Chapter 4 The Adventures of a Word in Time

Taiwanese of my generation never sincerely believed that the novel itself had its own greatness.One of them used to be the dean of the Academia Sinica in Taiwan; it is said that he once publicly stated: novels are just for entertainment and entertainment. "I also read martial arts novels," said the old physicist, "how can that be considered learning?" Another resigned minister of transportation once wrote a martial arts novel together with his two brothers when he was still studying in high school. Earned a considerable amount of living expenses for them.But they have left no evidence of the greatness of the novel, of the art, in defense of it.When the three brothers became prominent figures in politics or academia, they worked together with the media to push the novel to the position of a lace news; dream".

The novel isn't "great" enough to be disdained to be the raw dream of a brilliant young man, but it's more than that.The reason why my contemporaries in Taiwan do not believe that the novel itself has its own greatness is often because they always think that literature is just an embellishment or container for philosophy and science, and that literature is just a whitewash or carrier of power and politics. If there is any possibility of "greatness" in literature, it is definitely because literature "packages" or "reflects" some great emotions, thoughts and concepts.Thus, literature becomes a tool, and fiction is just one of the tools.

Many a novelist begins at the threshold of the profession no more devoutly or wisely than a haughty physicist or an oblivious minister.The beginning of a career may come from a superficial motive, a false imitation, an absurd ambition, or even a little ignorant courage.Unfortunately, there are novelists who never leave that point of origin throughout their lives; whether he tries to please or educate his readers, the novel is always seen by the person who writes it as a means of conveying certain emotions, thoughts and ideas. Tool of.Those who study and comment on novels are more used to digging out "the meaning that the novel wants to express" as their career ambition.However, the novel is at best a gorgeous dress that can bring out the noble temperament of the wearer.In the market, this fashion is wrapped in the unattainable love of men and women in the secular world; in the college, this fashion shows cumbersome classics, respectable but unattainable knowledge.Sometimes—no, many times, the novelist himself has to be compelled to leave a disqualified "confession" in the preface to the publication, in the lecture hall, in the interview record, he will say: "In In this novel, what I want to express is..."

If the "..." in the line above really exists, why would a novelist bother to write a novel?Why not simply "..." to understand and enjoy it?Or, let us boldly overthrow the instrumental assumption, or even give up the idea of ​​spending a novel to express certain emotions, thoughts and concepts, and discover the ontology of the novel. I have mentioned in the preface to the publication of a collection of stories, many speeches, and several interviews that when I was young, I sat on my father's lap and listened to him narrating back and forth, and other classics. .People who read these "reminiscences" also often, as I foreseen, say that I am "well educated."But I have always missed a small, seemingly unimportant detail in the days of "Young Chengting Court Training".

At that time, Uncle Feng, who lived opposite my house, was also a father who could tell stories (and the father who was the first to be able to buy a TV). His stories always came from the four-frame comics in the evening paper—perhaps "Uncle Niu Fights Guerrilla" , maybe "A Ding and A Dang"; before television became the most attractive storyteller, I often listened to Uncle Feng tell his stories in the yard of Feng's family with his three children.Uncle Feng has the ability to make four-frame cartoons go very long, and in each frame and between each frame there are grotesque animals, screaming monsters, funny clowns and beautiful elves.They flew out of the narrow gaps between the picture frames, and suddenly appeared in the dark and dark courtyard.Then, my conflict with my father started.I asked him to include passages about witches, fairies, and even elephants in the Monkey King or Guan Yunchang stories; my father refused.He said: "It's not in the book." Even after that, he still talked about it, and some of it, but he never refused to add to the classics, and he didn't even perform a slightly exaggerated onomatopoeic imitation.Therefore, the big-nosed elephant flying from the sky with a pair of ears can only invade Changbanpo during the very short and very silent period after I went to bed and before I fell asleep, to help Zhao Zilong rescue Liu Adou, and then go to King Jinjiao Go and get back the vase stolen by the witch, and free the fairy in the bottle.These mishmash of characters and stories continue to preview a whole world in my secret dreams.

Of course my father knew: Yanyi has already revised the official history, just as the official history has revised the facts; however, he still humbly and rigorously relayed the novel written in the "final version".He made me understand that a novel should not lose the respect it deserves by retelling and retelling.For Uncle Feng, Uncle Niu, who is a guerrilla fighter, is no longer just a pawn in the "jihad"; he happily circles among treasures, ghosts, monsters and all absurd possibilities, making adventures their own purpose. Whether talented or not, many people who were used to listening to stories when they were young or young did have a youthful dream when they first faced novels, that is, they themselves could become storytellers, novel authors, and Create an adventure.However, when recalled in the future, they usually say with some teasing tone: "I was just a literary youth at that time." The so-called literary youth is a synonym for talented and immature people.Thus, the novel returned to what Fan Yanqiao lamented in "History of Chinese Fiction": "But "Han Shu·Yiwenzhi" says: "The stream of novelists is created by barnyard officials, gossip in the streets, and hearsay. ' Its source is like this, so Chinese novels will always fall into the category of 'a small skill, but a strong man can't do it'." Even in the works of Liang Qichao, who is extremely sympathetic to the situation of the novel, the novel only fulfills its appeal of persuading the good and punishing the evil, and has become a famous teacher of human relations. It is a positive reference for "new people, new morality, new religion, new politics, new customs, new learning, new heart, new personality". The novel has never had its own purpose. The dark courtyard lost its identity, and also ruined the possibility of achieving an art and an aesthetic.

In Taiwan, my contemporaries were often rather eager to promote the benefits of novels as an added value; they admired the works of their predecessors, Xiangxian, because they "condensed the blood and tears of anti-colonialism."They honor the work of a contemporary author for "expressing a love of the country."They encourage the cutting-edge works of later generations, because that work "grasps the pulse of the times".The rationale behind this claim is that fiction cannot stand unless it fits, articulates, embraces contemporary discourses—discourses that are being tossed over and over again in fashionable media to show off their progressive tone.

So the novel starts its vassal journey of complete alienation.Its ontology is thus completely forgotten.And what I want to remind is: how simple the ontology of the novel is!It is the adventure of a word in time. A word, the beginning of children's understanding of the world.The word can be king, it can be Jack, it can be Monkey King, it can be mammoth.For a word, what we would ask is: "What is it?" But once time has passed, we may ask: "And then?" Popped out, and the mammoth flew into the sky.The adventure of an unfamiliar word in time not only arouses us to ask: "What is it?" ?” and “Why?”, the original “what is it?” may not be answered, but the answer is not the goal, but the goal is to know the whole world with curiosity like a child.That initial word can be a protagonist, a supporting role, or even not a role. It only needs to be responsible for showing its position as the first piece of the puzzle, and it is enough to evoke the child on the father's lap, the dark and dark courtyard. The child activates his ability to build a whole world.

"The wind, coming to the city from afar, brings an unusual gift, but only a few sensitive people perceive it, like a person with hay fever who sneezes because of pollen wafting from elsewhere." A word, "wind", will be forgotten after three lines of the novel, but it brings spores, grows mushrooms, and makes Marcovaldo, the only laborer who discovered mushrooms, known to readers.Arrogant physicists and forgetful ministers will not know Marcovaldo, they miss Calvino for nothing, and the world they lose is incalculable.