPEL HILL, N CAROLINA, WILSON LIBRARY, PO BOX 916, CHAPELHILL, USA, NC, 27514 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index 20. WESTERN AMERICAN LITERATURE 《美国西部文学》 Quarterly ISSN: 0043-3462 UTAH STATE UNIV,WESTERN LIT ASSOC UMC 32, LOGAN, USA , UT, 84322 1. Arts Humanities Citation Index
（学生向我介绍科学网的博客，便来到这里注册，先翻了一下以前的旧作，似乎这篇比较能符合这里的气息，该文始作于几年前的另一个论坛，可以算个小科普，姑且略作修改作为开篇的博客吧就~） 《关于行为学术语Lordosis的翻译：理想很远，爱在咫尺却在等》——2011-07-02 12:50:29 通俗点讲，Lordosis可以说是小腰~，这可能也就是之前论坛网友“笑笑”说的这个词蕴藏的性感所在了。下面我先介绍一下这个词的专业含义。一般来讲，Lordosis用的比较常见的地方是医学上的或生理结构上的：脊柱前弯，脊柱前凸（名词）。 但是更性感的，是这个词还有个特别的意思，专门指哺乳动物的一种特殊性行为，称作Lordosis behavior，即雌性动物在交配之前作出腰部的脊柱向内弓向腹部，从而使整个背部保持平坦，提高臀部，身体静止一动不动，等候身边伴侣的交配的行为。维基上面这么解释：“refers to the position that some mammalian females (including cats, mice, and rats) display when they are ready to mate (in heat). ”。 也就是雌性动物在发情期内，雌激素影响腹中部下丘脑（ventromedialhypothalamus）和导水管周围灰质（periaqueductal gray）以及其他一些脑区。性刺激出发一系列脑区的活动，发送神经冲动并最终传到脊髓中的传入神经元，向周围的肌肉发出指令完成上述Lordosis的姿势。由于这些脊髓中的传入神经元属于整个Lordosis反射弧的一部分，Lordosis行为因此也可以通过反射触发，比如用抚摸刺激动物的腰部。养宠物的人都知道，当你前后抚摸猫咪的背部，特别是腰部，猫咪常常会全身挺直，翘起尾巴，保持静止，那就是Lordosis。 人类是直立行走的，性行为也更多样化，并不需要都用Lordosis这种姿态。但是小腰，同样也是非常敏感的地方。所谓酥腰，酥腰，一揽就酥。我曾在网上搜索过，发现英国《皇家学会报告》曾有个哈佛大学与德州大学奥斯汀分校的研究报告。据说他们分析了34.5万种古代文学作品，从16至18世纪英美小说、散文和戏剧，到1世纪至6世纪（大致西汉至隋代）的中國古诗、印度史诗、波斯古诗及古希腊文学。发现这些作品中描写女性腰的次數，远超过身体其他部位（其中臀部和苗条的身材（丰满的却更多）则最少被提及）。在他们查阅的这些文献里：英国古典文学：描述纤腰65次、胸部16次、大腿12次、臀部2次中国古诗：描述纤腰17次、胸、臀、大腿均无印度史诗：描述纤腰35次、其他部位共26次换句话说就是古今中外所共识的，女人身体之最美，在于她那纤纤的小腰。 更有趣的是，这些研究者甚至还推测认为，纤纤小腰可能是女子健康和生育力的最显著象征，男性出於延续基因本能，常从女子腰部判断其生育能力。不过笔者却有些不以为然，这些研究者似乎不是搞动物行为学或神经生物学的，统计发现的差异可能是正确的，但推论却不一定合理。要说来自本能，更可能来自性行为过程中的自然反应（比如反射），而不大会是意识中出于延续基因的那个遥远理想。那“抱月飘烟一尺腰”啊，大致是在达到宽衣解带之前，能最先看到，最先接触，最先刺激，反应强烈，发酸，发胀，发酥，发软的地方了吧？~~~~要非说本能，那么还不如喊：英勇的哥们姐们啊，还等什么？揽住她（或让他揽住你）的小蛮腰，搞定那遥远的理想吧！。。。或者夜晚，轻轻的问一声：“宝贝，今晚Lordosis吗？”~~~ 虽然有这么Sexy的一个词，但是可惜，我又查了一下，Lordosis的这个行为学上的含义，似乎至今还没有中文上的翻译。。。也许我来试试，两个选择，一俗一雅，一短一长： 1。躺着别动！ 2。理想很远，爱在咫尺却在等。（哈，《爱的太迟》中的歌词~）
新的研究表明，查尔斯•狄更斯和泰雅·奥布雷特（Téa Obreht）的作品能增强我们感知他人情感的能力——效果优于惊悚小说或爱情小说。 来源：《卫报》博客 伟大的文学作品《远大前程》（Great Expectations）......移情作用发生于小说人物之间的差异，比如乔（Joe）和皮普（Pip）之间，图为2012年改编的电影。照片来源：Moviestore / Rex Features 你们可曾感受到读一本好书能增强你和其他人之间的关系？如果是的话，你有了新的科学研究撑腰，不过你阅读的必须是文学小说——低俗小说或非小说没有这个作用。 位于纽约的社会研究新学院（the New School for Social Research）的心理学家大卫•科默•基德（David Comer Kidd）和埃马努埃莱•卡斯塔诺（Emanuele Castano）证实，阅读文学小说能够提高感知和理解他人情感的能力，这是驾驭复杂社会关系的一项关键技能。 在一组五项实验中，随机分配文本给1000名参与者阅读，要么是畅销书作家丹妮尔•斯蒂尔（Danielle Steel）的《母亲之罪》（The Sins of the Mother）和吉利安•弗林（Gillian Flynn）的《消失的女孩》（Gone Girl）的节选，要么是更文学的作品，如奥兰治奖（Orange Prize，又名橘子奖、柑橘奖，英国文学界和出版界唯一为女性作家设立的重要奖项——译注）获得者泰雅·奥布雷特的《老虎的妻子》（The Tiger's Wife），唐•德里罗（Don DeLillo）的小说集《天使埃斯梅拉达》（The Angel Esmeralda）中的《奔跑者》（The Runner），或者安东•契诃夫的作品。 然后两人运用心智理论（Theory of Mind）的各种方法来衡量参与者准确识别他人情绪的能力。阅读文学小说的被试获得的分数始终高于那些阅读通俗小说和非小说的被试。 基德说：“伟大的作家把你变成作家。在文学小说中，人物的不完整性让你的头脑试图去理解别人的思维。” 基德和卡斯塔诺在《科学》上发表了他们的论文，和罗兰•巴特（Roland Barthes）在其文学理论作品《书的乐趣》（The Pleasure of the Text）中类似，对“作家式”写作和“读者式”写作做出了的区分。考虑到区分文学小说和非文学小说十分困难，部分文学作品节选来自2012年欧•亨利奖（the PEN/O Henry prize）获奖作家文集和美国国家图书奖入围作品。 “某些作品你可称作‘作家式’的作品，你填补空白、参与情节，有些是‘读者式’的，你只是享受。冒险、浪漫和惊悚类小说体裁多为‘读者式’，由作家决定你作为读者的体验，而文学 小说把你置身于新环境，你必须自己找出路，”基德说道。 基德认为，把阅读小说的体验移植到现实世界是自然而然的飞跃，因为“把握虚构和真实人际关系的心理过程是一样的。小说不仅仅是社会体验的模拟，它本身就是社会体验。” 不是所有的心理学家都赞同基德和卡斯塔诺使用的心智理论方法。利物浦大学心理科学教授菲利普•戴维斯（Philip Davies）说，这些方法“有点古怪”。菲利普•戴维斯教授与读者组织（the Reader Organisation）一道帮助囚犯阅读文学作品。 戴维斯说：“测试人们读表情的能力有点怪异。小说所做的是让你一窥内心世界，而非外在。通常，小说告诉你别那么武断......小说告诫你不要以貌取人。” “在《远大前程》里，乔把皮普搞得很尴尬，因为乔很粗鲁，而皮普更有教养。读它的时候，你会问自己，当皮普和和当乔会是什么样子？如果我处于皮普的境地会表现得更好一些吗？移情作用就产生于两个人物的差异之间。” 五个实验结合了四种不同的心智理论测试法：读眼术（RMET），非言语精度诊断分析测试（DANV），积极和消极情感量表（PANAS）以及扬尼（Yoni）测试。 然而，尽管卡斯塔诺和基德证明了文学小说能增强社会移情能力，但仍然算不上完善，他们还不能确定其结果是否可以用来判断一件作品是否有资格被称为文学作品。 基德说：“这些是美学和文体学的范畴，心理学家不能也不想就此做出判断。我们也不主张人们只读文学小说；这个实验仅仅证明只有文学小说似乎可短期内提高心理能力。读通俗小说可能也有益——娱乐功效当然是有的。只不过我们没有去测量。” 译文来源：http://article.yeeyan.org/view/257632/382959
书名： 《多元文化与多种视点的交汇——“跨文化视域下的 20 世纪英语文学研究”国际研讨会论文集》（《外国文学研究书系》） 作者： 傅利 刘克东 定价： 75.00 元 出版社 ：世界图书出版公司 书号： 978-7-5100-6984-0 出版日期： 2013-10 作者简介： 傅利，女，英语语言文学博士，哈尔滨工业大学外国语学院院长、教授、省教学名师、教学带头人、博士生导师、中国英语教学学会常务理事、全国美国文学研究会理事、全国加拿大研究会理事、省外语学会副会长，研究方向：英语文学、跨文化语用学、文学翻译。主持国家社科基金项目 1 项，省级项目多项；主持省级精品课程“英语文学”，获得国家级、省级奖励多项。 刘克东，男，博士，哈尔滨工业大学外国语学院院长助理、系主任、硕导；全国美国文学研究会会员、全国加拿大研究会会员、黑龙江省翻译协会会员。主要研究英美加文学、族裔文学。参与国家社科基金项目 2 项，主持省级项目 4 项，参加省校级项目多项；为省级精品课程主要成员，在外国文学类主要期刊上发表论文多篇，获得各类教学、科研奖项多项。 内容简介： 本论文集就英、美、加、澳、新等国的英语文学进行研讨，议题集中在 20 世纪文化思潮与英语文学创作、文本中的文化记忆与文化想象、性别、种族与文化、英语文学的生态关怀、英语文学的跨文化研究、英语文学在中国的翻译研究以及全球化与英语文学教学等方面。 目 录： 1 ．专家论坛 Modernity Now: Reading Post-Colonial GlobalizationBill Ashcroft （ 1 ） Cross-Cultural Critique: Three Canadian Poets ′ Use of Classical Chinese PoetryAlison Calder （ 12 ） 中国高校的英美文学教学：成就与问题 虞建华 （ 20 ） Pragmatics and Literature Fu Li （ 24 ） Let the memory live again: Memory and Its Role in Literature for Young People Margot Hillel （ 30 ） Columbus Wrote: Literacy and Resistance in Contemporary Canadian First Nations Literature Warren Cariou （ 39 ） Crossing the Border: The Agency of the Post-Indian Warrior in Alexie ′ s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian Liu Kedong （ 45 ） John C. Gardner ′ s Novel October Light on Counterculture and ExistentialismTamara G. Bogolepova （ 63 ） The Reception of Emily Dickinson ′ s Poetry in Russia Tatiana Anikeeva （ 69 ） Russian Books in Ha Jin ′ s Waiting Evgeniya M. Butenina （ 73 ） 2 ．文学理论及技巧研究 巴赫金与互文性 张 扬 黄芙蓉 （ 79 ） 没有狼的瓦尔登湖——《瓦尔登湖》 与《狼图腾》 的生态意蕴对比 李 臻 （ 84 ） 精神创伤与叙事疗伤——从文学治疗角度看冯内古特的《猫的摇篮》 梁庆峰 （ 89 ） Human Nature in Polyphony: The Complexity of Human Nature as Reflected in the Polyphonic Features in Coetzee ′ s The Master of PetersburgLiu KedongSun Chang （ 95 ） 从《达洛卫夫人》 解析伍尔夫意识流小说的创作 蒙雪梅 李慧杰 （ 109 ） 对人性的持续拷问：解读《永远不要弃我而去》 中的生态关怀 欧 荣 （ 115 ） 《家之随想》 中后现代主义元素荣 巍 田 强 （ 121 ） 劳伦斯短篇小说中的性别空间叙事探究 于 娟 刘立辉 （ 125 ） 神话 音乐 循环 回归 詹 虎 赵学斌 （ 131 ） Irony and Understatement in Hemingway ′ s Short Stories Zhou JinxuChang Mei （ 136 ） 情节设计漏洞与叙事布局 赵龙武 傅 利 （ 140 ） 3 ．文学与文化研究 《上帝的玩笑》 中雷切尔与《圣经》 中的拉结 常 梅 周瑾序 （ 145 ） 19 世纪俄罗斯文学中的“彼得堡” 杜国英 徐 红 （ 149 ） Half a Life, Cultural Identity and V. S. Naipaul Li XueZhou Jinxu （ 155 ） 回归“失去的天堂” 刘文霞 （ 162 ） 冷漠与虔诚的背后 孟德慧 （ 167 ） 樋口一叶的文学性格与定位论考 滕佳杰 祝玉深 （ 171 ） 安东尼·伯吉斯叙事作品的后现代性及其价值 李桂荣 （ 176 ） 文化记忆及想象视角下的《祖先游戏》 吴 慧 （ 185 ） The Shame Culture Reflected in Japanese People ′ s Behaviors after the DisasterZhao Hongyuan （ 190 ） 迦利女神的现代命运 李美敏 （ 194 ） 4 ．少数族裔作家作品研究 从痴迷、解构到重构：盖恩斯小说中男性气概建构过程中的女性参与 隋红升 （ 200 ） 马拉默德的犹太性书写 王 朓 （ 206 ） Victim of Extreme Intellectualism: Herzog in Saul Bellow ′ s HerzogWang LingZheng Junzi （ 212 ） 城市平民“囚徒”的困惑 张 甜 （ 225 ） On Hybridized Religious Technique in Louise Erdrich ′ s Love Medicine and TracksChenLiang （ 231 ） The Third Space in The Woman WarriorYan Jia （ 237 ） 5 ．女性主义作品分析 铿锵玫瑰，自由奇葩 崔 丹 （ 246 ） 女权主义的“妥协派”还是划时代的“探索者” 李 雯 （ 250 ） 女性主义视域下的《我和我的家人》 刘克东 扈欢欢 （ 254 ） 对《儿子与情人》 的女性主义伦理学解读 张凌岩 董艳焱 （ 259 ） “求而不得”与“求而得之” 赵雪霞 （ 264 ） 生态女性主义视角下的《阿凡达》 刘芬芬 王 帅 （ 268 ） 6 ．戏剧、诗歌及短篇小说 当代美国戏剧中的家庭伦理关系探析 张生珍 （ 273 ） 20 世纪加拿大社会的文化贫瘠 刘晓丹 于云玲 （ 278 ） A Study on Violation of Cooperative Principle in The Glass Menagerie Fu LiWang Qian （ 283 ） 谈《玻璃动物园》 里的“抛弃”和“逃避” 欧亚鹏 （ 289 ） 析田纳西·威廉斯《玻璃动物园》 中的现代悲剧性 王 琨 （ 294 ） 矛盾的世界，无尽的等待 吴彤昱 （ 299 ） 心理外化技巧在《推销员之死》 中的运用 吴耀芝 （ 305 ） 对《等待戈多》 的一种政治解读 阳 利 （ 310 ） 诗歌象似机制的多维建构 温金海 张家荣 （ 315 ） The Death Theme in Alice Munro ′ s Hateship ， Friendship ， Courtship ， Loveship ， Marriage Huang FurongZhang Yang （ 319 ） Love in The Horse Dealer ′ s Daughter: The Best Remedy Jia XueruiJia Xuelai （ 326 ） 7 ．文学、翻译与教学 A Tentative Study on the Translation of Figures of Speech in Literatures Wang LixinChen Xi （ 330 ） 留学生与拜伦在中国的译介 郭晶萍 （ 341 ） 胡适诗歌翻译的现代性探源 蒙兴灿 （ 345 ） “陷入重围的骑士精神” 戚咏梅 （ 352 ） 文学翻译与应用翻译差异之探究 郑淑明 李晓晓 （ 357 ）
记忆之摇篮 文学之启蒙 鲍海飞 2013-10-17 今年诺贝尔文学家奖授予了加拿大的女作家爱丽丝-门罗Alice Munro。她被称为“当代短篇小说大家（a master of contemporary short story）。在上一篇介绍门罗的小文中，从她的简历中，我发现了她的父亲是一个fox farmer，为了弄清楚这究竟是个什么职业，后来居然在网上顺藤摸瓜无意间找到了她的一篇小说“boys and girls”，而这篇短篇小说里面恰好介绍的是有关“狐狸的故事”。该小说写于1968年，在这一年她发表了她的第一部小说集《快乐影子舞》（dance of happy shades），Boys and Girls 是其中的一篇。当时的社会是男性主宰的社会，也是男主外、女主内。因此，这是一篇关于性别敏感的小说（gender-sensitive short story）。小说中的主人公是一个小女孩，她非常向往要和男人过一样的生活。估计在这部短篇小说里，应该记载了她童年的故事，也记载了那个时代。下面是这部小说中的开始两段，按照我的理解将它翻译出来。 1 ，我的父亲是一个从事养殖狐狸的人。就是说，他圈养银狐，而每到秋天和早冬之时，当狐狸的皮毛在最柔美之时，我的父亲便将它们杀掉、剥皮熟毛，最后将皮毛卖到胡德顺弯公司，或者卖给蒙特利尔的皮毛商。这些公司会送给我们大幅的挂历，我们便将这些挂历悬挂在厨房门的两侧。在冷冷的蓝色天空下和黑黑的松树森林以及波涛汹涌的北部大河映衬下的土地上，飘扬着那些头戴有羽毛帽子的冒险家们所插着英格兰或是法国的旗子，还有众多的苦役之人弓着腰弯着背在河边忙碌运输。 My father was a fox farmer. That is, he raised silver foxes, in pens; and in the fall and early winter, when their fur was prime, he killed them and skinned them and sold their pelts to the Hudson's Bay Company or the Montreal Fur Traders. These companies supplied us with heroic calendars to hang, one on each side of the kitchen door. Against a background of cold blue sky and black pine forests and treacherous northern rivers, plumed adventures planted the flags of England and or of France; magnificent savages ， bent their backs to the portage. 2 ，圣诞节前的几个星期，每当晚饭后，我父亲便在我们家的地下室开始忙碌起来。地下室清洗得很干净，有一个专用的桌子，桌子上放悬挂有一个一百度的灯泡在亮着。我的哥哥拉德和我坐在高高的台阶上看着。我父亲把狐狸从里到外将毛皮剥开，去掉那些虚饰的皮毛，那狐狸剩下的身体便显得特别地瘦小，就像个老鼠。那裸露的、滑滑腻腻的狐狸尸体便被装到一个袋子里，掩埋到一个专门的弃物处。一次，我父亲雇佣的一个家伙，亨利 - 贝利居然用这样的袋子甩到我身上，竟然说 “ 圣诞礼物！ ” 我母亲看了，觉得他相当无趣。实际上，我母亲她一点都不喜欢那给狐狸剥皮的过程 — 那血腥的杀戮、去皮，整理毛皮之类，并且也十分不喜欢在房子里面来做这样的活儿，因为那气味。在一个长板上，将动物的兽皮剥开展开后，我父亲便小心仔细地刮起来，去掉那些网状纠结的血管、肪的囊泡；随之，狐狸肌体那强烈的血腥和脂肪气味便一下子弥散到整个房子里。感觉就像那非常熟悉的季节来临时，那橘子或者松树针叶发出的味道。 For several weeks before Christmas, my father worked after supper in the cellar of our house. the cellar was white washed , and lit by a hundred-watt bulb over the worktable. My brother Laird and I sat on the top step and watched. My father removed the pelt inside-out from the body of the fox, which looked surprisingly small, mean, and rat-like, deprived of its arrogant weight of fur. The naked, slippery bodies were collected in a sack and buried in the dump. One time the hired man, Henry Bailey, had taken a swipe at me with this sack, saying, Christmas present! My mother thought that was not funny. In fact she disliked the whole pelting operation--that was what the killing, skinning, and preparation of the furs was called – and wished it did not have to take place in the house. There was the smell. After the pelt had been stretched inside-out on a long board my father scraped away delicately, removing the little clotted webs of blood vessels, the bubbles of fat; the smell of blood and animal fat, which the strong primitive odor of the fox itself, penetrated all parts of the house. I found it reassuringly seasonal, like the smell of oranges and pine needles. 也许，就是在那辽阔的土地上，在一个美丽的乡园中，那炊烟，那马儿，那狐狸，那些男孩、女孩的身影，是那难忘的回忆，孕育了一个记录那片土地的作家。
