Chapter 2 Chapter One

I have never written a novel before with more trepidation than this one.I call it a novel only because I can't think of anything else to call it a novel.There is little to tell about the story, and the ending is neither death nor marriage.Death is the end of everything, so it is the final ending of a story, but it is also very appropriate to end it with marriage; those secular so-called happy reunions and pretentious people do not have to despise it.Ordinary people have an instinct to always believe that in this way, everything that needs to be explained will be explained.Men and women, no matter what vicissitudes and vicissitudes they have gone through, are finally brought together. The biological functions of both sexes have been completed, and the interest is transferred to the future generation.However, when I wrote to the end, the reader was still confused.My book is merely an account of a man I once knew, who, though very close to me, met only at long intervals;It is certainly possible for me to invent some plots to fill in these omissions and make the story read more coherently, but I have no intention of doing so.I'm just going to write down what I know.

Many years ago, I wrote a novel called; in that book, I chose a famous painter Paul Gauguin[Note]; I know very little about the life of this French artist, just relying on a little factual revelation , using the authority of a novelist, concocted several stories to write about the characters I created.In this book, I do not intend to do that at all.There is nothing fictional about it.The surnames of the characters in the book have all been changed, and it must be written so that people cannot recognize who they are, so as not to disturb those who are still alive.I am writing about a man who is not famous; perhaps he never will be; perhaps once his life is over, it leaves no more traces on the world than a pebble thrown into a river leaves on the surface of the water.At that time, if my book was still read, it was because of the interest it might arouse.However, maybe the way of life he chose for himself, and the unique firmness and gentleness of his character, will have a deeper and deeper influence among his kind, so that maybe long after his death, some people will suddenly realize that there have been people who lived in this era. A very remarkable character.Then people will see who I'm writing about, and those who want to know a little about his early life will find what they're looking for.I feel that this book, in spite of all the deficiencies I have mentioned, will be a book that can be cited for my friend's biographer.

I do not pretend to be a verbatim account of the conversations in the book.I never take notes of what they said on these or other occasions; but I remember everything that concerns me so well that, though I write it, I dare say it is a faithful reflection of what they said.As I said just now, I did not invent anything; now this sentence needs to be corrected.Like so many historians since Herodotus, I have added parts; the characters' conversations in the story are things I did not and could not have heard.My reasons for this deference are the same as those of the historians, for there are occasions where mere retelling would be lifeless, and it would be much more vivid and true to add to the conversation.I want my books to be read, so as long as they are readable, I think they can be done.As for which places are added without authorization, a discerning reader will know at a glance, he wants to abandon these and not read, and let him be free.

Another reason for my misgivings in undertaking this work is that the main characters in it are all Americans. It is not easy to know people; I think it is difficult for a person to really know anyone but his own countrymen.Because people, men and women, are not just themselves; they are also the country where they were born, the farm or city apartment where they were toddlers, the games they played when they were children, the classics of mountains and seas they heard in private, the meals they ate, the schools they went to, and the things they cared about. Movement, chanting oh psalms, and faith in God.All these things made them what they are, and none of these things can be understood by hearsay, you have to live with those people.To understand these, you have to be these.Just because you can't understand a person who is foreign to you without observation, it is difficult to describe it clearly in the book.Not even Henry James, who lived in England for forty years as a careful observer, was able to create a thoroughly Englishman.As for me, except for a few short stories, I have never planned to write about people outside my own country; the reason why I dare to write about foreigners in my short stories is because the characters in the short stories only need a little sketchy; To supplement by myself.Someone may ask, since I can make Paul Gauguin into an Englishman, why can't the characters in this book do the same.My answer is simple: just not.Then they wouldn't be what they were.I don't take them as Americans through the eyes of Americans; they are Americans through the eyes of an Englishman, and I don't even intend to emulate their language characteristics.British writers have made as much trouble in this regard as American writers have made when trying to imitate the English spoken by the British.Slang is the most deceitful thing.Henry James often used slang in his English stories, but they were never like an Englishman. Therefore, instead of achieving the low slang effect he wanted, it often made Englishmen feel abrupt and uncomfortable when they read it.