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【代帖】海南知青故事上了《纽约时报》杂志

楼主#
更多 发布于:2015-03-04 17:05
     《纽约时报》2015年3月1日周日杂志刊登了一篇由苏炜的学生温侯廷(Austin Woerner)以英文撰写的《Privy  to the plot》,讲述苏炜在海南知青时代在乡间读书的故事(温侯廷也是组歌《岁月甘泉》和白云山《知青亭记》的英译者)。
钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
沙发#
发布于:2015-03-04 17:07
The New York Times Magazine
Privy to the Plot
FEB. 27, 2015

钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
板凳#
发布于:2015-03-04 17:07
Credit Illustration by Melinda Josie
Lives
As told to AUSTIN WOERNER
 
The first novel I really fell in love with I rescued from being used as toilet paper.

When I was a teenager, growing up during China’s Cultural Revolution, our reading list was extremely limited. We weren’t allowed to read anything that was “feudalist,” “capitalist” or “revisionist.” That meant all classical Chinese poetry and fiction; all Western literature; all writing from our treacherous rival, the Soviet Union. Nobody told us specifically what we could read. But the ingenious thing about Chairman Mao’s commandments was that when you subtracted all the books that were objectionable — backward, bourgeois, tainted by religious thought, adulterated by wrongheaded Soviet ideas — that cut out pretty much the entire literary legacy of the human race.
钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
地板#
发布于:2015-03-04 17:08
I was 15 and had just started to read in earnest when I arrived on Xipei Rubber Plantation in southern China, on the island of Hainan. Like most well-off city kids, I was coming to the countryside to be “re-educated” through agricultural labor. I came voluntarily; with my entire family either scattered or behind bars for political reasons, there wasn’t much left for me in my hometown, Guangzhou. My luggage consisted of two wooden crates containing my father’s collection of Chinese classics, which I’d rescued after my house was ransacked. I couldn’t read them, though — not because they were forbidden, but because the form of Chinese in which they were written was too antiquated for me to understand.

I was a bookish kid with almost no books to read. When my work squad took breaks from watering rubber saplings, I hid in the shade of the rubber trees, out of the pounding tropical heat, and leafed through my dad’s old books. Shrimpy, bespectacled, the youngest kid in the unit — and worst of all, the child of counterrevolutionaries — I was immediately singled out for punishment by the older city boys, those who would have been in high school if the schools hadn’t been closed down. They pried open my boxes, stole my stuff, put water in my kerosene lamp so the oil would explode when I tried to light it, keeping me from reading at night.
钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
4楼#
发布于:2015-03-04 17:08
Then, one morning, as I was preparing to go to work, I saw a thick wad of paper nailed to a door with a heavy metal spike. It was a novel by Liu Qing, and it was called “To Build a New Life.”(Chuang Ye Shi)

The older boys liked to steal books from the shuttered plantation library and pin them to their doors, so they could tear off pages to use as bathroom tissue when they went to the latrine. Plucking up my courage, I knocked on the door:

“Can I have that?” I asked.

“Only if you find something else I can wipe myself with,” the boy replied.
钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
5楼#
发布于:2015-03-04 17:09
The leader of my work squad was a man named Hong Dejiang, one of the better-educated of the local laborers. With an elementary-school education, he could read at a basic level. Hong saw that I was hardworking and liked books. I asked him if he had any paper I could trade. After carefully removing all the pictures of Mao from a copy of Red Flag magazine — we’d have gotten in trouble if we were found using the chairman’s image as toilet paper — Hong tore up the remaining pages and gave them to me so I could swap them for the book.

After that, Hong let me move my desk into his own quarters — a single room less than 10 feet square, occupied mostly by the bed on which his family slept — and lent me his own small kerosene lamp. Every evening after supper, after bathing by the well, I’d go quietly to his room and read for an hour or two. Then, when the whole family had fallen asleep and my eyes had started to smart from reading by dim lamplight, I’d slip outside, closing the door gently behind me.
钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
6楼#
发布于:2015-03-04 17:10
My real education began in that room. After reading three or four other books that I saved from a similar fate, I moved on to the copies of Balzac and Turgenev that some of the city kids were circulating secretly among themselves. We all knew who the other would-be intellectuals were. To avoid getting caught, people would tear the covers off books. I first read 19th-century classics like “Eugénie Grandet” or “Le Père Goriot” in these faceless editions. Before long I was tackling tougher material: Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina” and Cao Xueqin’s “Dream of the Red Chamber,” which my dad had kept in a locked drawer at home and whose three volumes I’d paged through yearningly as I was just learning to read.

I lent my father’s books around the countryside, trading them for other ones I wanted to read. Ten years later, when I came back from Hainan to go to university, my father picked me up on the pier. One of the first sentences out of his mouth was, “Did you bring back my books?” I did. I brought back the entire set.
钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
7楼#
发布于:2015-03-04 17:10
Su Wei, 62, is a novelist who teaches Chinese language and literature at Yale. He left China in 1989. This story was told in Mandarin to Austin Woerner, who is Su’s translator.
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钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
8楼#
发布于:2015-03-04 17:15

     完,谢谢各位浏览关注!
钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
9楼#
发布于:2015-03-08 20:25
(补充上篇英文的中文译文)
苏炜:海南农场下放读书记

阅读As told to AUSTIN WOERNER(温侯廷)  

2015年03月06日

       我真正喜欢上的第一本小说差点用作了厕纸,是被我抢救回来的。
       我十几岁的时候,中国正值“文化大革命”,我们能读到的东西非常有限。任何“封建主义”、“资本主义”和“修正主义”的东西都不能读,这就意味着所有中国古典诗词和小说、西方文学,以及来自闹翻的对手——苏联的文学作品都不能碰。没有人告诉我们能读什么。但是毛主席的戒律的高明之处就在于,剔除所有不受欢迎的内容——落后的、小资的、涉及宗教思想的、掺有错误苏联思想的 ——人类的整个文学遗产几乎一点不剩了。

钟情乃坚 西舟唱晚
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