在浩如烟海的苏美尔文学作品中，《伊楠娜的晋升》、《伊楠娜与埃比赫》和《苏美尔神庙赞美集》是我们不得不提及的三部著作，它们对世界文学史的重大意义不在于词句有多么华美，内容是如何丰富，而在于它们共同的作者是恩黑杜安娜（Enheduanna）。她是迄今为止世界文学史上的第一位署名作者，被美国著名亚述学家哈罗比喻为“苏美尔文学领域的莎士比亚”。 恩黑杜安娜生活在约公元前2300年的两河流域北部的阿卡德地区（今伊拉克），是阿卡德帝国的建立者萨尔贡（Sargon，即《圣经》中的亚 甲王撒珥根 ）的女儿，即阿卡德的公主。 约公元前3200年，在两河流域南部（又称巴比伦尼亚）诞生了人类历史上最早的文明——苏美尔文明。在经历了城邦争霸的早王朝时期之后，公元前2291年，北部的阿卡德城邦在伟大首领萨尔贡的领导下，最终统一了两河流域，建立了阿卡德帝国，定官方语言为阿卡德语，它与现代阿拉伯语、希伯来语都属于塞姆（闪米特）语系。如同日本人借用汉字创制日语假名一样，阿卡德人借用了苏美尔语楔形文字符号创制了阿卡德语楔形文字。苏美尔文字是迄今已知世界上最早的文字，它最初为图形文字，后来发展为楔形文字。 恩黑杜安娜的苏美尔语名字，en-he 2 -du 7 -an-na，意思是“国王，安神之装饰”或者“国王，天之装饰”，其中，en是“主人”(lord)之义，在此引申为“国王”； he 2 -du 7 是“装饰”的意思；an-na来源于an-a，an是指苏美尔的天神安，或者直接指“天”，最后的-a是一个从属后置词，相当于英语中的of，汉语的“……的”。为什么阿卡德的公主起了一个苏美尔名字呢？现在学者一般认为：萨尔贡国王在征服了南方各苏美尔城邦完成统一之后，为了更好的统治与管理南方的苏美尔人，任命其女儿为南方乌尔城邦月神庙的最高女祭司。出于入乡随俗的目的，公主改名为苏美尔语的恩黑杜安娜。 当时有这样一个社会传统，神庙的最高女祭司被奉为神的妻子，不许另嫁他人。作为最高女祭司的恩黑杜安娜公主终生保持纯洁之身，独守神庙空房，生活是很孤寂的。为了排解心中的孤独感，公主平时增加了许多娱乐养性的活动，读书与创作是她最喜欢的休闲娱乐方式。她学习当地的苏美尔语，渐渐地迷上了苏美尔文学，并且自己创作了许多优秀的文学作品，留传至今也就是我们开篇所提到的三部著作：《伊楠娜的晋升》（The Exaltation of Inanna）、《伊楠娜与 埃比赫》（Inanna and Ebih）和由42首小诗组成的《苏美尔神庙赞美集》，最新的英译文收在 Betty De Shong Meador 的《 Inanna,Lady of Largest Heart : Poems of the Sumerian High Priestess 》一书中。 此外，在牛津大学的“苏美尔文学”数据库（ETCSL）也可以找到原文与英文翻译。今人通过读这些作品，可以追溯想象几千年前一位才女公主的文采及心思。 （撰文：刘昌玉）
学术辑刊：《世界文学评论 第 15 辑》 作者：《世界文学评论》编辑部 编 出版社：世界图书出版公司 出版时间： 2013.5 ISBN ： 978-7-5100-6202-5 定价： 50.00 元 世界文学评论 顾 问： 王锦厚（四川大学） 古远清（中南财经政法大学） 邹建军（华中师范大学） 主 编： 罗义华（中南民族大学） 副 主 编： 赵国泰 雷雪峰 编 委： 丁世忠（长江师范学院） 毛凌莹（重庆大学） 王 晖（南京师范大学） 李志艳（广西大学） 李卫华（湖南科技大学） 刘立辉（西南大学） 毕光明（海南师范大学） 陈仲义（厦门城市大学） 肖徐彧（南昌大学） 降红燕（云南大学） 罗义华（中南民族大学） 胡 静（南京航空航天大学） 赵小琪（武汉大学） 赵国泰（武汉中图图书出版有限公司） 海 阔（上海大学） 程国君（陕西师范大学） 雷雪峰（武汉中图图书出版有限公司） 熊国华（广东第二师范学院） 谭杉杉（华中科技大学） 张馨芳（武汉中图图书出版有限公司） 编辑部主任： 孔令钢 编 辑 成 员： 刘婕妤 黄 琼 李 瑞 宋 焱 袁艺林 《世界文学评论 第 15 辑》 目 录： 中外学者与名家访谈 天涯每惜此心清——苏炜访谈录 江少川（ 1 ） 亚裔美国文学研究 跨国研究语境下华美文学研究的几点思考 赵文书（ 9 ） 不应忽视的声音——评美国亚裔戏剧三作家及其作品 陈爱敏（ 13 ） 论亚裔美国文学之族裔批评范式的形成——以 1970 年代为观照 蒲若茜（ 21 ） 文学翻译研究 当代翻译研究热点评析 祝朝伟（ 26 ） 论翻译审美心理机制的建构 颜林海（ 33 ） 论许渊冲“中国学派的文学翻译理论” 向琳（ 39 ） 欧洲文学研究 论费特诗歌的艺术美林明理（ 42 ） 《伊戈尔出征记》中罗斯大地的象征意蕴 杜国英 秦 怡（ 47 ） 《鞑靼人的沙漠》：存在的抽象演示 贾 晶（ 52 ） 《等待戈多》：对话主义的典范之作 侯春林（ 57 ） 美国文学研究 “神经症与宗教”的辩证统一——对美国现当代经典诗歌的文化透视 张士民（ 61 ） 《谁害怕弗吉尼亚·沃尔夫》的仪式化形式与荒诞性主题解读 樊晓君（ 71 ） 论《纳粹高徒》中的隐形监狱 仇云龙 关 馨（ 75 ） 论《黛妈妈》中的乌托邦书写 武玉莲（ 78 ） 《拯救溺水鱼》与电影化叙事策略 邹建军 周亚芬（ 84 ） 论福克纳《野棕榈》的地理空间对位 张 静 陈海容（ 90 ） 《宠儿》中的身体书写与黑人女性主体建构 许庆红 杨 梅（ 96 ） 英国文学研究 曼斯菲尔德《毒药》的文体形式与双层主题意义 贺赛波（ 102 ） 《查特莱夫人的情人》中的庄子生态哲学思想 李璐（ 106 ） 多角度认识和评价《苔丝》中的亚雷·德伯 郑长发（ 111 ） 人内心深处之原始之地 : 人性中怪异又黑暗之角落——劳伦斯《菊花的幽香》的象征和自然主义手法新析 汪志勤（ 117 ） 新女性的“新”与“悲”——《占有：一部传奇》中的女诗人拉摩特形象解读 张 璐（ 123 ） 精神分析视角下普鲁弗洛克的焦虑 于元元（ 128 ） 少数族裔女性身份与殖民话语的阴霾——对小说《砖巷》评论的探讨 张珊珊（ 133 ） 生态批评视野下的《云图》 刘文如（ 139 ） 反本质人文主义批评——论多利默对《李尔王》的解读 许勤超（ 142 ） 日本文学研究 《星座》中的三重地理空间 谭杉杉（ 149 ） 文化“边缘人”视角与新女性的“神秘”气质——以夏目漱石小说《三四郎》为例 陈 雪（ 155 ） 对话自我理论视角下的《浮世画家》解读 郭 欣（ 160 ） 论《河雾》中的回乡悲剧 吴 辻（ 164 ） 中国文学研究 高建群与《最后一个匈奴》的文化原型 张祖群（ 169 ） 乡土规范视野下的史诗建构——《新安家族》解读 张宏国 汪 杨（ 177 ） 汉语视域下的诗语光辉 陈仲义（ 181 ） 融通与新创：惟山汉语十四行抒情诗之“美”的境界 李志艳（ 187 ） 比较文学研究 艾米莉·狄金森与英国巴罗克文学传统 刘立辉（ 191 ） 那一段穿越古今的回响——白居易与詹姆斯·赖特 李广寒（ 198 ） 英雄倒地空扼腕，骑士精神不复存——莎翁对《伊利亚特》的反拨 田朝绪（ 202 ） 同性恋电影刻板形象——戴尔对电影再现政治的研究与发现探源 赵 伟（ 207 ） 玛格达消解时间和历史 弥补身份缺失 孙晓蕾（ 212 ） 《黎明之屋》中的印第安文化及其生态启示 张 林（ 216 ） 身份的漩涡：《 J ·阿尔弗莱德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌》的现代主义叙事视角 ——与莎士比亚《爱人的怨诉》对比 傅 悦（ 223 ） 研究综述与图书述评 历史文化的深度解读——读任蒙散文集《反读五千年》 卢锡铭（ 230 ） 女性解放的身体寓言——评杨秀芝、田美丽《身体·性别·欲望—— 20 世纪八九十年代小说中的女性身体叙事》 常 芳（ 233 ） 马修·阿诺德在中国的译介与研究述评 吕佩爱（ 236 ） 文心所寄，如切如磋——《文学创作论》编后记 宋 焱（ 241 ） 2000 年以后国内外关于《洛丽塔》的研究综述 李 莹（ 243 ） “期刊编辑与中外文学史的构成”研讨会综述 刘玉杰（ 251 ） 爱在青山白云间——评赵文“人本主义”现代诗 居 北（ 255 ） Contents Interviews of Chinese and Foreign Scholars The Clean Heart Worth Appreciation: An Interview of Su Wei Jiang Shaochuan1 Asian American Literature Study Several Thoughts of Chinese American Literature Study in the Transnational Research Context Zhao Wenshu9 The Voice that Should not be Neglected:A Review of Three Asian American Dramatists and Their Plays Chen Aimin13 The Formation of Ethnic Critical Paradigm in Asian American Literature: On the Case of 1970s Pu Ruoqian21 Literature Translation Study Hot Spots in Contemporary Translation Studies: A Review Zhu Chaowei26 On Construction of Aesthetic Mechanism of Translating Yan Linhai33 On Xu Yuangzhong ′ s Chinese School of Literary Translation Theories Xiang Lin39 European Literature Study On the Artistic Beauty of Fet ′ s Poetry Lin Mingli42 The Symbolic Meaning of Russian Earth in The Expedition of Eagle Du GuoyingQin Yi47 The Tartar Desert ： the Abstract Illustration of Existence Jia Jing52 Waiting for Godot:The Paradigm of Dialogism Hou Chunlin57 American Literature Study The Dialectical Unity of Neurosis and Religion: A Cultural Perspective of the Modern and Contemporary American Canons of Poetry Zhang Shimin61 Interpretation of Who ′ s afraid of Virginia Woolf Ritualized Form and Absurdity Theme Fan Xiaojun71 A Study of the Invisible Prison in Apt Pupil Qiu Yunlong Guan Xin75 On the Utopian Writing in Mama Day Wu Yulian78 The Film like Narration Strategy of Saving Fish from Drowning Zou JianjunZhou Yafen84 On Geographical Spatial Counterpoint of Faulkner ′ s The Wild Palms Zhang Jing Chen Hairong90 Toni Morrison ′ s Beloved:Body Writing and the Construction of AfroAmerican Female Subjectivity Xu Qinghong Yang Mei96 British Literature Study Stylistic Forms in Mansfield ′ s Poison and the Double Thematic Significance He Saibo102 The Ecological View of Zhuangzi in Lady Chatterley ′ s Lover Li Lu106 Multi dimensional Understanding and Comment on Alec D ′ Urbervilles Zheng Changfa111 The Primitive Innermost of Humans ： The Queer Dark Corners of Humanity—A New Analysis on Symbolism Naturalism in D. H. Lawrence ′ s Odour of Chrysanthemums Wang Zhiqin117 A Study on the Image of Christabel Lamotte:New Woman and Her Tragic Destiny Zhang Lu123 Prufrock ′ s Anxieties in the Perspective of Psychoanalysis Yu Yuanyuan128 Identity of Minority Women and Colonial Discourse—A Discussion on the Discrepancy in Reception of Brick Lane Zhang Shanshan133 An Ecocritical Reading of The Cloud Atlas Liu Wenru139 Antihumanist Criticism: On Dollimore ′ s Interpretation of King Lear Xu Qinchao142 Japanese Literature Study The Triple Geographical Spaces in Seiza Tan Shasha149 Cultural Marginal Person ′ s Perspective and Modern Women ′ s Mysterious Temperament ： Take Natume Souseki ′ s Novel Sanshirou for Example Chen Xue155 The Interpretation of An Artist of the Floating World from the Perspective of Dialogical Self Theory Guo Xin160 A Study of HomeReturning Tragedy in Kawagiri Wu Shi164 Chinese Literature Study Gao Jianqun and Cultural Prototype of The last Hun Zhang Zuqun169 Epic Constructing from the Perspective of Native Soil Norms—Interpreting Xin An Family Zhang Hongguo Wang Yang177 The Glory of Poetic Language in the Chinese Perspective Chen Zhongyi181 Fusion and Innovation: The Beauty of Weishan ′ s Chinese Lyric Sonnets Li Zhiyan187 Comparative Literature Study Emily Dickinson and English Baroque Literature Liu Lihui191 The Resonance across Ages: Bai Juyi and James Wright Li Guanghan198 Downfall of Heroes, Loss of Knighthood Values—A Contrast between Troilus and Cressida and Iliad Tian Chaoxu202 The Stereotyping of the Homosexuals in Movies—An Inquiry to Richard Dyer ′ s Media Representation Politics Zhao Wei207 Magda Dissolving Time and History to Compensate Her Identity Loss Sun Xiaolei212 American Indian Cultures in House Made of Dawn and the Ecological Revelations Zhang Lin216 Complexity of Narrative Identity: Modernist Narrative Perspective of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock Compared with Shakespeare ′ s A Lover ′ s Complaint Fu Yue223 Research Overview and Book Review A Profound Interpretation of History and Culture: Remarks on Ren Meng ′ s Collection of Essays Backward Reading the Five Thousand Years Lu Ximing230 Body Parable of Female Emancipation: Comment on Body, Gender, Desire—Female Physical Narrative in Novels in the Eighties and Nineties of the 20th Century by Yang Xiuzhi, Tian Meili Chang Fang233 A Review on the Translation and Study of Matthew Arnold in China Lv Peiai236 SelfExpressing, MutualDiscussing: On Afterword of Literary Creation Song Yan241 The Literature Review of Lolita with Regards of Both Domestic and Foreign Criticism since 2000 Li Ying243 Review on the Seminar of Journal Edit and the Composing of Chinese and Foreign Literature History Liu Yujie251 Love Between Green Hills and White Clouds: On Textualism Modern Poetry by Zhao Wen Ju Bei255 ————————————————…… 《世界文学评论》投稿指南 由《外国文学研究》编辑部与长江文艺出版社联合主办的、具有七年历史的《世界文学评论》，自 2013 年第 1 期（总第 15 辑）起改由 中国出版集团世界图书出版公司 主办与出版，暂定每年 4 期。《世界文学评论》是国内外学者发表原创性学术论文的园地，鼓励学术自由与学术创新，欢迎广大作者踊跃投稿。 《世界文学评论》编辑部现对有关要求做如下约定，请作者交稿前注意以下事项，谢谢您的配合！ 1 ．来稿采用 Word 文档格式，本刊收到作者发来的电子文本后，即开始审稿程序，并在一个月内通知审稿结果。 2 ．为了便于审稿，来稿必须包括以下三个组成部分。 （ 1 ） 中英文对照部分 。内容依次为：论文标题、内容提要、关键词、作者简介以及上述四项的英文翻译。几点具体要求如下：①内容提要 300 字左右，主要概述论文研究的问题、运用的方法和得到的结论，不举例证，不叙述研究过程，不做自我评价。②关键词是用来检索文献资料的主题词，如人名、作品名、核心概念、关键术语等，一般 3 — 5 个。③作者简介内容包括作者姓名、学位、职称（职务）、工作单位以及主要研究领域（如英国小说、美国戏剧、古希腊悲剧）等。④英文译文应由专业人士撰写。 （ 2 ） 正文部分。 内容依次为：标题、正文、注解、引用作品。注解为正文中引用的文献、应当解释的名词术语以及作者认为应当说明的其他内容。论文中的所有引文必须详细注明原始出处，详至具体页码及本文在刊物与论文集中的起止页码。如来稿属省部级以上科研立项成果，请以题注的形式提供该科研项目的有关信息。 （ 3 ） 作者联系方式 。包括通信地址、邮编、电话及电子邮箱。 3 ．关于注解和引用作品的格式要求。可统一用逗号连接各项信息，也可统一用下角圆点号连接各项信息，但须全文统一。示例如下： 金亚娜：《〈青铜骑士〉的象征和象征主义意蕴》，载《求是学刊》1999年第1期，第85页。 杨 • 柯特：《〈李尔王〉，最后一局》，载《莎士比亚评论汇编》（下），中国社会科学出版社1981年版，第89页。 安东尼 • 吉登斯.社会的构成 .北京: 生活 • 读书 • 新知三联书店,1998:2. Smith Dave.Introduction of The Pure Clear Word: Essays on the Poetry of James Wright. Contemporary Literary Criticism . Ed. Jean C Stine. Vol. 28. Detroit: Gale Research Company, 1984. pp.469 - 472. 4 ．正文中需要括注作者名及对应页码的，请统一格式为“（作者名 + 空格半个字空 + 页码）”；对于全文引用某部作品的次数很多、需要适当省略的情况，可只括注对应页码，但另需在【注解】中交代清楚，含具体的参考文献版本信息。 5 ．同一人名、同一概念术语的书写形式请全文统一。 6 ．本刊特别提示。①交稿的电子文本统一命名方式为：年月日 + 作者姓名 + 论文标题。②请作者务必提供详细准确的引用作品的信息，凡缺少必要信息的来稿，不能进入本刊的审稿程序。 7 ．本刊园地公开，中外学者皆可投稿，有关外国文学、比较文学、中国文学、文学理论、文学翻译、文学批评等方面的稿件都会容纳，也接受国内外学者用英文撰写的学术论文与文学批评。 8 ．本刊在具有广泛学术影响力的基础上，力争早日成为国内核心学术期刊与权威国际学术期刊，因此欢迎广大中外文学研究者把最新力作投来本刊，也欢迎广大作者与读者随时提出意见，以便改进本刊的工作。 9 ．限于财力，本刊暂不设稿酬，杂志出版后向作者寄送样刊两本。 10 ．为了提高工作效率，来稿一律寄《世界文学评论》编辑部，不寄个人。 本刊地址：武汉市洪山区雄楚大街 459 号 A-2001 《世界文学评论》编辑部， 430079 本刊网址： http://www.sjwxpl.com 办公电话： 027-86642699 投稿邮箱： sjwxpl@126.com
Taking a page from the German phenomenological movement,he believed that our ideas are the product of experiences of real-lifesituations, and that novels and plays can well describe such fundamentalexperiences, having equal value to discursive essays for the elaboration ofphilosophical theories such as existentialism.
