Chapter 10 postscript

Francis Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940) had a short life, and his writing career was no more than twenty years, but he left four novels and more than one hundred and sixty short stories , making him one of the preeminent American novelists of the twentieth century. The 1920s and 1930s were the golden age of the American novel, with its stars shining brightly.Dreiser published one novel after another, and in 1925 published his masterpiece.In April of the same year, it was published in New York, and the famous poet and literary critic T. S. Eliot immediately called it "the first step of the American novel since Henry James".Hemingway wrote when recalling Faye: "Since he can write a good book like this, I believe he will be able to write a better book." Both Eliot and Hemingway are critics who are known for their harshness. It is therefore not difficult for us to appreciate the weight of these evaluations.

After the First World War, the unscathed United States entered a short period of unprecedented prosperity in history. The "American Dream" is like a colorful balloon floating in mid-air, dazzled and fascinated a generation of Americans.Fitzgerald said: "This is the most indulgent and splendid era in American history. There will be a lot to write about this era." It is this era that he capitalized and featured, and named it "Jazz Age" , so people often call him the "chronicler" and "poet laureate" of the "Jazz Age".Fei Shi is not a historian by the sidelines, he indulged in the "Jazz Age" wine and food conquest, and completely melted into his own works.Because of this, he can vividly reproduce the social style, life atmosphere and emotional rhythm of that era.But more importantly, while indulging in it, he was able to stand on the sidelines, appreciate the loss of "the lights are dim, and the drunk is gone", measure everything with strict moral standards, and express the "fans' love" after the war in a sad tone. The sadness of the disillusionment of the "American Dream" by the "Generation" can be said to be an elegy of the "Jazz Age", an American tragedy that is similar to Dreiser's masterpiece.To this day, it is still a well-known classic in the United States.

I have no research on Fitzgerald, but I have a "karma" with him by accident. In the summer of 1951, I was hired by the Department of Western Languages ​​of Yenching University in Beijing and returned from the United States to teach.In addition to a few old clothes and a portable English typewriter in the luggage, there are mainly hundreds of volumes of English and American literature books and periodicals accumulated from college to graduate school.Arrive at school in mid-August, and start class on September 1. I teach two courses for the fourth grade of English majors.Some students in the class come to chat with each other from time to time, or borrow books to read.In December, institutions of higher learning across the country launched the "Intellectuals' Ideological Reform Movement." Yenching focused on criticizing the "American imperialist cultural aggression."On the day it was my turn to play, a boy activist jumped up, held up a book in one hand, pointed to the cover of the book with the other, and asked me righteously: "You brought back such obscene and bad books from the United States. What are the intentions of the new Chinese youth?" I was startled, and I stretched my head to take a closer look, and there was a hand painted on the cover of the book, with scarlet-painted nails, holding a glass of champagne.It turned out to be a very old English pocket book, which was borrowed by a boy in my class.I gasped and thought, "I admit I'm backward in thinking, but I'm not going to be able to throw Fitzgerald's masterpiece on the trash heap."

Due to reasons that do not depend on personal will, it has been insulated from Western literature for many years.My wife was imprisoned and "displaced", no matter how many hardships and hardships I had, she couldn't bear to sell my few boxes of old books as waste paper. During the "Cultural Revolution", the whole family was sent to the rural areas of Anhui, and the books were flooded. We opened the cardboard boxes one by one, and spread the books at the door of the hut to dry, and found that the dilapidated "Gatsby" was a bit dissatisfied even though it had endured many hardships. old demeanor.Later, after the rain, I returned to Beijing to teach.Not long after, I suddenly received a letter from the editor of the monthly "World Literature", asking me to translate "Gatsby" into Chinese as soon as possible.Simply incredible! I have carried the blame for "corrupting the youth of New China" for nearly 30 years, so why did I find me to translate this "dirty book"?Could it be the mockery of fate, or the apparition of Fitzgerald, asking me to vindicate him and give him justice?After thinking about it, although I feel that the translation is rough and it is difficult to reproduce his beautiful style, I cannot evade this moral call.

