上文的附录一:
《The hours》224—225页的两段:
It seems, at that moment, that Richard begins truly to leave the world. To Clarissa it is an almost physical sensation, a gentle but irreversible pulling-away, like a blade of grass being drawn out of the ground. Soon Clarissa will sleep, soon everyone who knew him will be asleep, and they’ll all wake up tomorrow morning to find that he’s joined the realm of the dead. She wonders if tomorrow morning will mark not only the end of Richard’s earthly life but the beginning of the end of his poetry, too. There are, after all, so many books. Some of them, a handful, are good, and of that handful, only a few survive. It’s possible that the citizens of the future, people not yet born, will want to read Richard’s elegies, his beautifully cadenced laments, his rigorously unsentimental offerings of love and fury, but it’s more likely that his books will vanish along with almost everything else. Clarissa, the figure in a novel, will vanish, as will Laura Brown, the lost mother, the martyr and fiend.
Yes, Clarissa thinks, it’s time for the day to be over. We throw our parties; we abandon our families to live alone in Canada; we struggle to write books that do not change the world, despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep—it’s as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out of windows or drown themselves or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us, the vast majority, are slowly devoured by some disease or, if we’re very fortunate, by time itself. There’s just this for consolation; an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.
在那一刻理查德似乎真的开始离开这个世界。对克拉丽莎来说,这几乎是一种身体的感觉,某种温和却不可逆转(不可挽回)的抽离,就像一片草被拔出地面。克拉丽莎会很快入睡,认识理查德的每个人很快会睡着,他们都会在明天早晨醒来时发现他已加入了死者的行列。她想也许明天上午不仅将标志着理查德世俗生活的结束,也将是他的诗歌结束的开始,毕竟,世上有那么多的书。这些书中的一些书,或少数书,是好书。然而,就是在这少数的好书中,也只有几本可以流传下去。很可能,未来的人们,那些尚未出生的人们,会读理查德的挽歌,那是他韵律美丽的感叹,是他献出的严厉无情的爱与狂怒。但更可能的是,他的书将会随着几乎所有其它东西一起消失。克拉丽莎,小说中的这个人物,将消失,就象劳拉·布朗,那迷失的母亲,那殉道者和恶魔,也将消失一样。
是的,克拉丽莎想,是该结束这一天的时候了。我们举行宴会;我们抛弃家庭独自生活在加拿大;我们努力写书,尽管我们很有天赋,我们不懈地努力,我们有着最大的希望,我们写出的却是不会改变世界的书。我们过我们的生活,做我们该做的事,然后我们安息——就这么简单,就这么平常。一些人会跳楼、投水或服安眠药,更多的人则死于非命。而我们中的绝大多数人,都是慢慢被疾病吞噬。或者,如果我们很幸运,则被时间本身吞噬。我们只有一点安慰,那就是我们的生活,会克服所有的困难、出乎所有意料地,突然在这里或那里(这样或那样地)绽放一些时刻,把我们想象的一切(美好)给予我们,虽然除了孩子们(甚至也许包括他们),每个人都知道,紧随其后的必然是更黑暗、更艰难的时刻。不过,我们仍会珍爱这座城市,这个清晨。更重要的是,我们仍会希望拥有更多。
这段话让我想起菲兹杰拉德的小说《了不起的盖茨比》的结尾:
他经历了漫长的道路才来到这片蓝色的草坪上,他的梦一定就像是近在眼前,他几乎不可能抓不住的。他不知道那个梦已经丢在他背后了,丢在这个城市那边那一片无垠的混沌之中不知什么地方了,那里合众国的黑黝黝的田野在夜色中向前伸展。
盖茨比信奉这盏绿灯,这个一年年在我们眼前渐渐远去的极乐的未来。它从前逃脱了我们的追求,不过那没关系——明天我们跑得更快一点,把胳膊伸得更远一点……总有一天……
于是,我们奋力向前划,逆流向上的小舟,不停地倒退,进入过去。
[此贴子已经被作者于2013-4-8 15:48:30编辑过]
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