简评莫言讲话 用福格 纳 的 话 来 评论 ： 他 们 不是在写心灵，而是在写器官。 他曲折 委婉地讲述了众多中国人在近代的生存状况。 可以引发许多共鸣。 表露是隐约的， 甚至是圆滑狡诈的 。 骨头并没有从此经历里成长起来。 他或许是中国近代社会人物的一个模型， 在外在以及自我牢笼里，既承受苦难，也恭悲听命 和 钻空自淫 。 确有通俗文学价值。帮助世人理解中国的许多作家和人们。 ”我坚信真理和正义是存在的“： 这句前后不着边的西式话语大概是个后加的装饰。 附两份演讲词： 福克 纳 的 诺贝 尔 文学 奖 演 讲 我感到 这 份 奖 励不是授予我个人，而是授予我的工作 —— 一生用辛 劳 和汗水 为 人 类 精神所做的工作，不是 为 了名，更不是 为 了利，而是 为 了用人 类 精神的原材料 创 造 一些原先不存在的 东 西。所以 这 份 奖 励只是 暂时给 我保管。 为这 笔 奖 金 发 表一篇与它的本来目的和象征相符合的演 说 辞并不困 难 ，但我更愿意在 欢 呼声中做另一件事 情，把 这 个激 动 人心的 时 刻献 给 那些可能正在聆听我 讲话 的、同 样 献身于 艰 苦的文学事 业 的年 轻 男女 们 ，在 这 些人当中肯定有人将来会站在我 现 在站着的地方。 我 们 今天的悲 剧 是一种肉体上的恐惧，它已 经 持 续 了那么久，以至于我 们 几乎都能忍受它了。 现 在已 经 没有任何关于灵魂的 话题 ，有的只是一个 问题 ： “ 我什么 时 候会被炸的粉身碎骨？ ” 正因 为 如此，今天从事写作的年 轻 人已 经 忘 记 了关于人 类 内心深 处 的自我斗争的 题 材，只有 这 个 题 材能写出好的文章，因 为 只有它是 值 得去写的，是 值 得付出辛 劳 和 汗水的。人 们 必 须 重新回 忆 它，必 须 告 诉 自己，世界上最可卑的事情就是恐惧；并且告 诉 自己，永 远 忘 记 它，在自己的工作室里不 给 任何 东 西留下位置，除了那些古 老的真理和心灵的真 实 。缺少了 这 些普遍的真理，任何故事都是短命的、注定要被忘 记 的 ——这 些真理就是 爱 与荣誉，怜 悯 与自尊，同情与 牺 牲。 如果人 们 不注意 这 些真理，他 们 的工作就是无用的。他 们 不是在写 爱 情而是在写情欲，在他 们 描写的失 败 中没有任何人失去任何有价 值 的 东 西；在他 们 描写的 胜 利中 找不到希望，更糟糕的是找不到怜 悯 和同情。他 们 的悲 剧 没有建立在普遍的基 础 上，不能留下任何 伤 痕；他 们 不是在写心灵，而是在写器官。 在人 们 学到 这 些真理以前，他 们 在写作中会 认为 自己已 经 高高在上，并且看 见 了人 类 的末日。我拒 绝 接受关于人 类 末日的 说 法。当然，我 们 可以很 轻 易地 认为 人 类 是 不朽的，因 为 他可以永 远 存在：当最后一 块 无用的礁石在血 红 色的、死气沉沉的黄昏中 伫 立，世界末日的 钟 声在它上空 渐渐远 去 时 ，仍然会有一个声音，那是人 类 仍 然在用微弱但永不停息的声音 说话 。我拒 绝 接受 这 种情景。我相信人 类 不会 仅仅 存在，他 还 将 胜 利。人 类 是不朽的， 这 不是因 为 万物当中 仅仅 他 拥 有 发 言 权 ，而是因 为 他有一个灵魂，一种有同情心、 牺 牲精神和忍耐力的精神。 诗 人、作家的 责 任就是 书 写 这 种精神。他 们 有 权 力升 华 人 类 的心灵，使人 类 回 忆 起 过 去曾 经 使他无比光荣的 东 西 —— 勇气、荣誉、希望、自尊、同情、怜 悯 和 牺 牲，从而帮助人 类 生存下去。 诗 人的声音不 应该仅仅 成 为 人 类 历 史的 记录 ，更 应该 成 为 人 类 存在与 胜 利的支柱和 栋 梁。 英文原文： William Faulkner’s Noble Prize Speech I feel that this award was not made to me as a man, but to my work-a life’s work in the agony and sweat of the human spirit, not for glory and least of all for profit, but to create out of the materials of the human spirit something which did not exist before. So this award is only mine in trust. It will not be difficult to find a dedication for the money part of it commensurate with the purpose and significance of its origin. But I would like to do the same with the acclaim too, by using this moment as a pinnacle from which I might be listened to by the young whom is already dedicated to the same anguish and travail, among whom is already that one who will some day stand where I am standing. Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only one question: When will I be blown up? Because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart on conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid: and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed-love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, defeats in which nobody loses anything of value and victories without hope and worst of all, without pity and compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands. Until he learns these things, he will write as though he stood among and watched the end of man. I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet’s, the writer’s, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which had been the glory of his past. The poet’s voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail. -William Faulkner 莫言讲话 通过电视或网络，我想在座的各位对遥远的高密东北乡，已经有了或多或少的了解。你们也许看到了我的九十岁的老父亲，看到了我的哥哥姐姐、我的妻子女儿，和我的一岁零四个月的外孙子。但是有一个此刻我最想念的人，我的母亲，你们永远无法看到了。我获奖后，很多人分享了我的光荣，但我的母亲却无法分享了。 我母亲生于1922年，卒于1994年。她的骨灰，埋葬在村庄东边的桃园里。去年，一条铁路要从那儿穿过，我们不得不将她的坟墓迁移到距离村子更远的地方。掘开坟墓后，我们看到，棺木已经腐朽，母亲的骨殖，已经与泥土混为一体。我们只好象征性地挖起一些泥土，移到新的墓穴里。也就是从那一时刻起，我感到，我的母亲是大地的一部分，我站在大地上的诉说，就是对母亲的诉说。 我是我母亲最小的孩子。 我记忆中最早的一件事，是提着家里唯一的一把热水壶去公共食堂打开水。因为饥饿无力，失手将热水瓶打碎，我吓得要命，钻进草垛，一天没敢出来。傍晚的时候我听到母亲呼唤我的乳名，我从草垛里钻出来，以为会受到打骂，但母亲没有打我也没有骂我，只是抚摸着我的头，口中发出长长的叹息。 我记忆中最痛苦的一件事，就是跟着母亲去集体的地理拣麦穗，看守麦田的人来了，拣麦穗的人纷纷逃跑，我母亲是小脚，跑不快，被捉住，那个身材高大的看守人煽了她一个耳光，她摇晃着身体跌倒在地，看守人没收了我们拣到的麦穗，吹着口哨扬长而去。我母亲嘴角流血，坐在地上，脸上那种绝望的神情深我终生难忘。多年之后，当那个看守麦田的人成为一个白发苍苍的老人，在集市上与我相逢，我冲上去想找他报仇，母亲拉住了我，平静的对我说：“儿子，那个打我的人，与这个老人，并不是一个人。” 我记得最深刻的一件事是一个中秋节的中午，我们家难得的包了一顿饺子，每人只有一碗。正当我们吃饺子时，一个乞讨的老人来到了我们家门口，我端起半碗红薯干打发他，他却愤愤不平地说：“我是一个老人，你们吃饺子，却让我吃红薯干。你们的心是怎么长的？”我气急败坏的说：“我们一年也吃不了几次饺子，一人一小碗，连半饱都吃不了！给你红薯干就不错了，你要就要，不要就滚！”母亲训斥了我，然后端起她那半碗饺子，倒进了老人碗里。 我最后悔的一件事，就是跟着母亲去卖白菜，有意无意的多算了一位买白菜的老人一毛钱。算完钱我就去了学校。当我放学回家时，看到很少流泪的母亲泪流满面。母亲并没有骂我，只是轻轻的说：“儿子，你让娘丢了脸。” 我十几岁时，母亲患了严重的肺病，饥饿，病痛，劳累，使我们这个家庭陷入了困境，看不到光明和希望。我产生了一种强烈的不祥之兆，以为母亲随时都会自己寻短见。每当我劳动归来，一进大门就高喊母亲，听到她的回应，心中才感到一块石头落了地。如果一时听不到她的回应，我就心惊胆战，跑到厨房和磨坊里寻找。有一次找遍了所有的房间也没有见到母亲的身影，我便坐在了院子里大哭。这时母亲背着一捆柴草从外面走进来。她对我的哭很不满，但我又不能对她说出我的担忧。母亲看到我的心思，她说：“孩子你放心，尽管我活着没有一点乐趣，但只要阎王爷不叫我，我是不会去的。” 我生来相貌丑陋，村子里很多人当面嘲笑我，学校里有几个性格霸蛮的同学甚至为此打我。我回家痛哭，母亲对我说：“儿子，你不丑，你不缺鼻子不缺眼，四肢健全，丑在哪里？而且只要你心存善良，多做好事，即便是丑也能变美。”后来我进入城市，有一些很有文化的人依然在背后甚至当面嘲弄我的相貌，我想起了母亲的话，便心平气和地向他们道歉。 我母亲不识字，但对识字的人十分敬重。我们家生活困难，经常吃了上顿没下顿。但只要我对她提出买书买文具的要求，她总是会满足我。她是个勤劳的人，讨厌懒惰的孩子，但只要是我因为看书耽误了干活，她从来没批评过我。 有一段时间，集市上来了一个说书人。我偷偷地跑去听书，忘记了她分配给我的活儿。为此，母亲批评了我，晚上当她就着一盏小油灯为家人赶制棉衣时，我忍不住把白天从说书人听来的故事复述给她听，起初她有些不耐烦，因为在她心目中说书人都是油嘴滑舌，不务正业的人，从他们嘴里冒不出好话来。但我复述的故事渐渐的吸引了她，以后每逢集日她便不再给我排活，默许我去集上听书。为了报答母亲的恩情，也为了向她炫耀我的记忆力，我会把白天听到的故事，绘声绘色地讲给她听。 很快的，我就不满足复述说书人讲的故事了，我在复述的过程中不断的添油加醋，我会投我母亲所好，编造一些情节，有时候甚至改变故事的结局。我的听众也不仅仅是我的母亲，连我的姐姐，我的婶婶，我的奶奶都成为我的听众。我母亲在听完我的故事后，有时会忧心忡忡地，像是对我说，又像是自言自语：“儿啊，你长大后会成为一个什么人呢？难道要靠耍贫嘴吃饭吗？” 我理解母亲的担忧，因为在村子里，一个贫嘴的孩子，是招人厌烦的，有时候还会给自己和家庭带来麻烦。我在小说《牛》里所写的那个因为话多被村子里厌恶的孩子，就有我童年时的影子。我母亲经常提醒我少说话，她希望我能做一个沉默寡言、安稳大方的孩子。但在我身上，却显露出极强的说话能力和极大的说话欲望，这无疑是极大的危险，但我说的故事的能力，又带给了她愉悦，这使他陷入深深的矛盾之中。 俗话说“江山易改、本性难移”，尽管我有父母亲的谆谆教导，但我并没有改掉我喜欢说话的天性，这使得我的名字“莫言”，很像对自己的讽刺。 我小学未毕业即辍学，因为年幼体弱，干不了重活，只好到荒草滩上去放牧牛羊。当我牵着牛羊从学校门前路过，看到昔日的同学在校园里打打闹闹，我心中充满悲凉，深深地体会到一个人，哪怕是一个孩子，离开群体后的痛苦。 到了荒滩上，我把牛羊放开，让它们自己吃草。蓝天如海，草地一望无际，周围看不到一个人影，没有人的声音，只有鸟儿在天上鸣叫。我感到很孤独，很寂寞，心里空空荡荡。有时候，我躺在草地上，望着天上懒洋洋地飘动着的白云，脑海里便浮现出许多莫名其妙的幻象。我们那地方流传着许多狐狸变成美女的故事，我幻想着能有一个狐狸变成美女与我来作伴放牛，但她始终没有出现。但有一次，一只火红色的狐狸从我面前的草丛中跳出来时，我被吓得一屁股蹲在地上。狐狸跑没了踪影，我还在那里颤抖。有时候我会蹲在牛的身旁，看着湛蓝的牛眼和牛眼中的我的倒影。有时候我会模仿着鸟儿的叫声试图与天上的鸟儿对话，有时候我会对一棵树诉说心声。但鸟儿不理我，树也不理我。许多年后，当我成为一个小说家，当年的许多幻想，都被我写进了小说。很多人夸我想象力丰富，有一些文学爱好者，希望我能告诉他们培养想象力的秘诀，对此，我只能报以苦笑。 就像中国的先贤老子所说的那样：“福兮祸之所伏，福祸福所倚”，我童年辍学，饱受饥饿、孤独、无书可读之苦，但我因此也像我们的前辈作家沈从文那样，及早地开始阅读社会人生这本大书。前面所提到的到集市上去听说数人说书，仅仅是这本大书中的一页。 辍学之后，我混迹于成人之中，开始了“用耳朵阅读”的漫长生涯。二百多年前，我的故乡曾出了一个讲故事的伟大天才——蒲松龄，我们村里的许多人，包括我，都是他的传人。我在集体劳动的田间地头，在生产队的牛棚马厩，在我爷爷奶奶的热炕头上，甚至在摇摇晃晃地进行着的牛车社，聆听了许许多多神鬼故事，历史传奇，逸闻趣事，这些故事都与当地的自然环境，家庭历史紧密联系在一起，使我产生了强烈的现实感。 我做梦也想不到有朝一日这些东西会成为我的写作素材，我当时只是一个迷恋故事的孩子，醉心地聆听着人们的讲述。那时我是一个绝对的有神论者，我相信万物都有灵性，我见到一棵大树会肃然起敬。我看到一只鸟会感到它随时会变化成人，我遇到一个陌生人，也会怀疑他是一个动物变化而成。每当夜晚我从生产队的记工房回家时，无边的恐惧便包围了我，为了壮胆，我一边奔跑一边大声歌唱。那时我正处在变声期，嗓音嘶哑，声调难听，我的歌唱，是对我的乡亲们的一种折磨。 我在故乡生活了二十一年，期间离家最远的是乘火车去了一次青岛，还差点迷失在木材厂的巨大木材之间，以至于我母亲问我去青岛看到了什么风景时，我沮丧地告诉她：什么都没看到，只看到了一堆堆的木头。但也就是这次青岛之行，使我产生了想离开故乡到外边去看世界的强烈愿望。 1976 年2 月，我应征入伍，背着我母亲卖掉结婚时的首饰帮我购买的四本《中国通史简编》，走出了高密东北乡这个既让我爱又让我恨的地方，开始了我人生的重要时期。我必须承认，如果没有30 多年来中国社会的巨大发展与进步，如果没有改革开放，也不会有我这样一个作家。 在军营的枯燥生活中，我迎来了八十年代的思想解放和文学热潮，我从一个用耳朵聆听故事，用嘴巴讲述故事的孩子，开始尝试用笔来讲述故事。起初的道路并不平坦，我那时并没有意识到我二十多年的农村生活经验是文学的富矿，那时我以为文学就是写好人好事，就是写英雄模范，所以，尽管也发表了几篇作品，但文学价值很低。 1984年秋，我考入解放军艺术学院文学系。在我的恩师著名作家徐怀中的启发指导下，我写出了《秋水》、《枯河》、《透明的红萝卜》、《红高粱》等一批中短篇小说。在《秋水》这篇小说里，第一次出现了“高密东北乡”这个字眼，从此，就如同一个四处游荡的农民有了一片土地，我这样一个文学的流浪汉，终于有了一个可以安身立命的场所。我必须承认，在创建我的文学领地“高密东北乡”的过程中，美国的威廉·福克纳和哥伦比亚的加西亚·马尔克斯给了我重要启发。我对他们的阅读并不认真，但他们开天辟地的豪迈精神激励了我，使我明白了一个作家必须要有一块属于自己的地方。一个人在日常生活中应该谦卑退让，但在文学创作中，必须颐指气使，独断专行。我追随在这两位大师身后两年，即意识到，必须尽快地逃离他们，我在一篇文章中写道：他们是两座灼热的火炉，而我是冰块，如果离他们太近，会被他们蒸发掉。根据我的体会，一个作家之所以会受到某一位作家的影响，其根本是因为影响者和被影响者灵魂深处的相似之处。正所谓“心有灵犀一点通”。所以，尽管我没有很好地去读他们的书，但只读过几页，我就明白了他们干了什么，也明白了他们是怎样干的，随即我也就明白了我该干什么和我该怎样干。 我该干的事情其实很简单，那就是用自己的方式，讲自己的故事。我的方式，就是我所熟知的集市说书人的方式，就是我的爷爷奶奶、村里的老人们讲故事的方式。坦率地说，讲述的时候，我没有想到谁会是我的听众，也许我的听众就是那些如我母亲一样的人，也许我的听众就是我自己，我自己的故事，起初就是我的亲身经历，譬如《枯河》中那个遭受痛打的孩子，譬如《透明的红萝卜》中那个自始至终一言不发的孩子。我的确曾因为干过一件错事而受到过父亲的痛打，我也的确曾在桥梁工地上为铁匠师傅拉过风箱。当然，个人的经历无论多么奇特也不可能原封不动地写进小说，小说必须虚构，必须想象。很多朋友说《透明的红萝卜》是我最好的小说，对此我不反驳，也不认同，但我认为《透明的红萝卜》是我的作品中最有象征性、最意味深长的一部。那个浑身漆黑、具有超人的忍受痛苦的能力和超人的感受能力的孩子，是我全部小说的灵魂，尽管在后来的小说里，我写了很多的人物，但没有一个人物，比他更贴近我的灵魂。或者可以说，一个作家所塑造的若干人物中，总有一个领头的，这个沉默的孩子就是一个领头的，他一言不发，但却有力地领导着形形色色的人物，在高密东北乡这个舞台上，尽情地表演。 自己的故事总是有限的，讲完了自己的故事，就必须讲他人的故事。于是，我的亲人们的故事，我的村人们的故事，以及我从老人们口中听到过的祖先们的故事，就像听到集合令的士兵一样，从我的记忆深处涌出来。他们用期盼的目光看着我，等待着我去写他们。我的爷爷、奶奶、父亲、母亲、哥哥、姐姐、姑姑、叔叔、妻子、女儿，都在我的作品里出现过，还有很多的我们高密东北乡的乡亲，也都在我的小说里露过面。当然，我对他们，都进行了文学化的处理，使他们超越了他们自身，成为文学中的人物。 我最新的小说《蛙》中，就出现了我姑姑的形象。因为我获得诺贝尔奖，许多记者到她家采访，起初她还很耐心地回答提问，但很快便不胜其烦，跑到县城里她儿子家躲起来了。姑姑确实是我写《蛙》时的模特，但小说中的姑姑，与现实生活中的姑姑有着天壤之别。小说中的姑姑专横跋扈，有时简直像个女匪，现实中的姑姑和善开朗，是一个标准的贤妻良母。现实中的姑姑晚年生活幸福美满，小说中的姑姑到了晚年却因为心灵的巨大痛苦患上了失眠症，身披黑袍，像个幽灵一样在暗夜中游荡。我感谢姑姑的宽容，她没有因为我在小说中把她写成那样而生气；我也十分敬佩我姑姑的明智，她正确地理解了小说中人物与现实中人物的复杂关系。 母亲去世后，我悲痛万分，决定写一部书献给她。这就是那本《丰乳肥臀》。因为胸有成竹，因为情感充盈，仅用了83 天，我便写出了这部长达50 万字的小说的初稿。 在《丰乳肥臀》这本书里，我肆无忌惮地使用了与我母亲的亲身经历有关的素材，但书中的母亲情感方面的经历，则是虚构或取材于高密东北乡诸多母亲的经历。在这本书的卷前语上，我写下了“献给母亲在天之灵”的话，但这本书，实际上是献给天下母亲的，这是我狂妄的野心，就像我希望把小小的“高密东北乡”写成中国乃至世界的缩影一样。 作家的创作过程各有特色，我每本书的构思与灵感触发也都不尽相同。有的小说起源于梦境，譬如《透明的红萝卜》，有的小说则发端于现实生活中发生的事件——譬如《天堂蒜薹之歌》。但无论是起源于梦境还是发端于现实，最后都必须和个人的经验相结合，才有可能变成一部具有鲜明个性的，用无数生动细节塑造出了典型人物的、语言丰富多彩、结构匠心独运的文学作品。有必要特别提及的是，在《天堂蒜薹之歌》中，我让一个真正的说书人登场，并在书中扮演了十分重要的角色。我十分抱歉地使用了这个说书人真实姓名，当然，他在书中的所有行为都是虚构。在我的写作中，出现过多次这样的现象，写作之初，我使用他们的真实姓名，希望能借此获得一种亲近感，但作品完成之后，我想为他们改换姓名时却感到已经不可能了，因此 也发生过与我小说中人物同名者找到我父亲发泄不满的事情，我父亲替我向他们道歉，但同时又开导他们不要当真。我父亲说：“他在《红高粱》中，第一句就说‘我父亲这个土匪种’，我都不在意你们还在意什么？” 我在写作《天堂蒜薹之歌》这类逼近社会现实的小说时，面对着的最大问题，其实不是我敢不敢对社会上的黑暗现象进行批评，而是这燃烧的激情和愤怒会让政治压倒文学，使这部小说变成一个社会事件的纪实报告。小说家是社会中人，他自然有自己的立场和观点，但小说家在写作时，必须站在人的立场上，把所有的人都当做人来写。只有这样，文学才能发端事件但超越事件，关心政治但大于政治。 可能是因为我经历过长期的艰难生活，使我对人性有较为深刻的了解。我知道真正的勇敢是什么，也明白真正的悲悯是什么。我知道，每个人心中都有一片难用是非善恶准确定性的朦胧地带，而这片地带，正是文学家施展才华的广阔天地。只要是准确地、生动地描写了这个充满矛盾的朦胧地带的作品，也就必然地超越了政治并具备了优秀文学的品质。 喋喋不休地讲述自己的作品是令人厌烦的，但我的人生是与我的作品紧密相连的，不讲作品，我感到无从下嘴，所以还得请各位原谅。 在我的早期作品中，我作为一个现代的说书人，是隐藏在文本背后的，但从《檀香刑》这部小说开始，我终于从后台跳到了前台。如果说我早期的作品是自言自语，目无读者，从这本书开始，我感觉到自己是站在一个广场上，面对着许多听众，绘声绘色地讲述。这是世界小说的传统，更是中国小说的传统。我也曾积极地向西方的现代派小说学习，也曾经玩弄过形形色色的叙事花样，但我最终回归了传统。当然，这种回归，不是一成不变的回归，《檀香刑》和之后的小说，是继承了中国古典小说传统又借鉴了西方小说技术的混合文本。小说领域的所谓创新，基本上都是这种混合的产物。不仅仅是本国文学传统与外国小说技巧的混合，也是小说与其他的艺术门类的混合，就像《檀香刑》是与民间戏曲的混合，就像我早期的一些小说从美术、音乐、甚至杂技中汲取了营养一样。 最后，请允许我再讲一下我的《生死疲劳》。这个书名来自佛教经典，据我所知，为翻译这个书名，各国的翻译家都很头痛。我对佛教经典并没有深入研究，对佛教的理解自然十分肤浅，之所以以此为题，是因为我觉得佛教的许多基本思想，是真正的宇宙意识，人世中许多纷争，在佛家的眼里，是毫无意义的。这样一种至高眼界下的人世，显得十分可悲。当然，我没有把这本书写成布道词，我写的还是人的命运与人的情感，人的局限与人的宽容，以及人为追求幸福、坚持自己的信念所做出的努力与牺牲。小说中那位以一己之身与时代潮流对抗的蓝脸，在我心目中是一位真正的英雄。这个人物的原型，是我们邻村的一位农民，我童年时，经常看到他推着一辆吱吱作响的木轮车，从我家门前的道路上通过。给他拉车的，是一头瘸腿的毛驴，为他牵驴的，是他小脚的妻子。这个奇怪的劳动组合，在当时的集体化社会里，显得那么古怪和不合时宜，在我们这些孩子的眼里，也把他们看成是逆历史潮流而动的小丑，以至于当他们从街上经过时，我们会充满义愤地朝他们投掷石块。事过多年，当我拿起笔来写作时，这个人物，这个画面，便浮现在我的脑海中。我知道，我总有一天会为他写一本书，我迟早要把他的故事讲给天下人听，但一直到了2005年，当我在一座庙宇里看到“六道轮回”的壁画时，才明白了讲述这个故事的正确方法。 我获得诺贝尔文学奖后，引发了一些争议。起初，我还以为大家争议的对象是我，渐渐的，我感到这个被争议的对象，是一个与我毫不相关的人。我如同一个看戏人，看着众人的表演。我看到那个得奖人身上落满了花朵，也被掷上了石块、泼上了污水。我生怕他被打垮，但他微笑着从花朵和石块中钻出来，擦干净身上的脏水，坦然地站在一边，对着众人说： 对一个作家来说，最好的说话方式是写作。我该说的话都写进了我的作品里。用嘴说出的话随风而散，用笔写出的话永不磨灭。我希望你们能耐心地读一下我的书，当然，我没有资格强迫你们读我的书。即便你们读了我的书，我也不期望你们能改变对我的看法，世界上还没有一个作家，能让所有的读者都喜欢他。在当今这样的时代里，更是如此。 尽管我什么都不想说，但在今天这样的场合我必须说话，那我就简单地再说几句。 我是一个讲故事的人，我还是要给你们讲故事。 上世纪六十年代，我上小学三年级的时候，学校里组织我们去参观一个苦难展览，我们在老师的引领下放声大哭。为了能让老师看到我的表现，我舍不得擦去脸上的泪水。我看到有几位同学悄悄地将唾沫抹到脸上冒充泪水。我还看到在一片真哭假哭的同学之间，有一位同学，脸上没有一滴泪，嘴巴里没有一点声音，也没有用手掩面。他睁着大眼看着我们，眼睛里流露出惊讶或者是困惑的神情。事后，我向老师报告了这位同学的行为。为此，学校给了这位同学一个警告处分。 多年之后，当我因自己的告密向老师忏悔时，老师说，那天来找他说这件事的，有十几个同学。这位同学十几年前就已去世，每当想起他，我就深感歉疚。这件事让我悟到一个道理，那就是：当众人都哭时，应该允许有的人不哭。当哭成为一种表演时，更应该允许有的人不哭。 我再讲一个故事：三十多年前，我还在部队工作。有一天晚上，我在办公室看书，有一位老长官推门进来，看了一眼我对面的位置，自言自语道：“噢，没有人？”我随即站起来，高声说：“难道我不是人吗？”那位老长官被我顶得面红耳赤，尴尬而退。为此事，我洋洋得意了许久，以为自己是个英勇的斗士，但事过多年后，我却为此深感内疚。 请允许我讲最后一个故事，这是许多年前我爷爷讲给我听过的：有八个外出打工的泥瓦匠，为避一场暴风雨，躲进了一座破庙。外边的雷声一阵紧似一阵，一个个的火球，在庙门外滚来滚去，空中似乎还有吱吱的龙叫声。众人都胆战心惊，面如土色。有一个人说：“我们八个人中，必定一个人干过伤天害理的坏事，谁干过坏事，就自己走出庙接受惩罚吧，免得让好人受到牵连。”自然没有人愿意出去。又有人提议道：“既然大家都不想出去，那我们就将自己的草帽往外抛吧，谁的草帽被刮出庙门，就说明谁干了坏事，那就请他出去接受惩罚。” 于是大家就将自己的草帽往庙门外抛，七个人的草帽被刮回了庙内，只有一个人的草帽被卷了出去。大家就催这个人出去受罚，他自然不愿出去，众人便将他抬起来扔出了庙门。故事的结局我估计大家都猜到了——那个人刚被扔出庙门，那座破庙轰然坍塌。 我是一个讲故事的人。 因为讲故事我获得了诺贝尔文学奖。 我获奖后发生了很多精彩的故事，这些故事，让我坚信真理和正义是存在的。 今后的岁月里，我将继续讲我的故事。 谢谢大家！
看了邢老人家《莫言在诺贝尔颁奖典礼上的讲话（英中文对照）》觉得意犹未尽，我给扩充一下（红色字体），如有必要，请老人家做个翻译： Dear old and youngmen, dear girls and wives， 亲爱的老少爷们儿、亲爱的姑娘媳妇儿， My name is shut up! My sister's name is don't worry, and my brother's name is don't hurry.Many Chinese people believe that they will get gold if they don't say any words.But I believe that everything is from nothing. 我叫莫言，我妹妹叫莫愁，我弟弟叫莫急。许多中国人相信沉默是金，而我相信一切尽在不言中。 My most famous novel is “Big Breast and Fat Hip”. Do you know what I mean?In China it is often regarded as a yellow book. Soold and young men like reading it. The police will sweep yellowthings if they are too yellow.I am lucky that my books are not that yellow. 我最有名的作品是《丰乳肥臀》。你知道我在说什么吗?在中国它经常被人当作黄书，所以老少爷们儿都喜欢看。太黄的东西，是要被警察扫黄的。我很幸运，我的书还不够黄。 说到黄书，我知道，对于你们西方人来讲一点也不稀奇，你们可以写得那么露骨，那么色情，甚至那么肮脏，但是，我们东方民族不行。我们追求含蓄。你们可能不了解，中国古代文学名著《红楼梦》把风月之事也写得如小桥流水一般情意悠然。当然，中国也有真正的黄书，比如《金瓶梅》，不过，这是一本禁书，只供妻妾成群的王公贵族阅览。为了迎合你们的口味，我也就顾不得廉耻，把我奶奶的大奶和屁股呈现出来供大家玩乐。所以，我的确算是色胆包天了。关于你们的口味，我是摸索了很多年的。中国的庙你们不懂，和尚和尼姑的风流韵事你们更不懂，所以，我一开始就写教堂，写牧师，让中国人都以为这是一部西方人的作品。不这样做，恐怕我今天这个牛B奖就落入了鬼子的裤裆。嘻嘻，为了这个牛B奖我把你们都耍了。 当然，我也不光会写黄书，我还会把故事写得过分血腥，过分残酷。现代社会，不痛不痒的故事已经无法打动读者了。所以，我才在《红高粱》里想到了生剥人皮等一些血腥的故事。这样一种震撼的场面对人的神经的强烈刺激不是一般人能想到的。我所揭示的贫穷和愚昧的夸张程度，也不是一般人能达到的。中华民族曾经有个鲁迅也用了类似的风格揭露社会的愚昧和黑暗，可惜你们没给他牛B奖，现在给我算是对中国人的一点补偿。 我现在可以算个文学家了，所以我再谈点文学。文学有什么意义？有一个生动例子可以说明这个问题。鲁迅笔下的阿Q直率地向吴妈求爱--我想和你困觉。然而，如此坦诚的纯真的爱情却被当做性骚扰，阿Q不得不当了一件破棉袄给吴妈赔礼道歉。这是为什么？那就是因为阿Q缺少文学。 换了徐志摩，他就会说‘我是天空里的一片云，偶尔投影在你的波心……’那该是多么浪漫温馨的一个场面哦，吴妈肯定会感动得眼泪鼻涕一大把，瘫软在阿Q怀里紧紧握住阿Q的手，温柔地唱道：‘你问我爱你有多深？月亮代表我的心。’”（这句抄袭自莫言）可见，文学给了我们欺骗的手腕。再如科学网邢老人家，他的文字风趣幽默又不失典雅，所以，他身边总是美女如云，另外，这个情场高手，不久一定能写出伟大的作品来，请你们把牛B奖先给他预备一个。总之，全世界人民都应该学文学懂文学。文学才能让我们艳福无边。o-ye! After I get the prize, I plan to buy a big house in Beijing. How big is big? About 120 square meters. But first of all, I need to apply for an ID card in Beijing. I am very very happy. 我拿到奖金之后，准备在北京买个大房子。多大？大概120平米。但首先，我需要申请一个北京身份证。我好好幸福耶！ Thank the party, thank the government, thank my parents, thank my sisters and brothers, thank my wife, and thank you! I love you, and do you love me? Please loudly! 感谢党、感谢政府、感谢我的父母、感谢我的兄弟姐妹、感谢我老婆，感谢你们。我爱你们，你们爱我吗？请大点声！ Shut up! 莫言
“化学当作文学教（Teaching Chemistry as a Liberal Art）”，这不但要有学识、渊识、高识，还要有激情和勇气。哈佛大学教授Dudley Herschbach（Yuan Tseh Lee的博士后导师, 1986年获Nobel化学奖）给一年级大学生开普通化学，一开就是几十年；化学当作文学教，每年吸引三四百人来听课；他真教神了，哈佛大学把这称为“化学谈禅”(Chem Zen)。何谓禅，禅是中土佛教的重要组成部分，也是中国文化的重要组成部分。禅是一种灭苦的生活之道，顿悟的理想玄妙，修持的方法也玄妙，难以言传。但想了解又必须以言传。Dudley Herschbach就是这样一个人，应该说，他给自己揽了一项最大的挑战！ Teaching Chemistry as a Liberal Art Painting, Poetry, and Safaris interact to form potent concoction By Dudley Herschbach For the past 16 years I have taught general chemistry in various versions to large classes of up to 350 students, chiefly freshmen. It has been a challenging and satisfying experience. Students have nicknamed this course "Chem Zen." Perhaps naively, I like to think that endorses its key underlying theme: science as a liberal art. Although the course includes plenty of technical material, my approach emphasizes the human adventure, replete with foibles as well as feats, in exploring a fabulous molecular world. As in the course, I will try to convey aspects of this "liberal science" theme by means of some whimsical metaphors. I will also describe specific efforts to implement the theme in the major components of the course: lectures, homework problems, lab, and exams. I conclude with a plea pertaining to science literacy. Impressionistic epistemology A liberal education aims above all to instill the habit of self-generated questioning and thinking. This habit is essential for science, but too often it is not fostered in introductory courses. Any chemist can attest to the usual reaction on being introduced to someone at a social occasion. Almost always they turn pale or wince, then refer to a mystifying college or high school course. My reaction is sympathetic, since I recall my puzzlement when I first met chemistry as a high-school junior; only after many weeks did I begin to "get the hang of it." Now I think the root problem, confusing for students and teachers alike, resides not in the quirks of atoms and molecules, but simply in how we think and talk about them. My favorite way to explain this to my students invokes a metaphor: chemistry is like an impressionistic painting. If we view it from too close, all we see is bewildering detail in myriad dabs of paint. If we look from too far away, all we see is a shimmering blur. At the right distance, wondrous and lovely things appear. The metaphor emphasizes that, of necessity, chemical descriptions and concepts call on a wide variety of levels of abstraction or approximation. These differ markedly in rigor or sophistication. Until the neophyte develops the knack of picking up clues that specify the appropriate level, most everything will be out-of-focus. Even professional scientists often have the same trouble with chemistry. Physicists always want to reduce things to first principles; they tend to stand too close. Biologists usually want to resolve only the broad features; they tend to stand too far back. Either way, the chemical ideas disappear. There is much more to the painting than the paint. . . . . Empowerment by language Another apt metaphor depicts science as a language. In introductory science textbooks, the number of new or ordinary words used with special meaning is comparable to the vocabulary of a typical language text. Likewise, the array of interlocking concepts met in a science course functions much like grammatical rules. I tell my students about a study conducted by Richard Light, based on interviews with 800 Harvard seniors or freshly minted alumni. When asked what academic classes they felt had been the most valuable, most said it was a language course. Anyone who learns to read or speak a foreign language -- including science, mathematics, or music -- is empowered by gaining access to exhilarating new cultural domains. This metaphor is useful in advising students how to approach the study of science. An aspect emphasized by a language metaphor is the kinship of neophyte students with research scientists. Nature speaks to us in many tongues. They are all alien. In frontier research, the scientist is trying to discover something of the grammar and vocabulary of at least one of these dialects. To the extent the scientist succeeds, we gain the ability to decipher many messages that Nature has left for us, blithely or coyly. No matter how much effort we might devote to solve a practical problem in science or technology, failure is inevitable unless we can read the answers that Nature is willing to give us. That is why basic research is an essential and practical investment, and why its most important yield is ideas and understanding. In delivering this sermonette, I like to add that the beginning student and the veteran research scientist are very much alike in an important respect: much of the time both are quite confused! That makes many students uneasy or even distraught. However, puzzlement is welcomed by the scientist, who realizes it's usually prerequisite for any exciting new insight. The veteran researcher is also aware of a tremendous advantage enjoyed by science: the goal, call it truth or understanding, waits patiently to be discovered. That is why marvelous advances can be achieved by ordinary human talent, given sustained effort and freedom in the pursuit. . . . . Parables and paradigms Most students taking freshman chemistry have already had a high school course. Thus, they have encountered many standard topics, such as the gas laws, acids and bases, covalent bonding, etc. However, rarely do students have any notion of how such prototypical concepts emerged, how widely applicable they are, or how they affected other developments. In view of this, in my lectures I now introduce each major topic with a story, usually having the character of a parable. By presenting science in a more humanistic mode, these parables can disarm fears, reveal a much broader context for nominally familiar concepts, and even induce students to relate the tales to others. Many of the parables deal with historical episodes or current research discoveries; some are fanciful. Often the stories emphasize the role of analogy and guesswork, or show how error and failure are prevalent in science but can foster progress if "wrong in an interesting way." The introductory story for my lecture on gas laws is titled "How Aristotle and Galileo Were Stumped by the Water Pump." After illustrating how such a suction pump works, because few student have seen one nowadays, I note that Aristotle "explained" it by his famous dictum that "Nature abhors a vacuum." Then I raise the question why the pump will not lift water above a height of 34 feet. This empirical fact was known in Aristotle's day, as evident from artwork that depicts a series of pumps lifting water from a deep river gorge, with human figures providing the scale. Curiously, Aristotle said nothing about why a tall drink seems to quench Nature's abhorrence. Two thousand years later, Galileo specifically considered that question. He suggested that the pump ceases to function because a taller column of water would break of its own weight. That answer is also quite wrong; when asked for contrary examples, students quickly point to waterfalls and fire hoses. The right idea was proposed by Torricelli, one of Galileo's students. (I enjoy pointing out that some of today's students are likewise destined to solve problems that have long stumped their professors.) Galileo knew that air had weight and had devised a means of weighing it, but he did not connect this with the operation of a water pump. Torricelli realized that the weight of the air would force water to rise in the pump barrel. This concept implied that the observed limit of 34 feet represented the weight of water that the pressure of the air on the earth's surface could maintain. To test his idea, Torricelli tried an experiment. For convenience, he used mercury, a liquid about 14 times heavier than water. If he was right, the atmospheric pressure should support a column of mercury only about one-fourteenth as high as that of water, or about 30 inches. His apparatus was simply a glass tube about three feet long, with one end sealed. He filled it with mercury, then inverted the tube in a bowl of mercury open to the atmosphere. In repeating this experiment for my classes, I'm always elated to see the mercury column in the tube drop to a height of about thirty inches above the level in the bowl. From weather reports, everyone knows about variations in atmospheric pressure, but few are aware that it is still monitored by Torricelli's barometer, in essentially the same form he devised 350 years ago. I go on to demonstrate how vacuum pumps, evolved from the barometer, enabled measurements that established the gas laws. The story offers several morals. It illustrates well how a maverick idea, tested by experiment, can overthrow long-accepted doctrines. The vacuum left between the top of the mercury column and the sealed end of the glass tube refuted Aristotle's dictum. His venerable authority did not yield quietly. Many scholarly papers in Torricelli's day tried in vain to save the old view by postulating such things as invisible threads holding up the mercury. The story also shows how a new conceptual paradigm gives rise to experimental techniques that further extend its scope. Above all, it exemplifies how profound insights may lurk in seemingly mundane observations. . . . Poetry for Chemists An introductory science course too often comes across to students as a frozen body of dogma. The questions and problems seem to have only one right answer, to be found by some canonical procedure. The student who does not easily grasp the "right" way, or finds it uncongenial, is likely to become alienated. There seems to be very little scope for a personal, innovative experience. Nothing could be further from what actual frontier science is like. At the outset, nobody knows the "right" answer, often not even the right question or approach. So the focus is on asking an interesting question or casting the familiar in a new light. Concern about this syndrome led me years ago to ask my students, at two or three points in the term, to write poems about major themes or concepts: wave-particle duality, entropy, or a host of others. That is more like doing real science than the usual textbook exercises. In fact, I find that most students have never tried to write a poem before and have no idea how to go about it. That, too, is like real science, where we grope along, run into dead ends, try again, and slowly find a way. A selection of the class poems, judged best by the teaching fellows and me, is posted in the science center library. Also, I award the authors a charming little book of verse by Robert W. Wood, a pioneer molecular spectroscopist, also celebrated for his practical jokes. In 1917 he published a book entitled How To Tell the Birds from the Flowers, a collection of 50 woodcuts, each illustrating a poem. Here is a stanza from one of my favorite poems by a student, Kerry Bron, titled Quantumland: Do you know a special secret place Filling much of invisible space Where frogs can only jump so far And the range of an ordinary bike or car Can be only ten or twenty miles And every person has only half or whole smiles Where dogs bark at specific levels of pitch And people can only be a certain amount rich? Qualitative problem solving Introductory courses in physical science typically put much emphasis on solving numerical problems. Students certainly need to develop competence and confidence in solving such problems. But just as with other skillful arts, like music, dance, and sports, practice routines do not automatically produce happy results. Exercises overdone or poorly done often induce dullness or bad habits. The usual textbook problems should bear a warning label: Too much exposure to this stuff is dangerous to your mental health! Typically, the danger is manifested in three ways: 1. The plug-and-chug syndrome. Many students seek to minimize exposure. This is done by flipping rapidly through the textbook to find formulas in which to insert the data supplied in the problem. Authors and editors take great pains to make this process easy, but that is not always obvious to a hasty, drowsy student. 2 The just-the-right-data syndrome. Almost never does a patient tell a physician exactly, nothing less and nothing more, what the doctor needs to know for a diagnosis. Yet, by long-established custom, that is what is done in textbook problems. This deprives the student of the opportunity to practice two key aspects of genuine problem solving: asking "what do I need to know?" and discerning what is significant information. 3. The don't-know-how syndrome. Studies in cognitive science show that even quite able students cannot solve problems only slightly different from those they have done before, unless they have a qualitative understanding. The usual textbook problems condition students to rely on a carefully structured context, to follow a safe path to the right answer. Guessing and qualitative reasoning is thereby discouraged. Students too often do not discover how much they can figure out on their own, the most gratifying and essential lesson. The four preceding paragraphs are from my introduction to a book of problems prepared by Dan Brouch, an excellent head teaching fellow for Chem Zen. The book presents one hundred qualitative problems, spanning the whole subject matter of the course. None requires other than trivial arithmetic. Each has a plausible "real-life" or humorous setting. Some even have more than one correct answer, but the wrong ones are nonetheless instructive, as often happens in scientific research. By avoiding the usual syndromes, the book aims to help students nurture latent talent for qualitative reasoning. This is needed as well to handle so-called word problems that require understanding to set up calculations. Safari in the chem lab Too often, laboratory work in general chemistry courses has a ritualistic character. Students follow a carefully specified protocol, enshrined in a laboratory manual and interpreted or reinforced by priestlike figures garbed in white coats -- the teaching fellows. This fosters slavish imitation and timidity rather than the self-reliant, innovative, experimental spirit that is the essence of science. The approach taken in Chem Zen simply emulates the pursuit of actual frontier research in order to encourage students to be adventurous and enterprising. Nothing is done as an exercise for its own sake; rather, everything serves as preparation for projects chosen by and designed by the students. The lab manual, titled Chemistry Safari, was prepared in several successive editions by Paul Ma, another excellent head teaching fellow. The manual offers a user-friendly guide, rather than itemizing a step-by-step path. The journey is enlivened and aided by the company of Jafari, an evangelical and exuberant commentator strikingly like Paul Ma. During the early weeks of the term, students read general descriptions of six to eight feasible projects in a "Chosen Adventure" section at the back of the manual. Literature references allow them to track down pertinent background. Each student selects a general project and starts developing a personal version. In each of the first seven weeks, students carry out a training project acquainting them with basic techniques in a different area of chemistry. These require working out designs in a "Jungle Bootcamp" portion of the manual. The last four weeks of the term are devoted to executing the chosen adventure. A report in the style and format of research article is required. It is submitted, reviewed by teaching fellows, and accepted, rejected, or returned for revision and resubmission in the same way articles are handled by science journals. In recent years, several of the best reports have been published in a Journal of Undergraduate Sciences launched by Paul Ma and alumni/ae of Chem Zen. Exams and grades Student attitudes and morale naturally are greatly influenced by exam and grading policies. Chem Zen has two distinctive precepts: (1) no competition among students is allowed and (2) no points can be "lost" on hour exams. To implement the first, we simply use an absolute grading scale, defining at the outset how many points from exams, homework, and labs are needed to reach each grade level. This enables us to encourage students to help each other and to assign some homework and quizzes as team problems, again emulating how most real science is done. In principle, everyone can get an A, in contrast to the customary, mindless grading on the curve, which guarantees disappointing a fair fraction of the class. I call the second a "resurrection" policy. Any points a student fails to earn on an hour exam are added to the corresponding section of that student's final exam, so the student gets a second shot at earning those points. This reduces anxiety about a subpar performance on an hour exam and helps students to view the exams as trial runs indicating what to focus on most diligently in preparing for the final. By extension, this policy also offers a paradigm for later life. Science literacy A liberal arts education must aim to integrate science into our general culture. Many admirable efforts have been made, but at present science literacy, by any sensible definition, remains remarkably low even among college graduates. It seems to me unlikely that much will be accomplished if we continue to confine science to separate courses. Even a "physics for poets" course reinforces the prevalent view that science belongs solely to its professionals. My experience with Chem Zen, reinforced by conversations with many students who have avoided science, convinces me that it would be feasible and worthwhile to include scientific parables in many other subjects: history, economics, even literature. This is affirmed by students in such fields, not in my course, who attend lectures or come to office hours in order to pursue a parable they have heard about. I urge science teachers to become unabashedly evangelical by suggesting suitable parables to receptive faculty colleagues. Liberal science can foster an educational alchemy that seeks to make the whole greatly exceed the sum of its parts. Dudley Herschbach, Frank B. Baird Jr. Professor of Science, received the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 1986. This piece is excerpted with permission from Liberal Education, Volume 82, No. 4. Copyright is held by the Association of American Colleges and Universities.