Ten years later, I wrote a documentary novel in the form of memoirs in English, and naturally included the "Gatsby" part of the case.After the book was published in the United States in 1993, it has received many letters from readers.One of them, a female star who had been active on the New York stage and the Hollywood screen, specifically mentioned this plot in her letter, and then wrote: I know him.During the thirties, I was an actor, and I lived in a hotel in Hollywood called "The Garden of Allah," where a lot of writers and actors who came in for short-term jobs stayed.The sad face of Scott Fitzgerald is the only one I have ever seen in my life.The misery of his situation was written on his face and in his voice.I met him in a restaurant.That day I was reading Regmond's novel "The Peasant" by myself, and someone bent over my shoulder and said, "Why do you want to read that Polish book?" I replied, "Because it's my friend Na Te Forbe recommended it, and I really like it too." He gave a little chuckle, and shook his head again, as if I were hopelessly hopeless.I asked him, "So what do you recommend?" He said, "Wow, anything written by the best writer Scott Fitzgerald."

I felt like hearing his voice and seeing his person, as if the author of "Gatsby" appeared again!It's a pity that "the depression is different in different generations", I can only look up at the mountain and yearn for it. But the story doesn't stop there.There is a Catholic Church of St. Mary in Rockville, Maryland, not far from where we live in Victoria.Built in 1817, this small church is simple and solemn.Every Sunday, a Chinese priest holds mass there for Chinese believers.On the morning of August 20 last year, I accompanied my wife to attend the Sunday Mass there.After I sent my wife into the hall, I went out alone for a walk in the sun, feeling refreshed and happy.Unknowingly, I wandered into the cemetery next to the church and silently recited Gray's "Elegy for the Cemetery" in my heart, feeling unreasonably melancholy and in a trance.Suddenly, a tall figure appeared from in front of a tombstone, and I couldn't help shouting: "Who?" When I took a closer look, it turned out to be a well-dressed middle-aged Caucasian man, and I breathed a sigh of relief.He ignored my question, but pointed to the tombstone and said, "The best American writer!" I looked down, and on the undecorated stone tablet was inscribed:

Francis Scott Kay Fitzgerald September 24, 1896 December 21, 1940 his wife Zelda Sayre July 24, 1900 March 10, 1948 This is really a once-in-a-lifetime romance!Forty-four years ago, he was wronged and suffered together with me in a foreign country thousands of miles away.Today, unintentionally, I was lucky enough to meet his ghost again in a thousand miles away.This is a very inconspicuous cemetery, with several tombs of the Fei family occupying a small area, without trees, flowers or plants.There is neither the solemnity of the poet's cemetery in Westminster Abbey in London, nor the magnificence of the Necropolis in Milan.Back then, a blond boy who was unwilling to be lonely, dreamed of building a resplendent and resplendent heaven on earth with his own splendid talent, so that he could enjoy all the pleasures in the world.Once upon a time, suffering from poverty and sickness, waking up from a broken dream, he came to this corner to rest involuntarily, and shared the eternal loneliness with his pink lady.A few steps away from the cemetery is a main road, and there is a constant flow of vehicles running day and night. Among the thousands of passers-by, how many people have "unsettled their saddles and stayed here for the first time", let me pay tribute to this " The embodiment of the "American Dream" and the epic master of the Jazz Age?Forget it, forever freed from the shackles of fame and wealth, and beyond the suffering of life and death, blessed is Fitzgerald, who will shine through the ages with his immortal poems.

It was noon, mass was over, my wife came out of the church, saw me walking around the cemetery, and shouted from a distance: "Aren't you afraid of heat stroke?" I pointed to the tombstone and said, "I ran into an old friend again." She was surprised , went to the tombstone and looked at it, smiled and said: "This is probably a lingering ghost. I watched a mass, and you had a tryst. Next year is his centenary birthday, let's bring a bouquet of flowers, Come and comfort his heroic spirit." I pointed to a stele on the ground in front of the tombstone, on which was engraved the last sentence, and she read softly:

So we rowed forward with all our strength, and the small boat that went upstream kept going backwards and entered the past. Today, during the Mid-Autumn Festival, I went to Toronto to visit relatives, and I missed his 100th birthday to visit his grave, feeling as if I had lost something.It is also unpredictable. At this moment, I would like to thank Yilin Publishing House for deciding to reprint the old translation, as a small garland dedicated to this long-lived wizard. Wu Ningkun In the autumn of 1996, at the Hunter Forest Guest House in Victoria