数学史家 Eves 搜罗了一些文学作品里的“数学描述”，挺有意思—— @ “总之，女人是个问题，自打布鲁克先生对它无可奈何，它几乎比不规则固体的旋转还要复杂。”（ George Eliot, Middlemarch ） @ “在乳白色粉墙的另一边，木工店的圆锯唧唧呀呀响不停，在尖利而可怕的啸声中锯下一块块木头。他解决了十道三角题。他解开缠绕在头脑里的结，把它们从联系平面几何与立体几何的长长问题中一个个分离出来，得到答案。” ( John Updike ， Pigeon Feathers ) @ “他内心的恐惧经过那场严峻的考验已经孤立了，现在却无言能表达孤立与伙伴之间的深渊。也许可以向数学家承认二加二等于四，但二不等于一加一；二是一的两千倍。就因为这一点，纵然有千般不好，世界最终还是要回到一夫一妻制。”（ Gilbert Keith Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday ） @ 他的脸有点儿方，他的下巴也是方的，他的肩膀还是方的，就连他的外套都是方的。实际上，在当时流行的野派漫画里，比尔博姆（ Max Beerbohm ）先生就把自己画成欧几里得《原本》第四卷的一个命题。（ Chesterton, The Wisdom of Father Brown ）【欧几里得《原本》第四卷命题 6 ， 7 ， 8 ， 9 都是关于正方形作图的。】 @ “他知道有一个联系时间和距离的数学公式。还没人为两者之比给一个名称或符号，而时间与罪行的关系也是错综复杂的。距离一个案件写进书里的时间越久，正义的力量也就显得越小，二者是成反比的。”（ Catherine Aird, Harm’s Way ） @ “我想你是在回避这个问题，”海多克说，“而我可以隐约看见那是一个可怕的概率练习：六个人戴白帽子，六个人戴黑帽子，你得靠数学来回答，这些帽子有多大可能混淆起来，比例是多少。如果你开始考虑这样的事情，你也就要疯了。还是让我来替你算吧！” (Agatha Christie, The Mirror Crack’d )
“右旋星系之战只是加速了干戈，战争从没有停止过，只是形势变得更复杂了。宇宙多国互相牵制，形成脆弱的春秋和平，一旦平衡被打破，宇宙的结局不亚于一场宇宙大爆炸，后果不堪设想。伟大的时代呼唤着天马行空般的人物，你赶快从第一时空的红尘噩梦中醒醒吧！” 我感到我看到妖星美女的眼睛，她刚好往我瞧来，眼神相触，我顿时心生异样的感觉。她的眼神再不是冷冰冰的，而是暗藏悲哀和无奈，虽淡而不浓，却令我感到深沉的复杂。在这一刻，我心中激荡着一种强烈的怀念情绪，周围光线箭一般流逝，好像又记起将来的过去故事，我们在梦幻河边嬉笑的时光， 100 个太阳的巨大光团 。 眼前又是一片金色的混沌，出现的星空变得透亮，整个星空的温度正在陡然上升，越来越热，不知哪来的宇宙热风把我吹得像离线的风筝。 天空变得像开始燃烧着的大幕，巨大的光轮从大幕的后面冒了出来，它的光芒把天空中的群星都赶走了。 我猛然意识到，这是妖星外部时空对内部时空的影响，显然妖星的外面就是正时空，人类赖以生存的时空，燃烧的巨大光轮来自太阳，妖星已经十分接近这颗统领太阳系的炙热恒星了。 “风筝飘啊飘，一直飘到时空口，永恒寻机缘，剑气爱恨愁。” 宇宙热风转急，天旋地转，只觉得，头部一阵昏眩，眼前电光转瞬，接着是云梯连绵，似彩虹桥，桥的尽头就是进来时的入口。 我几乎是毫无意识地走出了那个“时空口”， 思感里还不可遏止地定格在一组组画面上： “星宇渺渺，时光遥遥，山川更替，星系顿逍，聚之成形，散之为息，息中有气，道中奥妙。” 唉，妖星美女，你到底是什么？我陷于无尽的迷茫。 “正负相随，永恒主旋，无垠泪洒，满天星光，绚丽星系，穿梭逍遥 …” 仍然是单调而又夺人心神音频序列信号： “ 轰 --- 哈 --- 轰 --- 哈 ---” 。 "Right-hand Galaxy battle only accelerated war, war never stops, but the situation becomes more complicated. The nations contain each other, forming a vulnerable age of peace, once the balance is broken, the outcome is no less than a big bang, and consequences are unbearable to contemplate. Great period calls with a powerful and unconstrained style figure; please wake up quickly from the nightmares in first time-space!" I feel I see MS girl's eyes, she is just looking me, eyes touch, I suddenly have a strange feeling. Her eyes are no longer cold, but hidden sadness and resignation, though weak and not strong, but make me feel a deep complex. At this moment, my heart arise a kind of intense emotion of Miss arrow, ambient light passes, as of future past story, our playful times in the dream River, a great light group of 100 suns. The present is a golden chaos, the sky become bright, the sky temperature is steep rise, more and hotter, and I do not know where the wind blows me as a kite off line. The sky became like started burning curtain, great glory from the big screen back out, it drives the light of the stars in the sky away. I suddenly realize, this is outside time-space to affect internal time-space of MS, obviously the outside is a positive time-space, the survival of the human space-time, burning the immense light comes from the sun, MS is very close to this hot star leading the solar system. "Kite is floating and floating, until the entrance of time-space, forever seeking opportunities, sword with love hate and worry." The hot air to rush, dizzy, I feel a fit of dizziness, as eyes see flashing and lightning, then a ladder is continuous, like a rainbow bridge, the end of the bridge is the entrance. I was almost unconsciously walked out of the entrance, think feeling also unstoppable fixed on a group of pictures: "Universe is grand, time is long, landscape is turnover, Galaxy is destroyed, together forming, scattered as information, and information contain qi, which is secret in Tao." Alas, MS beauty, what hell are you? I caught in endless confusion. “The positive with negative, eternal main tune, past endless tears, through star light full sky, tunneling brilliant galaxies, the shuttle is happy ..." Still is a monotonous and audio sequence signal which seizes personal mind: "Hong - Ha –Hong- Ha".
然后我的指挥舰屏幕上出现了她，妖星美女！ 她的目光似深邃的宇宙，异能奇迹出现了， 100 个太阳像被一种不可思议的能量联成一个巨大的右旋光团，然后飞了过来。 轰隆！ 100 个太阳爆炸了，七色能量风暴狂击着百亿 艘智能生物的飞船组成的 巨大长矛，引发起连锁式的超新星似的能量激爆，整个光爆外层的热度攀上太阳内核般的高温，长矛右旋扭曲变形，没有一个分子是稳定的，解体和分裂时刻在发生。 我的思感能几乎瘫痪了，整个时空似乎也在右旋，巨大的右旋漩涡不知把军团带入哪种可怕的状态。 仅有一点思感余能还在全力硬挺著，长矛一层一层的剥落融解，化为粒子残屑，然而太阳光团的右旋的力量还在增加，只剩下四分之一厚度的长矛外壳能量分子陡然彩芒剧盛，就像要熄灭前的灿烂，尽管所有人都藏身于飞舰各自的保护层内，但是巨大辐射穿透而来还是令我们处于 地狱 的边缘 …… 不，这是可怕的故事，这是可怕的右旋时空，我一定在梦中！我睁大眼睛死命的朝巨大的光团撞去。 瞬时周围的光线箭一般地飞逝，前面就像时空隧道，隧道的尽头就是巨大的星空一跃而出。 没有了十三光球，没有了大厅，没有了 满氮气的蓝天、浩瀚无涯的海洋、树木参天的森林，还有那浅红色的巨月， 周围是无穷的星空，繁星点点。 我猛然惊醒过来，已泪流满面，我这是怎么啦？刚才的经历仅仅是时空幻象？ “时空也是一种信息，信息也可外化为时空。基础的时空是 16 重，你刚才经历的是第 9 时空，空间特性：右旋，时间特性：将来时倒流加局部顺流，空间表示：三阳一阴卦。” 啊，妖星美女，一切的幻象是由她控制的。但愿那将来的过去故事是虚幻的，绝不发生，我好像从死亡返回般似的，严重忐忑不安地想道。 Then she appears on the screen in my command ship, MS beautiful girl! Her eyes like the profound universe, miracle energy appeared, 100 suns are connected as a huge right rotation light group by an unbelievable energy, and then fly over distance to come. Rumble! 100 sun exploded, seven-color energy storm swipes with tens of billions of intelligent spacecraft consisting of giant lance, cause a chain type supernova like energy excitation detonation, the smooth blasting of outer heat climbed as high temperature solar core, a right-hand twist deformation, no one molecule is stable, disintegration and split are creating. My thinking wave is almost paralyzed, the whole time-space also appears to rotate rightly, and the huge right whirlpool brings the Legion to which terrible unknown state. Only a little more thinking wave energy still fight hard, a layer of spear peeling melt, as the particle debris, however the sun light group of dextral strength increasing, only 1/4 of the thickness of the lance outer shell energy molecular suddenly color bright wave strongly, like to put out before the bright, although all hide their ship protective shell, but the great penetrating radiation still make us at the edge of the hell... No, this is a terrible story, this is terrible right rotation space and time, I must be dreaming! I stare desperately at the giant light group to hit. Instantaneous light around an arrow flies, the front like a time-space tunnel, at the end of the tunnel is a huge star space leap out. No thirteen balls, not the hall, without full nitrogen blue sky, vast boundless ocean, towering trees of the forest, and the red giant moons, there is surrounded by endless starry space with numerous stars. I suddenly woke up, has been in tears, how I am? Experience is only time and space illusion? "Time-space is a kind of information; information can also be transformed into time and space. Basic time-space is 16; you have just gone through ninth time-space, in which the space characteristics is right rotation, the time characteristics is the future back plus local downstream, the spatial representation is three positive adding one negative divinatory symbols." Ah, the MS evil beauty, all illusions are controlled by her. I hope that the future past story is fictional, will never happen; I seem to return from death like, seriously be very upset.
SSCI 、 AHCI 均收录文学学科期刊， 2011 年 AHCI 收录文学学科期刊 130 种，其中被 SSCI 、 AHCI 共同收录文学期刊 7 种： ATLANTIS-Journal of The Spanish Association of Anglo-American Studies 《西班牙英美研究学会杂志》 1979 年创刊、 BOUNDARY 2-An International Journal of Literature and Culture 《边界 2: 国际文学与文化杂志》 1972 年创刊、 European Journal of English Studies 《欧洲英语研究杂志》 1997 年创刊、 Literary and Linguistic Computing 《文学与语言计算》 1986 年创刊、 Modern Chinese Literature and Culture 《现代中国文学与文化》 1984 年创刊、 Poetics 《诗学》 1972 年创刊、 Rhetoric Society Quarterly 《修辞学学会季刊》。 AHCI 收录文学学科期刊 130 种，例如： American Book Review 《美国图书评论》 1977 年创刊、 ANGLIA-Zeitschrift Fur Englische Philologie 《英语语言学》 1878 年创刊、 ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles Notes and Reviews 《美国文学短文与问答》 1988 年创刊、 Archiv fuer das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen 《语言和文学研究文献》 1846 年创刊、 ARIEL-A Review Of International English Literature 《国际英国文学评论》 1970 年创刊、 Cambridge Quarterly 《剑桥季刊》 1965 年创刊、 Childrens Literature in Education 《儿童文学教育》 1970 年创刊、 College Composition and Communication 《大学作文与通信》 1950 年创刊、 College Literature 《大学文学》 1974 年创刊、 Comparative Literature 《比较文学》 1949 年创刊、 Contemporary Literature 《当代文学》 1960 年创刊、 Contemporary Women's Writing 《当代女性作品》 2007 年创刊、 Eighteenth Century Fiction 《十八世纪小说》 1988 年创刊、 ELH 《英国文学史》 1934 年创刊、 English Studies in Africa 《非洲英语研究》 1958 年创刊、 European Journal of English Studies 《欧洲英语研究杂志》 1997 年创刊、 Foreign Literature Studies 《外国文学研究》（中国） 1978 年创刊、 ISLE-Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 《文学与环境跨学科研究》 1993 年创刊、 Journal of Arabic Literature 《阿拉伯文学杂志》 1970 年创刊、 Journal of Literary Semantics 《文学语义学杂志》 1972 年创刊、 Journal of the Midwest Modern Language Association 《中西部现代语言协会志》 1968 年创刊、 Latin American Indian Literatures Journal 《拉美印第安文学杂志》 1977 年创刊、 Literature and Medicine 《文学与医学》 1982 年创刊、 Literature and Psychology 《文学与心理学》 1951 年创刊、 Middle Eastern Literatures 《中东文学》 1998 年创刊、 New Literary History 《新文学史》 1969 年创刊、 Papers on Language and Literature 《语言与文学文集》 1965 年创刊、 Philosophy and Literature 《哲学与文学》 1976 年创刊、 Prooftexts; A Journal of Jewish Literary History 《犹太文学史杂志》 1980 年创刊、 Romantisme 《浪漫主义》 1971 年创刊、 Studia Neophilologica 《新语文学研究》 1928 年创刊、 Texas Studies in Literature Language 《得克萨斯文学与语言研究》 1959 年创刊、 Textual Practice 《校勘实践》 1987 年创刊、 Twentieth Century Literature 《二十世纪文学》 1955 年创刊、 Weimarer Beitraege 《魏玛文集》 1955 年创刊、 World Literature Today 《现代世界文学》 1927 年创刊、 Yale Review 《耶鲁评论》 1911 年创刊等。 详细 2011 年 AHCI 收录文学学科期刊 130 种目录请看附件。 附件： 2011年AHCI收录文学学科期刊130种目录.doc
从头到尾读过的小说当中，下面的这本黛洛维夫人是最爱之一，虽然只是简写本，我却从这本书中感受到了英文的修辞之美，第一次读这本书到现在已经有好多年了，这当中，我经常在处于某种特定的情绪时翻翻这本小书。 前两天刚刚发现一款OCR识别的神器——ABBYY Finereader，所以花了两个小时的时间，将这本小书拍照、OCR、校正制作了完美的电子版，以后每次自己想看的时候就可以随时翻翻了。 MRS DALLOWAY 'I will buy the flowers,' said Mrs Dalloway; because Lucy was much too busy. Rumpelmayer's men were coming to take the doors off the sitting-room. And it was a wonderful morning, fresh and new, like a morning by the sea. She remembered days like this at Bourton, when she opened the glass doors and moved like a swimmer into the soft fresh air of early morning. She was eighteen then. She remembered standing there looking at the flowers, at the trees with the birds flying around them, and thinking: some-thing terrible is going to happen. And Peter Walsh was amused to see her standing there so still and said at breakfast: 'Were you talking to the vegetables?' - or something like that. Peter Walsh will be back from India soon, she thought, some time in June or July. She could never remember any-thing from his letters, they were so uninteresting. It was his sayings that she remembered; his eyes, his pocket-knife, his smile, his unpleasantness sometimes, a few of his sayings. She waited a moment in the street for a car to pass. A neighbour walking past thought: a lovely woman, so alive, quick and light as a bird, but grown very white since her illness. Having lived now for more than twenty years in Westminster, Mrs Dalloway knew so well that special silence before Big Ben sounds the hour. First the music, the warning. There! Out it came: one ... two ... three. She went on counting the numbers while she crossed Victoria Street. It's impossible to say why I love it all so much, she thought, but many people do: the noise, the movement, the cars and buses, the crowds, the music; the sound of an aeroplane high in the sky. It was life that she loved; and London; this moment in June. Because it was now June. The war was over — thank goodness it was over. The London season was beginning: sports matches; laughing girls who danced all night, then took their woolly dogs for a walk; rich old ladies out in their motor cars; shopkeepers putting out their best gold and silver pieces in the shop windows. And she, a part of it all, loving it all, was going to give her party that night. But still the park, as she passed into it, was strangely silent: birds swimming slowly in the water, the sounds of the city far away. She thought again of Bourton, the times with Peter Walsh. Peter was impossible in many ways, always criticiz-ing; but he was just the person to walk with on a morning like this. She never wrote to him; but she often thought of him, calmly, without feeling angry. And a picture of him came back to her, here in St James's Park this beautiful morning, not that Peter ever noticed the trees and the grass and the children. He only put on his glasses if she told him to; and only then he looked. It was ideas that interested him: books, the world's problems, the things people did. He called her 'the perfect hostess'. She was born to be a perfect hostess, he said. And this made her cry alone in her bedroom, remembering his words. So, she told herself, she was right to decide against marrying him; because married people needed sometimes to be free from each other, living together day after day in the same house; as she now lived with Richard. But Peter always wanted to be part of everything, to study everything, to know what her feelings were. It was too much. That evening years ago in the little garden, she had to break free from him, because their friendship was bad for them both, it was hurting each of them too much. For years after that she carried a deep sadness around with her. And now she remembered the terrible moment when she heard that Peter was married, to a woman he met on a boat, going to India! She could never forget that! He called her cold, unfeeling: she didn't under-stand how he felt. But really he was quite happy, he told her. He knew that his life was not successful but that didn't matter. The thought of this still made her angry. Now she was at the exit from the park. She stood for a moment, looking at the buses in Piccadilly, feeling both very young and very old. She cut through everything like a knife; and at the same time stood outside life, just watching. She felt all alone, like someone far out at sea. Every day that she lived seemed dangerous. Of course she was not very clever, quite ordinary in fact. She knew almost nothing. She didn't often read a book. But she found every moment of life deeply interesting. She did not Want to say of Peter or of herself: 'I am this, I am that.' She remembered ... oh so many people, so many things. But everyone remembered; what she loved, was this, here, now, in front of her: that fat lady getting into a taxi. So does it matter, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, that one day I shall be dead and all this will go on without me? Will I not live on somehow, a part of the streets of London, of trees and houses, of people I have never met, like a thin sort of cloud? She stopped to look at the books in a bookshop window. If only I had my life to live over again, she thought, crossing the street. But it's too late: no more marrying now, no having of children, just a woman walking in the crowd up Bond Street. Not Clarissa any more, just Mrs Dalloway. Bond Street was wonderful early in the morning: shops with just one expensive hat or one tie; one shining fish sitting on its bed of ice. Passing shoeshops, dress shops, she remem-bered her daughter, Elizabeth. But Elizabeth wasn't interested in clothes. It was her dog Grizzle that she loved most. Well, better to love Grizzle than that unpleasant teacher Miss Kilman, who she spent so much time with. Miss Kilman was always badly dressed and always reading serious books, making you feel small. I can perhaps feel sorry for Miss Kilman, she thought, but I can't feel any love for her. Not in this world. No. Forget her! she thought, pushing through the doors of Mulberry's the flower shop, where Miss Pym was waiting to welcome her. There were flowers everywhere: all the flowers of summer in great coloured bunches. And that fresh smell of gardens that she loved. She went from bunch to bunch, choosing, and the friendliness of Miss Pym drove the unpleasant thoughts away. Suddenly a noise like a gunshot came from the street. 'Oh those cars!' said Miss Pym, going to the window to look and coming back smiling, while Mrs Dalloway chose her flowers. ♦ In the sky above, an aeroplane was making letters. People outside Buckingham Palace or in Regent's Park or down by the river all looked up at the sky to see what the letters said. 'What are they looking at?' said Clarissa Dalloway, when Lucy opened the front door. Inside the house the air was cold, like the inside of a church. As the .door closed behind her, the outside world was shut away, bringing instead the comfort-able sounds and ways of home: the cook singing in the kitchen, a machine heard softly in another room. This too is my life, she thought, moving to the table at the entrance to read a message written there. Moments like these are flowers on the tree of life; moments that I must repay in kindness to the people who work for me, to dogs and birds, and especially to Richard my husband, who makes it all possible — the pleasant sounds, the soft green lights, the cook singing her Irish song. I must pay back something from these lovely saved moments, she thought, as she read the message, while Lucy stood beside her trying to explain: ' "Lady Bruton would like to know if Mr Dalloway will have lunch with her today."' 'Mr Dalloway, ma'am, asked me to tell you that he will not be at home for lunch.' 'Oh dear!' said Clarissa, and she and Lucy both felt a touch of sadness as Lucy took her umbrella and put it away. How hurtful that Lady Bruton asks Richard to lunch but not me, she thought. She began to go slowly upstairs, feeling herself old and alone, stopping for a moment at the stair window, which let in the flowering of the day, and thinking: she did not ask me. She passed the bathroom and came to the bedroom. She took off her hat and put it on the clean, white, narrow bed. In this small room she read late into the night, because she slept badly. Now since her illness Richard wanted her to rest in perfect quiet. And really she preferred it: since in her love for Richard something was now lost. She felt in herself a coldness; in some ways they were like strangers. The love that a man feels she felt only sometimes with other women. There was Sally Seton, for example. Wasn't it love that she felt for Sally Seton in the old days? Sally sitting on the floor, with her arms around her knees, smoking a cigarette. She could not take her eyes off Sally the first time they met. She was unusually beautiful, with those big dark eyes and that lovely voice, more like a foreigner than an English girl. That summer, when she first came to stay at Bourton, she walked in without a penny in her pocket one night after dinner. Aunt Helena was not pleased. But they sat up talking most of the night. Sally told her so many things she knew nothing about: sex, politics. It was all so exciting: she started reading books for hours at a time. Sally was so clever, so full of surprises: she cut the heads off flowers and put them swimming in dishes of water on the dinner table. One night she forgot her towel and ran from the bathroom to her bedroom without any clothes on. But the strange thing, looking back, was the clear, clean love she felt for Sally — not like the feeling for a man, a feeling that was only possible between women. She had a need to look after Sally, to save her from danger. Because in those days Sally did all sorts of wild things: she smoked cigars, rode her bicycle in the most dangerous places. She could remember standing in her bedroom at the top of the house and saying to herself: 'She is under this roof! She is under this roof!' The words meant nothing to her now. The old excitement could never come back. How Sally quite suddenly stopped'; picked a flower; kissed her on the lips. It was like a beautiful present to carry with you and keep but never look at. And she knew Peter was jealous, that he was against Sally, who was now busy asking someone to tell her the names of the stars. But later, Peter helped her, taught her things: ideas and words which she still used every day. Why, when she thought of him, did she mostly remember their quarrels? What will he think of me now, she asked herself, when he comes back? Do I look older? Will he say that I look older? But it was true: since her illness her hair was now almost white. She crossed to the dressing-table and took off her rings. I am not old yet. I have just begun my fifty-second year, she thought. Months and months of it are still untouched. And she stood very still for a moment, looking at the glass, the dressing-table with its little bottles, seeing the thin pink face of the woman who that night was to give a party; Clarissa Dalloway; herself. These different parts made up one face, a thousand feelings made this one woman, who people in trouble turned to, while she kept some sides of herself hidden: the jealousies, the selfishness; Lady Bruton not asking her to lunch! Now, where was her dress? Her evening dresses were in the cupboard. Clarissa carefully took out the soft green dress and carried it to the window. It needed mending. Not long ago, someone at a party put their foot on the skirt. In electric light the green shone but it lost its colour here in the sun. She must mend it. Lucy and the others had too much to do. This was the dress for her party tonight. She- picked up her sewing things and went downstairs to the sitting-room. As she went, she heard the sounds of people busy: voices, someone knocking, the noise of metal. Clean silver for the party. Everything was for the party! 'Oh Lucy,' she said, 'the silver does look nice!' And Lucy, at the sitting-room door, was asking to help mend her dress. 'No, no. You have enough to do. But thank you, Lucy, thank you.' And Mrs Dalloway sat down on the sofa with the dress on her knees. All was quiet as she sat sewing the ends of green cloth together, the only sound being a dog heard somewhere far away,. 'Oh dear, there's someone at the front door,' she said, stopping her work. Wide awake, she listened. 'Mrs Dalloway will see me,' a man's voice said downstairs. 'Oh yes, she will see me,' the man said, moving past Lucy, running quickly upstairs, saying to himself now: 'After five years in India, Clarissa will see me.' 'Who can - what can - ?' asked Mrs Dalloway, surprised and not very pleased to have a visitor on the morning of the day that she was giving a party. She heard a hand on the door. She tried to hide her dress but now the door opened and. in came - for just one second she couldn't remember his name, she was so surprised to see him, so happy, so unsure of herself; to see Peter Walsh come to visit her without warning in the morning! (His letter was not yet read.) 'And how are you?' said Peter Walsh, his voice shaking, taking and kissing both her hands. She's grown older, he thought, sitting down. I shan't say anything about it but she's older. She's looking at me, he thought, suddenly feeling uneasy. Putting his hand in his pocket, he took out a large pocket-knife and opened it halfway. He's just the same, thought Clarissa, the same strange look, the same suit with little squares. His face a little thinner, drier perhaps, but he looks very well and just the same. 'How wonderful it is to see you again!' she said with feeling. He sat with his knife in his hands. That's so like him, she thought. 'I arrived only last night,' he said, 'and I have to go to the country immediately. And how is everything? How is every-body - Richard? Elizabeth? And what's this?' he said, pointing with his knife at the green dress. He's very well dressed, thought Clarissa, but still he always criticizes me. Here she is, mending her dress as usual, he thought. She's been sitting here all the time that I've been in India; mending her dress; playing about, going to parties and all that, he thought, feeling more and more angry. There's nothing worse for some women than getting married; and getting mixed up in politics, with a husband like Richard. So it is, so it is, he thought, shutting his knife roughly. 'Richard's very well. Richard's at a meeting,' said Clarissa. And she asked him, taking up her sewing: 'Will you just wait until I finish my dress? We have a party tonight. And I'm not asking you to come, my dear Peter!' But he loved to hear her say that — 'my dear Peter!' In fact he loved everything: the silver, the chairs. 'Why won't you ask me to your party?' he asked. Now of course, thought Clarissa, he's so lovable. Perfectly lovable. Now I remember how impossible it was for me to decide — and why did I decide not to marry him, that terrible summer? 'But it's so wonderful that you've come this morning!' she said, putting her hands down one on top of the other on her dress. 'Do you remember,' she said, 'those summer mornings at Bourton?' 'I do,' he said. And he remembered having breakfast alone with her father and feeling very uncomfortable. When her father died, I did not write to Clarissa, he thought. 'I found it difficult to talk to your father,' he said. 'Why didn't I try harder?' 'But he never liked anyone who — any of our friends,' said Clarissa; and immediately was sorry that she said it, not wanting Peter to remember how he asked her to marry him. And of course I wanted to, thought Peter. It almost broke my heart too, he thought, and that old sadness suddenly grew inside him, climbing up like a moon, both terrible and beautiful, at the end of the day. It was the unhappiest time in my life, he thought. And remembering it all so clearly, he moved a little towards her, put his hand out; let it fall; remembering how he sat with Clarissa in the moonlight. 'Herbert has Bourton now,' she said. 'I never go there now.' But Peter, now as then, said nothing. Why go back like this to the past, he thought, why does she bring it up again? She hurt me so much at the time. Why? 'Do you remember the lake?' she said, feeling her heart hurting with the sadness, making it difficult for her to speak. And she saw herself standing between her parents by the lakeside, with her life in her arms, then putting it down in front of them and saying: 'This is what I have done with it. This.' And what have I done with it? she thought. A good question, as I sit here sewing this morning with Peter. She felt tears in her eyes. 'Yes,' said Peter. 'Yes, yes, yes.' Stop, he wanted to shout. Because I am not old, he thought, I am only just past fifty. Shall I tell her about Daisy or not? Daisy seems ordinary next to Clarissa. She will think I have wasted my life, he thought, and, yes, in their eyes, in the Dalloways' eyes, I have wasted it. Look at all this: the glass, the silver, the old pictures. In those ways, I have not been a success. And this is Clarissa's life, week after week, married to Richard. While I — and he remembered journeys, rides, quarrels, adventures, card games, falling in love; and work, work, work! He took out his knife and pressed it deep in his hand. Why does he always play with that knife? Clarissa thought. He always makes me feel shallow, useless, all talk. But I too have work, she thought, picking up her sewing, and she called to her mind the things she did, things she liked; her husband; Elizabeth; herself- all those parts of her life which Peter really didn't know about now — and she began to feel safer. 'Well, and what's happened to you?' she said. So Peter and Clarissa sat face to face on the blue sofa, ready for war. He too now listed all sorts of things in his. mind: his studies at Oxford; his married life, which she knew nothing about; his job, which he did very well. 'Millions of things!' he said loudly, his hands moving up to his head. Clarissa sat very straight, waiting. 'I am in love,' he said, not to her but to someone pictured in his mind. 'In love,' he repeated rather coldly to Clarissa, 'in love with a girl in India.' There! I have told her my secret. She Gan think what she likes. 'In love!' she said. Caught at his age, with his thin neck, his red hands! And he's six rponths older than I am, she told herself. But in her heart she felt: after all, he has that; he is in love. But not with her. With some younger woman, of course. 'And who is she?' she asked. 'A married woman, unluckily,' he said. 'The wife of a soldier in India.' And he gave a sad little smile. 'She has two small children,' he went on, 'a boy and a girl. And I have come over to plan the divorce.' Clarissa saw this woman immediately in her mind. She has truly caught him, she thought. What a waste! All his life Peter kept making mistakes like that. How lucky that she didn't agree to marry him! Still, he was in love; her old friend, her dear Peter, in love. 'But what are you going to do? ' she asked. Oh, the lawyers were going to do it all, he told her. And he began playing with his pocket-knife again. Oh, leave your knife alone, she wanted to shout. He was never able to understand what other people were feeling. It made her angry. At his age, it was so stupid! I know what they are all thinking, Peter said to himself, Clarissa and Dalloway and the rest of them. But I'll show Clarissa! And then, to his great surprise, he started to cry. He sat there on the sofa, the tears running down his face. And Clarissa moved forward, took his hand, held him to her, kissed him. And suddenly she felt that the war between them was over, she felt almost light-hearted and happy. Suddenly she realised that happiness was to be with Peter. It was all over for her: the little room, the narrow bed, the door shut behind her. She called out: Richard, Richard! in her mind. But he is having lunch with Lady Bruton, she remembered. He has left me; I am alone for ever, she thought, putting her hands on her knee. Peter Walsh got up and crossed to the window, standing with his back to her, a handkerchief in his hand. He looked so deeply unhappy, blowing his nose loudly. Take me with you, Clarissa thought, seeing him at the start of a great journey; and then, a moment later, it seemed that she was at the end of a long, exciting, heart-breaking play, a lifetime lived with Peter; she knew that it was all over. Now it was time to move and, like a woman at the theatre picking up her things when the play is over, ready to go into the street, she got up from the sofa and went to Peter. And it was terrible and strange, he thought, how, as she came across the room, she was still able to make that sad moon shine out again at Bourton in the summer sky. 'Tell me,' he said, holding her by the shoulders, 'are you happy, Clarissa? Does Richard -' The door opened. 'Here is my Elizabeth,' said Clarissa proudly. 'How do you do?' said Elizabeth, coming forward. The music of Big Ben noisily sounding the half hour came between them. 'Hullo, Elizabeth,' said Peter, putting his handkerchief away, going quickly to her, saying 'Goodbye, Clarissa' with-out looking at her, leaving the room and running downstairs and opening the front door. 'Peter! Peter!' called Clarissa, following him to the top of the stairs. 'My party tonight! Remember my party tonight!' Her voice seemed thin and very far away as Peter Walsh shut the door. ♦ Remember my party, remember my party, said Peter Walsh, walking down the street. Clarissa's parties. Why does she give these parties? he thought. But only one person in the world was what he was — in love for the first time in his life. He looked at himself in the window of a shop selling cars. Clarissa has grown hard, he thought, looking with interest at the fine cars in the window; he understood machines. The way that she said: 'Here is my Elizabeth' — he did not like that. Why not just 'Here's Elizabeth*? And Elizabeth didn't like it either. There was always something cold about Clarissa, he thought. Was she angry because of his calling at that hour in the morning? Suddenly he felt sorry that he cried just now; showed his feelings; told her everything, as usual. Nobody knew he was in London, only Clarissa. He felt that he was on an island: the strangeness of standing alone, alive, unknown, at half-past eleven in Trafalgar Square. Why do I do it? he thought. The divorce suddenly seemed a waste of time. Instead he felt full of understanding, kindness and unusual happiness. I haven't felt so young for years, he thought, and so free - like a child that has run away from home. Now look at that lovely young woman, he thought, seeing a girl pass in front of him. She's perfect. Young. Not married. Not proud, like Clarissa; not rich, like Clarissa; amusing, probably; calm. She moved on. He started to follow her. If she stops, I shall speak to her, he thought. But other people got between them in the street. He nearly lost her. On and on she went in front of him and now the moment was coming, she walked more slowly, opened her bag, took out a key, looked his way — but not at him. Then she opened a door and was gone! Clarissa's voice calling: 'Remember my party, remember my party' sang in his ears. His adventure was over. His excitement was over, it was broken in pieces. Well, I've had my fun, he thought. He walked on, planning to find somewhere to sit until it was time to go to the lawyers and talk about the divorce. But where to go? It didn't matter. Up the street then, towards Regent's Park, since it was still very early. I shall sit down somewhere out of the sun, he thought, and have a smoke. There was Regent's Park. He remembered coming here as a child: the long straight walk. He looked for a place to sit, feeling now a little sleepy. She's a strange- looking girl, he thought, remembering Elizabeth as she came into the room and stood by her mother. Quite grown up, more handsome than pretty; and she's not more than eighteen. She probably doesn't feel comfortable with Clarissa. 'Here's my Elizabeth' — trying to show, like most mothers, that things are what they're not. She tries too hard. She goes too far. Sitting in the park, he drew in the rich smoke of his cigar and sent it out again in rings: blue circles, which kept their shape in the air for a moment, then blew away. I shall try to get a word with Elizabeth tonight, he thought. Suddenly he closed his eyes and with a tired hand threw away the end of his cigar. A strong wind seemed to blow across his mind, leaving it empty of dancing leaves, children's voices, people passing, the sound of traffic now near, now far. Down, down he dropped, into the soft bed of sleep. ♦ He woke suddenly, saying to himself, 'The heart is dead.' The words were part of some picture, some room, some time in the past, seen in his sleep. Slowly the picture grew clearer. It was at Bourton, that summer early in the nineties, when he was so deeply in love with Clarissa. There was a room full of people sitting round a table after tea and the light was yellow and heavy with cigarette smoke. They were laughing about a neighbour. Clarissa's friend Sally said suddenly: 'Did you know that woman had a baby before she got married?' Clarissa's face went pink and she said: 'Oh, I shall never be able to speak to her again.' How he disliked her at that moment! She was hard, proud, unsure of herself. 'The heart is dead.' It was her heart that was dead. Sally Seton was Clarissa's greatest friend in those days: dark, good-looking, amusing, always getting into trouble. Clarissa's old father disliked both her and him, which brought them closer to-gether. Then Clarissa, seeming to be angry with them all, got up and went off by herself. As she opened the door, that big hairy dog came in, the one that ran after sheep. She threw her arms round it; but the message meant for Peter was: 'I know you didn't like what I said about that woman: but just see how I love my dog!' They were always able to speak to each other silently, without using words: this game with the dog was an example of that. She knew that he was criticizing her. And he always knew just what she was doing. He didn't say anything of course. He just sat there woodenly. She shut the door. He remembered feeling terribly sad. It all seemed useless - this being in love; having quarrels; trying to be friends again. He walked off alone, feeling sadder and sadder. He couldn't see her, couldn't explain to her. There were always other people about. That was the trouble with her — something cold, something stony in her, some part of her that he could never get through to. It was the same problem when he was talking to her this morning. But he still loved her. The thought of her gave him no rest. That terrible evening he sat without speaking, just eating. And halfway through the meal he looked across at Clarissa for the first time. She was talking to a young man on her right. Suddenly he saw the truth. 'She will marry that man,' he said to himself. He didn't yet know his name. He was a fair-haired young man, looking a little uncomfortable, who said to everyone: 'My name is Dalloway.' That was the beginning of it all. He felt so hurt, so alone. He heard them talk about coats, that it was cold on the water and so on. The others were taking a boat out on the lake in the moonlight - one of Sally's wild ideas. They left. He was quite alone. And he turned round and suddenly there was Clarissa, come back to get him. He realized then her thoughtfulness, her kindness. It was the happiest moment of his life. Without a word they were friends again. They walked down to the lake together. He had twenty minutes of perfect happiness. He remembered her voice, her laugh, her white dress... And all this time he knew that Dalloway was falling in love with her. But it didn't seem to matter. And then in a moment it was over. Getting into the boat, he said to himself: 'Dalloway will marry Clarissa.' The final part of the story happened at three o'clock in the afternoon on a very hot day. He sent a message to her by Sally to meet him in a corner of the garden. She came, before the time in fact. They stood there with the plants between them. 'Tell me the truth,' he kept saying. She did not move. 'Tell me the truth,' he repeated. She was as hard as metal, as a stone. He spoke for hours, his tears falling continuously. And when she said: 'It's no good, it's no good. This is the end,' it was as bad as being hit in the face. She turned, she left him, she went away. 'Clarissa!' he shouted. 'Clarissa!' But she never came back. It was over. He went away that night. He never saw her again. ♦ It was terrible, he thought, terrible! Still, the sun was hot. All things pass with time. He looked around him at Regent's Park, not much changed since he was a boy. London was looking wonderful, he thought, getting up and walking across the grass: the softness of the colours; the richness; the greenness after India. He remembered Sally Seton: the wild Sally. She was probably the best of all Clarissa's friends. Now she was married to a rich man and lived in a large house near Manchester. And there was Dalloway — not very clever but honest and likeable; not much good at politics. He was best with animals, dogs and horses, living in the country. And Clarissa thought so highly of him. together. He had twenty minutes of perfect happiness. He remembered her voice, her laugh, her white dress .. . And all this time he knew that Dalloway was falling in love with her. But it didn't seem to matter. And then in a moment it was over. Getting into the boat, he said to himself: 'Dalloway will marry Clarissa.' The final part of the story happened at three o'clock in the afternoon on a very hot day. He sent a message to her by Sally to meet him in a comer of the garden. She came, before the time in fact. They stood there with the plants between them. 'Tell me the truth,' he kept saying. She did not move. 'Tell me the truth,' he repeated. She was as hard as metal, as a stone. He spoke for hours, his tears falling continuously. And when she said: 'It's no good, it's no good. This is the end,' it was as bad as being hit in the face. She turned, she left him, she went away. 'Clarissa!' he shouted. 'Clarissa!' But she never came back. It was over. He went away that night. He never saw her again. ♦ It was terrible, he thought, terrible! Still, the sun was hot. All things pass with time. He looked around him at Regent's Park, not much changed since he was a boy. London was looking wonderful, he thought, getting up and walking across the grass: the softness of the colours; the richness; the greenness after India. He remembered Sally Seton: the wild Sally. She was probably the best of all Clarissa's friends. Now she was married to a rich man and lived in a large house near Manchester. And there was Dalloway - not very clever but honest and likeable; not much good at politics. He was best with animals, dogs and horses, living in the country. And Clarissa thought so highly of him. ♦ No, No! He was not in love with her any more. He only knew, after seeing her this morning at her sewing, getting ready for the party, that he couldn't stop thinking about her. It was not being in love, of course. It was thinking about her, criticizing her, starting again after thirty years trying to explain her. She liked people who were successful, who got on in the world - he remembered her telling him that. She brought people to her, she made her sitting-room a kind of meeting place. And spent her time visiting people, running about with bunches of flowers and little presents. But she did these things honestly, her kindness was natural. She believed in doing good. And of course she enjoyed life so much. It was natural for her to enjoy things. But she needed people around her and so she wasted time with lunches and dinners and talk. And she gave great importance to Elizabeth, with her round eyes and whitish face, not in any way like her mother; who listened calmly to her mother and then said: 'Can I go now?' like a child of four. The truth about growing older, he thought, coming out of the park, is that one doesn't really need people any more. Life itself, every moment of it, here, now, in the sun, in Regent's Park — life itself is enough. Too much, in fact. It takes a lifetime to enjoy everything fully, to understand every mean-ing. Life cannot hurt me again the way that Clarissa hurt me, he thought. For hours at a time he never thought of Daisy. So did he really love Daisy then, with the same sort of love that he felt in the old days? No, it was quite different; because this time she was in love with him. And perhaps that was why he felt almost happy when the ship finally sailed. He just wanted to be alone. If we're honest, we know that we don't want people after fifty, we don't want to go on telling women that they're pretty. That's what most men of fifty feel, thought Peter Walsh. So why did he suddenly start crying this morning? What was all that about? What did Clarissa think of him? - that he was just stupid probably, and not for the first time. It was jealousy that was behind it, the feeling that lives longer in our hearts than any other, Peter Walsh thought, holding out his pocket-knife in front of him. Daisy wanted him to feel jealous: in her last letter she told him about meeting Major Orde. It made him so angry. He didn't want Daisy to marry some other man. And when he saw Clarissa, so calm, so cold, so interested in mending her dress, he realized that she brought out those feehngs, made him look a stupid, tearful old man. Women don't know what we men feel, he thought, how strong men's feelings are. Clarissa is as cold as ice. She sits there beside me on the sofa, lets me take her hand, then gives me a cold little kiss. It was time to cross the road. He crossed and then took a taxi. ♦ His lunch with Lady Bruton was over. Richard was walking back to Westminster. 'Peter Walsh is back in London,' Lady Bruton was telling them at lunch. Then they talked of that rime when Peter was so much in love with Clarissa. Suddenly Richard wanted to be with his wife, to tell her openly in words that he loved her; usually it was a subject that they never spoke of. But he wanted to come in holding something. Flowers? So he bought a big bunch of red and white roses. It's a great mistake not to say it, he thought, as a time comes when you can't say it any more. He wanted to hold out his flowers to her and say: 'I love you.' Marrying Clarissa was the greatest piece of luck, he thought, as he walked across Green Park. Long ago he felt jealous because of Clarissa and Peter Walsh. But she says she was right not to marry him; So why did he suddenly start crying this morning? What was all that about? What did Clarissa think of him? - that he was just stupid probably, and not for the first time. It was jealousy that was behind it, the feeling that lives longer in our hearts than any other, Peter Walsh thought, holding out his pocket-knife in front of him. Daisy wanted him to feel jealous: in her last letter she told him about meeting Major Orde. It made him so angry. He didn't want Daisy to marry some other man. And when he saw Clarissa, so calm, so cold, so interested in mending her dress, he realized that she brought out those feelings, made him look a stupid, tearful old man. Women don't know what we men feel, he thought, how strong men's feelings are. Clarissa is as cold as ice. She sits there beside me on the sofa, lets me take her hand, then gives me a cold little kiss. It was time to cross the road. He crossed and then took a taxi. ♦ His lunch with Lady Bruton was over. Richard was walking back to Westminster. 'Peter Walsh is back in London,' Lady Bruton was telling them at lunch. Then they talked of that time when Peter was so much in love with Clarissa. Suddenly Richard wanted to be with his wife, to tell her openly in words that he loved her; usually it was a subject that they never spoke of. But he wanted to come in holding something. Flowers? So he bought a big bunch of red and white roses. It's a great mistake not to say it, he thought, as a time comes when you can't say it any more. He wanted to hold out his flowers to her and say: 'I love you.' Marrying Clarissa was the greatest piece of luck, he thought, as he walked across Green Park. Long ago he felt jealous because of Clarissa and Peter Walsh. But she says she was right not to marry him; and clearly that is true. Happiness is this, he thought, entering Dean's Yard as Big Ben began to sound the hour. In her sitting-room, Clarissa sat at her writing table, feeling far from pleased. It's true that I haven't asked Ellie Henderson to my party. Now Mrs Marsham writes: 'Ellie so much wants to come.' But why must I ask all the boring women in London to my parties? she thought. She too heard the sound of the clock: One . . . two . . . three. Three already! But at that moment the door opened and in came Richard. What a surprise! He was holding out flowers — roses, red and white. (But he could not bring himself to say that he loved her — not using real words.) 'But how lovely!' she said, taking his flowers. She under-stood: his Clarissa. She put them in water. 'How lovely they look!' she said. And was the lunch enjoyable? she asked. Did Lady Bruton ask about her? 'Peter Walsh is back. Mrs Mar- sham wants me to ask Elbe Henderson. That Kilman woman is upstairs with Elizabeth.' 'But let us sit down for five minutes,' said Richard. All the chairs were against the walls. Oh yes, it was for the party. 'Peter Walsh is back. He came round this morning. He's going to get a divorce. And he's in love with some woman in India. He hasn't changed a bit.' 'We were talking about him at lunch,' said Richard. (But he still could not tell her that he loved her. He held her hand. Happiness is this, he thought.) 'And our dear Miss Kilman?' he asked. 'She arrived just after lunch and she and Elizabeth are together upstairs, studying heavy books, probably. She came with her raincoat and umbrella,' - said Clarissa. 'And why must I ask that boring Ellie Henderson to my party?' 'Poor Ellie Henderson,' said Richard. She takes her parties so seriously, he thought. 'I must go,' he said, getting up. But first he made her he down. 'You need a full hour's rest after lunch,' he said. This was what the doctor once told her. Now Richard always said it. He was so lovable, so kind; he just went and did things instead of talking about them. He went off to his meeting at the House of Commons. I will lie down then, she thought, as he wants me to. But — why did she suddenly feel this deep unhappiness? It was not because of Richard or Elizabeth. It was something unpleasant from earlier in the day, something that Peter said, together with her feelings of hopelessness up in the bedroom, taking off her hat. Her parties! That was it! Her parties! Peter believed that she liked mixing with famous people, great names. Richard just thought her silly to like excitement, when she knew it was bad for her heart. And both were quite wrong. What she liked was just living. 'That's what I do it for,' she said, speaking to life. Lying on the sofa, she could hear the noises from the street, feel warm air blowing in through the windows. But your parties — why do you give your parties? she could hear Peter 'saying. Why are they so important? They're a kind of giving, she told herself. A way of giving thanks. Helping people, bringing them together from all over London, from Kensington and Mayfair. It's the only important thing I know how to do. I can't write or paint or sing very well. I'm not very intelligent. But one day follows another; to wake up in the morning; to see the sky; to walk in the park; to meet someone I know, like Peter; to get a bunch of roses. This is enough, and being dead is so unbelievable: that it must all end; and no one in the world will know how much I have loved it all, every moment. ♦ The door opened. Elizabeth knew that her mother was resting. She came in very quietly. She stood perfectly still. Not looking like one of the Dalloways, who had fair hair and blue eyes. Elizabeth instead was dark, with Chinese eyes in a white face; pleasant, thoughtful, calm. As a child, full of laughter, but now at seventeen, very serious. She stood quite still and looked at her mother; but Miss Kilman, full of jealousy, was just outside the door, listening to what they said. Mrs Dallo-way came out with her daughter. Elizabeth knew that Miss Kilman and her mother had a deep dislike for each other. She felt uncomfortable to see them together. She ran upstairs to find her hat. 'You are taking Elizabeth to the shops?' Mrs Dalloway said. Miss Kilman said that she was. Miss Kilman was not going to make herself pleasant: she worked verfy hard, she studied; while this other woman did nothing, believed in nothing; just looked after her daughter. And here was Eliza-beth back again, the beautiful girl. Laughing, Clarissa said goodbye. Downstairs they went together, Miss Kilman and Elizabeth. Secretly hurt that this woman was taking her daughter from her, Clarissa called out after them: 'Remember the party! Remember our party tonight!' But already the front door was open and Elizabeth did not answer. Now that Miss Kilman was gone, the idea of her came back to Clarissa more strongly: narrow, jealous, hard;- always so sure that she was right. A deeply dislikeable woman. But Big Ben was sounding the half hour and Clarissa remembered all sorts of little things — Mrs Marsham, Ellie Henderson, glasses for ices. She must telephone immediately. ♦ Peter Walsh, feeling tired and hot, stood by the letter-box opposite the British Museum, heard the sound of an ambu-lance high and loud above the traffic noise and thought about living and dying. And thought still about Clarissa, sitting with her once on the top of a bus. Over the years she came to his mind like this in all sorts of places: on a ship; in the Himalayas; picturing her most often in the' country, not in London. Remembering her at Bourton . . . He arrived at his hotel and took the key. The young woman at the desk gave him some letters. As he went upstairs, he thought of Clarissa at Bourton, when he stayed there for a week or two in late summer. He pictured her on top of a hill, her coat blowing out in the wind, pointing to the river below. Or under the trees, trying to cook something on a fire, with smoke blowing in their faces. Or walking together for miles across the country while the others drove, talking all the time about people, about politics, so that he never noticed a thing until she pointed it out to him. Clarissa walking in front of him across the fields with a flower for her aunt, walking on and on without ever getting tired. Oh, it was a letter from her - this blue envelope in her handwriting. He didn't want to read it but he must. It is sure to hurt me, he thought. '"How wonderful it was to see you. I must tell you that.'" That was all. It made him uncomfortable, almost angry. Why did she write it? Couldn't she leave him alone? She and Dalloway were married now, living in perfect happiness all these years. His hotel room now seemed empty, unwelcoming: a bed, a chair, a glass. His books, letters, clothes did not seem to belong here. It was Clarissa's letter that made him see all this. Wonderful to see you.' Why did she have to say it? He pushed the letter away; he never wanted to read it again. The letter was here by six o'clock. That means that she sat down to write it immediately after he left her. So she felt sorry for him, wanted to please him, wanted him to find that one line waiting: 'Wonderful to see you'. And she meant it. He emptied his pockets. Out came his pocket-knife and a photograph of Daisy, all in white with a dog sitting on her knee. And she was twenty-four and had two children. Here he was, at his age, in real trouble. And if they did marry? It was all right for him but what about her? Giving up her children, living on when he was dead. Well, she must decide for herself, he thought, walking around in his socks, taking out a clean shirt. Perhaps I will go to Clarissa's party, he thought, or to the theatre; or perhaps stay in and read a book. Perhaps his life with Daisy was not to be. He picked up his watch, his money, his knife, Daisy's photograph, Clarissa's letter. And now for dinner. ♦ It was going to be a very hot night. Peter Walsh sat in a chair outside the hotel after dinner, as the day changed to evening like a woman changing her dress. The traffic was now lighter. Lights shone here and there among the thick-leaved trees in the squares. He bought an evening paper to read the sports page. Then, leaving it on the table and taking up his hat and coat, he started out for the party. This was her street, Clarissa's. His mind must come alive now, his body must awake, entering the house, the lighted house where the door stood open, where cars were stopping with bright women getting out of them. The heart must now be brave. He opened his pocket-knife. ♦ Lucy came running downstairs and stopped for a moment to look at the rooms, so clean and bright and shining. Then, hearing voices from below, she ran on. Mrs Dalloway wanted her to bring up the wine. Miss Elizabeth looked quite lovely in her pink dress, she told the cook. Someone had to shut up Miss Elizabeth's dog, because it bit people. Mr Wilkins (paid specially to do this) was calling out the names of people arriving: Lady and Miss Lovejoy ... Sir John and Lady Needham . . . Miss Weld . . . Mr Walsh. 'How wonderful to see you!' said Clarissa. She said it to everyone. It was not honest — Clarissa at her worst. It was a mistake to have come: much better to stay at home and read a book, thought Peter Walsh. He knew no one. Oh dear, the party was not going to be a success, it was all quite hopeless, thought Clarissa, as she stood listening to old Lord Lexham. Why did she do these things? She could see Peter out of the corner of her eye, standing there criticizing. Why did he come then, just to criticize? He was walking away, she must speak to him. But old Lord Lexham was talking to her. There was Ellie Henderson, asked at the last moment. Ah, Richard was welcoming her. 'Many people really feel the hot weather more than the cold,' she was saying. 'Yes, they do,' said Richard Dalloway. 'Yes.' 'Hullo, Richard,' said somebody, taking him by the arm. And there was old Peter, old Peter Walsh, not changed a bit. He was so happy to see him — so very pleased to see him. They went off together across the room. Clarissa saw the crowd of people all talking, drinking, laughing. It's going to be all right now, my party, she thought. It has started. It has begun. More and more people were arriving. She had six or seven words with each of them and they went on into the rooms. And yet she was not enjoying it. Every time she gave a party, she had this feeling of not being herself, that everyone was unreal in one way and much more real in another. People forgot their ordinary ways, said things they never said at other times. 'How wonderful to see you,' she said. Dear old Sir Harry! 'Of course you know everyone.' What was that name? Lady Rosseter. Who then was Lady Rosseter? 'Clarissa!' That voice! It was Sally Seton. Sally Seton after all these years. But she never looked like that, all those years ago. To think of her under this roof, under this roof. Words and laughter flew - 'passing through London, heard about your party, had to see you!' Yes, it was so surprising to see her again: older, happier, no longer lovely. They kissed each other, first this side, then that, and Clarissa turned with Sally's hand in hers and saw the rooms full, loud with voices, saw the silver, the roses given by Richard. 'I have five big boys,' said Sally. 'I can't believe it!' said Clarissa, full of happiness as she remembered the old days. But someone wanted her. The Prime Minister was here. No one was looking at him, they all went on talking, but it was clear that they all knew he was there. Clarissa took him down the room in her silver-green dress. 'Dear Clarissa,' said old Mrs Hilberry. 'Tonight you look so like your mother when I first saw her, walking in a garden in a grey hat.' Clarissa's eyes swam with tears. Her mother walking in a garden! But she must move on. There was the Professor. There was old Aunt Helena with her sdck. Where has Peter Walsh gone? she thought. Ah, there he was. 'Come and talk to Aunt Helena about Burma,' said Clarissa. And I still haven't had a word with her all evening, Peter thought. 'We will talk later,' said Clarissa, taking him up to Aunt Helena. 'Peter Walsh,' said Clarissa. 'He has been in Burma.' Now she must speak to Lady Bruton. 'Richard so enjoyed his lunch party,' she said. 'And there's Peter Walsh!' said Lady Bruton, who could never think of anything to say to Clarissa. She shook hands with Peter. She asked "him to come to lunch. Was that Lady Bruton? Was that Peter Walsh grown grey? Sally Seton (now Lady Rosseter) asked herself. And Clarissa! Oh Clarissa! Sally caught her by the arm. 'But I can't stay,' she said. 'I shall come later. Wait. I shall come back,' she said, looking at her old friends Sally and Peter, who were shaking hands and laughing. But Sally's voice no longer had its beautiful richness, her eyes didn't shine as before, when she ran out of the bathroom with no clothes on. Sally, who loved excitement, danger, always at the centre of things, Sally who was sure to die young, Clarissa thought then. And instead she was married to a rich man with no hair and lived in Manchester. And she had five boys! Sally and Peter were sitting together talking about old times - the garden at Bourton; the sitting-room wallpaper; the old man who sang without any voice. Times we three all spent together, she thought. A part of this Sally must always be and Peter must always be. But she must leave them and talk to the Bradshaws, who she did not like. At last she went into the little side-room where earlier the Prime Minister was sitting. Now there was nobody. The noise and brightness of the party died away. It was strange suddenly to be alone here in her party dress. Just now the Bradshaws were talking of a young man who killed himself today. Once she remembered throwing away a sixpence. But this boy has thrown away his life! And we go on and we grow old, thinking of Peter, of Sally. Loving and dying. Deep in her heart she felt again what she felt this morning: the darkness, that black darkness. So far, I have escaped; but that young man killed himself. So here and there people disappear and I am left standing in my evening dress. She walked to the window and watched in the house opposite an old woman going to bed alone. The clock began to tell the hour: one, two, three. The old woman put out her light. But look at the time! She must go back. She must find Sally and Peter. And she came in from the little room. ♦ 'But where is Clarissa?' said Peter, sitting on the sofa with Sally. 'Where has she gone?' 'There are important people that she has to be nice to,' said Sally. 'I have five sons,' she told him. How she has changed, thought Peter. He remembered his tears the night he left Bourton, and Sally waiting with him until he caught the train. He still plays with his knife, thought Sally, opening and shutting it every time he gets excited. Once they were so close, she and Peter Walsh, that summer when he was in love with Clarissa. But she didn't often see Clarissa now? Peter went off to India, she heard he was unhappily married, she didn't want to ask if he had any children. He looked older but also kinder, she thought. 'Have you written any books?' she asked. 'Not a word,' said Peter Walsh and she laughed. She was still pleasing, still a real person, Sally Seton. 'Yes,' said Sally laughing, 'I have a great big house and ten thousand pounds a year. You must meet my husband. You will like him.' And this was Sally who once had nothing, who had to sell some of her rings because she wanted to come to Bourton. 'And that's Elizabeth over there. She's not a bit like Clar-issa,' Peter Walsh said. 'Oh Clarissa,' said Sally. 'We were great friends,' she told Peter, 'but something was wrong. She is lovely, Clarissa was always lovely; but why did she do it, Peter? Why marry Richard Dalloway who is only interested in dogs and horses? And then,' she waved her hand at the room, 'all this. Have you got any children?' 'No,' Peter told her. 'No sons, no daughters, no wife.' 'But you look younger than any of us,' said Sally. 'It was a silly thing to do,' Peter said, 'to get married like that. But we had a wonderful time.' What does he mean? thought Sally. At his age he must surely feel alone, with no home, nowhere to go. 'You must come and stay with us,' she said, 'for weeks and weeks.' And then the truth came out. 'The Dalloways have never once come to see us. We asked them so many times but Clarissa will not come. She thinks that I married below me. My husband is a workman's son.' That, she knew, was the problem. Was Clarissa really like that? thought Peter. Yes, probably. Where was she all this time? It was getting late. 'But,' said Sally, 'when I heard that Clarissa was giving a party, I felt that I had to come - I had to see her again. So I just came. It's so important, isn't it, to say what you feel.' 'But I do not know what I feel,' said Peter Walsh. Poor Peter, thought Sally. Why didn't Clarissa come and talk to them? That was what he really wanted. All this time he was thinking only of Clarissa and playing with his knife. 'My life hasn't been easy,' Peter said. 'And my feelings for Clarissa have not been easy to understand. It has been a great problem in my life. You can't be in love twice.' What could she say? It's better to have loved - he must come and stay with them in Manchester. 'You mean more to Clarissa than Richard ever did. I'm sure about that,' said Sally. 'No, no, no!' said Peter. Sally went too far. Richard was a very good person - there he was at the end of the room, the same as ever, dear old Richard. 'But what has he done in life?' Sally asked. 'And are they happy together? Really, I know nothing about them. What can one know about other people?' she said. But Peter did not agree. 'We know everything,' he said. 'Anyway, I feel that I do.' 'There's Elizabeth,' he said. 'She feels not half of what we feel, not yet.' 'But,' said Sally, watching Elizabeth go to her father, 'you can see that they really love each other.' Father and daughter stood together now that the party was almost over. The .rooms were getting emptier and emptier, with things lying on the floor. Ellie Henderson was finally going. Richard and Elizabeth felt rather glad that it was over but Richard was proud of his daughter. He had to tell her that. How he looked at her and thought: who is that lovely girl? And it was his daughter! 'I must go and talk to Richard,' said Sally. 'I shall say goodnight. It's not the mind that matters, Peter, it's the heart.' 'I will come,' said Peter; but he sat there for a moment. What is this feeling that hurts me so? What is this happiness? he thought to himself. What is this great excitement that burns inside me? 'It is Clarissa,' he said. And there she was. THE PLACES IN THE STORY Mrs Dalloway lives in the centre of London, in Westminster near Dean's Yard. Her house is not far from Big Ben, the famous clock of the Houses of Parliament, where her husband Richard works. To buy her flowers in Bond Street, she crosses first Saint James's Park and then Piccadilly. When Peter Walsh leaves Clarissa's house, he walks to Trafalgar Square and from there he goes north to Regent's Park, where he has a rest. His hotel is near the British Museum and in the evening he walks from there back to Clarissa's house in Westminster for the party. Mayfair and Kensington are parts of central London where some of Clar-issa's friends live. The Dalloway house is like many older houses in London. The kitchen is below the ground, the sitting-room is upstairs on the first floor and the bedrooms are on the floor above. ABOUT VIRGINIA WOOLF Virginia Woolf was born in 1882 and spent most of her early life in London. With her sister Vanessa, a well-known painter, she was one of a group of painters and writers known as the Bloomsbury Group. With her husband Leonard, she started the Hogarth Press from her home in Richmond. The Press brought out nearly all her own books and also T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. Her best-known books are: Orlando, The Waves and To the Lighthouse. For many years she also wrote every day about her own thoughts, feelings and life: this is the famous Diary of Virginia Woolf She was often ill, and sometimes out of her mind, in hospital for months at a time. In 1941 she finally killed herself by throwing herself into the River Ouse. People now think of her as one of the greatest British writers of the twentieth century. EXERCISES Comprehension Here are some words spoken by different people in the story. Explain: who speaks the words; who the person is speaking to; where the people are at the time; what is happening in that part of the story. 1. 'She is under this roof!' 2. 'Will you just wait until I finish my dress?' 3. 'I am in love with a girl in India.' 4. 'Tell me the truth! Tell me the truth!' 5. 'It's not the mind that matters, it's the heart. Discussion 1. Do you think that Clarissa was right not to marry Peter Walsh? Say why or why not. 2. Peter Walsh often plays with his pocket-knife. Why do you think he does this? What does it tell us about him? Writing 1. Write one or two sentences about these parts of Mrs Dalloway's house, explaining why they are important in the story: a) the entrance hall b) the bedroom c) the sitting-room. 2. Choose a person in the story. Write three sentences about how he or she looks and three more sentences about what they think and do in this story. Review 1 Time is very important in this story. Describe the different ways in which the writer uses time. What do you think she is trying to show us about it? 2 What do you think about the story? Do you find it unusual in any way? Say why you like or dislike it. GLOSSARIES life 生活 moment 瞬间 ， 片刻 criticizing 批评 ， 非难 hostess 女主人 successful 成功的 alone 孤独的 message 消息 ， 讯息 sex 性 politics 政治 jealous 嫉妒的 ， 妒忌的 quarrels 口 角 ， 争吵 sewing 缝制物 mind 记忆 ， 回忆 divorce 离婚 lawyers 律师 tears 眼泪 truth 真相 ， 事实 注 : 以上所列单词为书中黑体宇 图 书在版编目 ( CIP ) 数据 黛洛维夫人：英文 /( 英 ) 伍尔夫著 北京：外文出版社， 1996 ISBN 7-119-01819—1 英国企鹅出版集团授权外文出版社 在中国独家出版发行英文版 企鹅文学经典 英语简易读物 ( 阶梯二） 黛洛维夫人 弗吉尼亚 " 伍尔夫著 责任编辑：余军 外文出版社出版 ( 中国北京百万庄路 2 4 号） 邮政编码 100037 煤炭工业出版社印刷厂印刷 1996 年 ( 32 开 ) 第一版 ( 英） ISBN 7 - 119 - 01819 - 1/ I. 393 ( 外 ) 著作权合同登记图字 01 - 96 - 0330 定价： 2.80 元
人大出版社影印了一套“背景中的文学”丛书（ Literature in Context ），副题是 A Student Casebook to Issues, Sources, and Historical Documents ，原是 Greenwood Press 的一个系列，从 Amazon 能看到 64 种，人大好像只影印了 10 种，好几年了，不过最近才偶然看见，于是赶紧订货，幸好还有。 10 本书是如下 10 种英美小说的“背景”： 傲慢与偏见 简爱 双城记 哈克贝利 • 费恩历险记 老人与海 哈姆雷特 威尼斯商人 了不起的盖茨比 红字 野性的呼唤 它们的篇幅都不大，除了莎翁的两个戏，其他的都很近代。读者对象好像不是大学生，而是中学生。不过对我们“外人”来说，能读到中学也满足了。 这套书不是文学批评，也不是课文分析，借出版社的广告说，是An excellent interdisciplinary resource designed for use by students, teachers, and librarians--this critically acclaimed series places literature in the historical, social, and cultural context of its time. Each sourcebook includes: · A rich collection of historical documents, collateral readings, and commentary · Present-day issues that parallel topics raised by the literature · Chronologies of historic events and lists of key figures 我从读中国古典感染了考据的乐趣和“风尚”，就爱这类溯源的东西，能从它们了解为什么会是那样的场景和故事，那样的情节和人物。然后，我可以自己去理解，而不必跟从别人的评介。刚浏览了几页《老人与海》，讲了很多古巴的文化和生态，还请生物学家谈海洋生物（如老人认识的三种乌龟，如白天和夜晚的鱼），还请医生谈老人的食物和健康——他能在那样的条件下在海上生活那么多天吗…… 科学作品当然也需要这样的casebook ,可惜科学史大多空洞。科学史里最有趣不是大的人文环境，而是发现背后的小故事。 霍金近些年编了两大卷物理学和数学的经典文选，也算是excellent interdisciplinary sources，遗憾的是，它们是整个现代物理学的源头，而不是某个具体定理的源头……
拉美第七位诺贝尔文学奖 新华网快讯：秘鲁作家马里奥巴尔加斯略萨获得今年的诺贝尔文学奖。 新浪读书讯 瑞典科学院10月7日宣布，秘鲁作家马里奥-巴尔加斯-略萨获得2010年诺贝尔文学奖。颁奖文告称，略萨对权力结构进行了细致的描绘，对个人的抵抗、反抗和失败给予了犀利的叙述。 巴尔加斯略萨于1936年3月28日生于秘鲁南部亚雷基帕市，1953年进入秘鲁国立圣马尔科斯大学双主修文学与法律，1957年入同校语言学研究所做研究生，1958年中旬以研究尼加拉瓜作家；诗人鲁文达里奥的学位论文(《阐释鲁文达里奥的基础》获文学(语言学)学位，同年离开祖国秘鲁移居欧洲，曾客居法国(主要在巴黎)、西班牙(主要在巴塞隆纳)等国(后来他长期定居英国伦敦)。 巴尔加斯略萨曾在英国剑桥大学担任教职(1977年获聘)，也曾在英国伦敦大学(1967年和1969年)、美国哥伦比亚大学(1975年)、美国哈佛大学(1992年)等校客座教职。 略萨大部分作品中一个雷打不动的主题是反独裁，极右(比如《城市与狗》和《酒吧长谈》)和极左(比如《狂人玛伊塔》)都是他批判的对象。略萨坚信，小说需要介入政治，这是让小说变得尖锐而有力的重要武器之一。 《城市与狗》是略萨的成名作，也是标志着拉丁美洲文学爆炸展开的四部里程碑小说之一。他的主要代表作品还有，《绿房子》、《世界末日之战》、《谁是杀人犯》、《叙事人》、《谎言中的真实》、《天堂的另外那个街角》等。 1987年，略萨曾回到秘鲁组建新政党自由运动组织，主张全面开放的自由市场经济。1989年，略萨参加秘鲁总统大选，最终惜败于藤森。 日后，在回忆录《水中鱼》中，他反思道：现在看来，没能获胜意味着一种精神解脱，可当时真是刺痛了我的心。然而， 7马里奥巴尔加斯略萨（Mario Vargas Llosa），拥有秘鲁与西班牙双重国籍的作家及诗人。创作小说、剧本、散文随笔、诗、文学评论、政论杂文，也曾导演舞台剧、电影和主持广播电视节目及从政。诡谲瑰奇的小说技法与丰富多样而深刻的内容为他带来结构写实主义大师的称号，台湾多译为尤萨或罗萨。Mario是名字，Vargas（巴尔加斯）是父亲的姓，Llosa（略萨）是母亲的姓，分别代表Mario父亲和母亲的家族。 1*1945年 列拉米斯特拉尔（女）（1889～1957）智利诗人。主要作品有《死的十四行诗》，诗集《绝望》、《柔情》、《有刺的树》、《葡萄区榨机》等。1945年作品《柔情》获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由： 她那由强烈感情孕育而成的抒情诗，已经使得她的名字成为整个拉丁美洲世界渴求理想的象征 2*1967年 安赫尔阿斯图里亚斯（1899～1974）危地马拉诗人、小说家。主要作品有小说《危地马拉传说》、《总统先生》、《玉米人》等。1967年作品《玉米人》获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由：因为他的作品落实于自己的民族色彩和印第安传统，而显得鲜明生动 3*1971年 巴勃鲁聂鲁达（1904～1973）智利诗人。主要作品有作《二十首情诗和一支绝望的歌》、《西班牙在我心中和代表作《诗歌总集》等。1971年作品《情诗哀诗赞诗》获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由：诗歌具有自然力般的作用，复苏了一个大陆的命运与梦想 4*1982年 加夫列尔加西亚马尔克斯（1928～）哥伦比亚记者、作家。主要作品有长篇小说《百年孤独》、《家长的没落》、《霍乱时期的爱情》、《迷宫中的将军》；报告文学《一个海上遇难者的故事》、《米格尔利廷历险记》等。1982年作品《百年孤独》获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由：由于其长篇小说以结构丰富的想象世界，其中糅混着魔幻于现实，反映出一整个大陆的生命矛盾。 5*1990年 奥克塔维奥帕斯（1914～1998）墨西哥诗人。主要诗作有《太阳石》、《假释的自由》、《向下生长的树》；散文作品有《孤独的迷官》、《人在他的世纪中》、《印度纪行》等。1990年作品《太阳石》获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由：他的作品充满激情，视野开阔，渗透着感悟的智慧并体现了完美的人道主义 6*1992年 德里克沃尔科特（1930～）圣卢西亚诗人。主要作品有诗集《在绿夜里》、《放逐及其他》、《海湾及其他》；剧作《猴山之梦》、《最后的狂欢》等。1992年作品《西印度群岛》获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由：他的作品具有巨大的启发性和广阔的历史视野，是其献身多种文化的结果。 中文名： 马里奥巴尔加斯略萨 外文名： Mario Vargas Llosa 出生地： 秘鲁 出生日期： 1936年3月28日 职业： 作家及诗人 毕业院校： 秘鲁国立圣马尔科斯大学 主要成就： 英国伦敦大学国王学院的院士 1959 Los jefes（《首领们》或《领袖》） 1963 La ciudad y los perros（《城市与狗》） 1965 La casa verde（《绿房子》或《青楼》） 1967 Los cachorros（《崽儿们》或《幼崽》） 1969 Conversacin en La Catedral（《酒吧长谈》） 1973 Pantalen y las visitadoras（《潘达雷昂上尉与劳军女郎》） 1977 La ta Julia y el escribidor（《胡莉娅姨妈与作家》） 1981 La guerra del fin del mundo（《世界末日之战》） 1984 Historia de Mayta（《狂人玛伊塔》） 1986 Quin mat a Palomino Molero?（《谁是杀人犯》） 1987 El hablador（《叙事人》） 1988 Elogio de la madastra（《继母颂》） 1993 Lituma en los Andes（《利图马在安地斯山》） 1997 Los cuadernos de don Rigoberto（《情爱笔记》） 2000 La fiesta del Chivo（暂译《小山羊的节日》或《奇波的盛宴》或《元首的幽会》） 2003 El paraso en la otra esquina（暂译《天堂在另外的街角》） 1971 Garca Mrquez: historia de un deicidio（《加西亚马尔克斯：弑神者的历史》，博士论文，整理后出版） 1971 El combate imaginario. Las cartas de batalla de Joanot Martorell（《给白脸蒂朗下战书》，论著） 1971 La historia secreta de una novela（暂译《小说秘史》，论著） 1975 La orga perpetua: Flaubert y Madame Bovary（《永远纵欲》或《无休止的纵欲》，副题名福楼拜与《包法利夫人》，论著） 1981 La sentilde;orita de Tacna. Pieza en dos actos（《塔克纳小姐》，剧本） 1983 Entre Sartre y Camus（暂译《萨特与加缪之间》，研究萨特与阿尔贝加缪的论著） 1983 Kathie y el hipoptamo. Comedia en dos actos（《凯蒂与河马》，喜剧） 1983 Contra viento y marea (1962-1982)（《顶风破浪（第一卷）》，收录1962年到1982年随笔、政论、杂文、讲稿等的文集） 1986 Contra viento y marea. Volumen II (1972-1983)（《顶风破浪（第二卷）》，收录1972年到1983年随笔、政论、杂文、讲稿等的文集） 1986 La Chunga（《琼加》或《琼卡》或《琼卡姑娘》，剧本） 1990 Contra viento y marea. Volumen III (1964-1988)（《顶风破浪（第三卷）》，收录1964年到1988年随笔、政论、杂文、讲稿等的文集） 1990 La verdad de las mentiras: Ensayos sobre la novela moderna（《谎言中的真实》，评现代小说与散文的论著） 1991 Carta de batalla por Tirant lo Blanc 1991 A Writeracute;s Reality（暂译《作家的真实》，论著，用英文写成） 1993 El pez en el agua. Memorias（《水中鱼》，回忆录） 1993 El loco de los balcones（《阳台上的疯子》，剧本） 1994 Desafos a la libertad 1996 La utopa arcaica: Jos Mara Arguedas y las ficciones del indigenismo（暂译《文学乌托邦：何塞马里亚阿格达斯与其虚构和想像》，论著） 1997 Cartas a un joven novelista（《给青年小说家的信》，小说方法论随笔集） 2001 El lenguaje de la pasin（暂译《文学的激情》，论著） 2001 Bases para una interpretacin de Rubn Daro（《阐释鲁文达里奥的基础》，大学学位论文，1958年完成，母校秘鲁国立圣马尔科斯大学Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos出版） 2004 La tentacin de lo imposible（暂译《不可能的诱惑》，研究雨果的论著） 1.1959年，他的小说《首领们》获西班牙莱奥波尔多阿拉斯文学奖，这是他首次获文学奖。 2.1962年，他的小说《骗子们》获西班牙布雷维图书馆奖。 3.1963年，他的《城市与狗》在西班牙获批评奖。 4.1967年是略萨文学创作大丰收的一年，他共获三项大奖：西班牙评论奖、秘鲁国家小说奖和委内瑞拉罗慕洛加列戈斯小说奖。 5.1980年，意大利拉美研究院授给他的小说《胡莉娅姨妈与作家》文学奖。 6.1985年，他的小说《世界末日之战》获海明威文学奖，第二年又获西班牙阿里图里亚斯王子文学奖。 7.1988年他又获美洲金质奖章。 8.2000年，巴尔加斯略萨获得了第13届梅嫩德斯佩拉约国际奖，奖金为800万比索（约合5万美元）。该奖专门授予那些进行文学、艺术和科学研究卓有成就的知名人物。 十年诺贝尔文学奖获奖名单 2010年10月04日 11:47 凤凰网文化 【 大 中 小 】【 打印 】 共有评论 0 条 2000年 高行健（1940～）法籍华人，（1997年加入法国国籍），出生于中国江西赣州。 剧作家、小说家，主要作品有剧作《绝对信号》、《野人》、《车站》；小说《灵山》（2000年获奖作品） 、《一个人的圣经》等。2000年作品《灵山》获诺贝尔文学奖（第一部获奖的中文作品）。获奖理由：其作品的普遍价值，刻骨铭心的洞察力和语言的丰富机智，为中文小说和艺术戏剧开辟了新的道路。 2001年 维苏奈保尔（1932～）印度裔英国作家。1990年被英国女王授封为骑士。主要作品有小说《神秘的按摩师》、《米格尔大街》、 《大河弯》（2001年获奖作品） 、《岛上的旗帜》、《超越信仰》、《神秘的新来者》等。2001年获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由： 其著作将极具洞察力的叙述与不为世俗左右的探索融为一体，是驱策我们从扭曲的历史中探寻真实的动力。 2002年 凯尔泰斯伊姆雷（1929～）匈牙利作家。主要作品有小说《苦役日记》（2002年获奖作品） 、《非劫数》、《惨败》、《为一个未出生的孩子祈祷》等。2002年获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由：表彰他对脆弱的个人在对抗强大的野蛮强权时痛苦经历的深刻刻画以及他独特的自传体文学风格。 2003年 库切（1940～）南非作家。主要作品有小说《等待野蛮人》、《昏暗的国度》、《来自国家的心脏》、《耻》（2003年获奖作品） 、《钢铁时代》、《凶年纪事》等。 2003年获诺贝尔文学奖。获奖理由：精准地刻画了众多假面具下的人性本质。 2004年 埃尔弗里德耶利内克（1943～）奥地利女作家。主要作品有《钢琴教师》（2004年获奖作品） 、《女情人们》、《我们是骗子，宝贝》及《情欲》等小说。2004年诺贝尔文学奖。她由此成为第一个获得诺贝尔文学奖的奥地利人。获奖理由：因为她的小说和戏剧具有音乐般的韵律，她的作品以非凡的充满激情的语言揭示了社会上的陈腐现象及其禁锢力的荒诞不经。 2005年 哈罗德品特（1930~2008），犹太人。英国剧作家，被评论界誉为萧伯纳之后英国最重要的剧作家。获得2005年度诺贝尔文学奖。主要作品： 《生日派对*看门人*回乡》（2005年获奖作品） 、《看门人》(The Caretaker，1960)、《生日派对》(TheBirthdayParty，1958)、《回乡》(TheHome coming，1965)等。授予诺贝尔文学奖的理由是他的戏剧发现了在日常废话掩盖下的惊心动魄之处，并强行打开了压抑者关闭的房间。 2006年 奥尔罕帕慕克（1952~），土耳其作家，获得2006年度诺贝尔文学奖。授予他诺贝尔文学奖的理由是在追求他故乡忧郁的灵魂时发现了文明之间的冲突和交错的新象征。主要作品有《白色城堡》、 《我的名字叫红》（2006年获奖作品） 、《伊斯坦布尔》等。 2007年 多丽丝莱辛（Doris Lessing，1919 ），英国女作家，获得2007年度诺贝尔文学奖，代表作品《金色笔记》（2007年获奖作品） 、《野草在歌唱》、《暴力的孩子们》、《简述下地狱》、《第三、四、五区域间的联姻》、《简萨默斯日记》等。 2008年 勒克莱齐奥（Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clzio，1940 ），法国新寓言派代表作家。授予他诺贝尔文学奖的理由是新起点、诗歌冒险和感官迷幻类文学的作家，是在现代文明之外对于人性的探索者。主要作品有《诉讼笔录》、《金鱼》、《流浪的星星》、《少年心事》、 《战争》（2008年获奖作品） 、《乌拉尼亚》等。 2009年 赫塔缪勒（Herta Mller，1953－），罗马尼亚裔的德国女性小说家、诗人、散文家。授予她诺贝尔文学奖的理由是专注于诗歌以及散文的率真，描写了失业人群的生活图景。代表作品：《我所拥有的我都带着》、《光年之外》、《行走界线》、《河水奔流》、《呼吸钟摆》（2009年获奖作品）等
上次给小飞推荐了哲学家萨特的文学作品，这次推荐一位文学大师：博尔赫斯，在他的文学作品中常常闪烁着哲学思辩的光辉。 博尔赫斯（Jorges Luis Borges，1899－1986）是我最崇敬的一位作家。他是使拉美文学走向世界的第一人，阿根廷文学在世界上的声誉几乎全由他一人赢得。美国大学教材甚至把拉美文学史分为博尔赫斯之前和博尔赫斯之后。不过，博尔赫斯从不将自己的视野局限在阿根廷的现实中，而是将整个西方文明作为自己的精神源泉。与其他拉美作家相比，博尔赫斯的作品更具世界性。博尔赫斯是20世纪现代主义文学与后现代文学的分水岭。从他开始，传统的文学观念发生了很大变化，如文学种类的界限被打破、客观时间被取消、幽默与荒谬结合、现实与魔幻统一等等。博尔赫斯曲高和寡，很难被一般读者所理解，但他在作家中的声誉很高，他是众多作家学习和模仿的榜样。 博尔赫斯作品的语言非常精练，他的短篇小说通常有着长篇小说的宏大主题和深刻内涵。因为没有写过长篇巨作，博尔赫斯最终与诺贝尔文学奖失之交臂。有人评论说：这不是博尔赫斯的损失，而是诺贝尔文学奖的损失。诺贝尔文学奖因为少了博尔赫斯而黯然失色。 博尔赫斯的诗歌、散文和短篇小说都很著名。不过，我读博氏诗歌的中译本，感觉哲学思辩有余，而语言的美感不足，可能是受翻译影响的缘故。诗歌限于篇幅所限，还不能很好地表达博氏的思想。与诗歌、散文相比，小说因其灵活多样的表现手法，更能体现博氏文学的精髓。比较而言，我更喜欢博尔赫斯小说83版的译本。99版和05版的译者从西班牙文直译，可能更准确，但他们的中文水平和老王同志相比，差距还是挺明显的。 Jorge Luis Borges 1951, by Grete Stern
科学 文学 1500 多年前，刘勰在《文心雕龙》第一篇“原道第一”开篇即说：“ 文之为德也大矣，与天地并生者何哉？夫玄黄色杂，方圆体分，日月叠璧，以垂丽天之象；山川焕绮，以铺理地之形：此盖道之文也。仰观吐曜，俯察含章，高卑定位，故两仪既生矣。惟人参之，性灵所锺，是谓三才。为五行之秀，实天地之心，心生而言立，言立而文明，自然之道也。傍及万品，动植皆文：龙凤以藻绘呈瑞，虎豹以炳蔚凝姿；云霞雕色，有逾画工之妙；草木贲华，无待锦匠之奇。夫岂外饰，盖自然耳。至于林籁结响，调如竽瑟；泉石激韵，和若球锽：故形立则章成矣，声发则文生矣。夫以无识之物，郁然有采，有心之器，其无文欤？” 大自然到处都有文章，作为三才之一、有心之器的人类岂能无文？研究大自然的科学工作者更应该有文章。科学工作者有责任把自己对大自然中万事万物的观察和思考，把对人类的热爱和关怀，以优美的形式写成文学作品奉献给人类，以丰富大自然的绮丽。 诗为文学之一种。上世纪二三十年代“魔鬼诗人”于赓虞说：“科学让我们的智慧增加，知道一切；诗让我们的感情丰富，感觉一切。无知将不能生存，无感则非美满人生。”所以，科学和诗为完美之人所必备。如果我们能将科学诗化，或者将诗科学化，那将是肉体和精神的最幸福着，是世界上最完美的人。 *** *** *** 读许渊冲散文《科学与艺术》摘记 （《散文海外版》 2001/1 ） 杜朗特在《叔本华》中说：“科学是一中有多，艺术是多中见一。” 叶公超在他的《散文集》中引用了艾略特的话：“一个人写诗，一定要表现文化的素质，如果只表现个人才气，结果一定很有限。” 杨振宁介绍在奥本海默家举行招待会招待艾略特时，奥本海默对艾略特说：“在物理方面，我们设法解释以前大家不理解的现象。在诗歌方面，你们设法描述大家早就理解的东西。” 许渊冲在其回忆录《追忆逝水年华》中说：“科学研究的是一加一等于二，艺术研究的是一加一等于三。” 许渊冲在其《追忆逝水年华》中文本中说：“科学研究的是‘真’，艺术研究的是‘美’。科学研究的是‘有之必然，无之必不然’之理；艺术研究的是‘有之不必然，无之不必不然’之‘艺’。” 许渊冲在其《追忆逝水年华》英文本中说：“中国诗词往往意在言外，英诗却是言尽意穷。”后来许渊冲解释说，中诗意大于言，英诗意等于言。如果言是一加一，意是二，那英诗就是 1+1=2 ；而中诗就是 1+1=3 。如李商隐“春蚕到死丝方尽”这句诗，如果只表示春蚕到死才不吐丝，那就是 1+1=2 ；如还表示相思到死才罢休，那就是 1+1=3 ；如还表示写诗要写到死，那就是 1+1=4 了。 杨振宁说狄拉克·海森伯方程的极度浓缩性和保罗万象的特点，也许可以用布莱克的不朽诗句来描述：“ 一粒沙中见世界，一朵花里见天堂。一手掌握无限大，永恒不比片刻长。 ”而其巨大的影响又可用蒲伯的名言来描述：“ 自然规律暗中藏，天命牛顿带来光 。” 杨振宁说，狄拉克是科学的风格，海森伯是艺术的风格。狄拉克的文章读起来有如“秋水文章不染尘”；而海森伯文章摸索前进的风格却像“山在虚无缥缈间”。 1999 年 5 月 22 日 。杨振宁在荣休宴会上致辞时，引用了李商隐的诗句：“夕阳无限好，只是近黄昏。”杨自译为： The evening sun is infinitely grand,Were isnot that twilight is close at hand. 杨还引用了朱自清改作的诗句：“但得夕阳无限好，何须惆怅近黄昏？”杨自译为： Given that the evening sun is so is so grand,Whyworry that twilight is close at hand? 许渊冲认为杨译是狄拉克科学风格，他又译为海森伯艺术风格： The setting sun appearssublime,Bat O,it’s near its dying time! It the setting sun issublime,Why care about aying time?
标签: 文学
