Soul Mountain (chinese)
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"Soul Mountain is one of those singular literary creations that seem impossible to compare with anything but themselves… In the writing of Gao Xingjian literature is born anew from the struggle of the individual to survive the history of the masses."
– from the citation of the Nobel Prize committee of the Swedish Academy
When this year's Nobel Prize for Literature was awarded to Chinese expatriate novelist and playwright Gao Xingjian, few in the English-speaking West were familiar with his work. Gao's masterpiece, SOUL MOUNTAIN (PerfectBound, an e-book from HarperCollins; February 20, 2001; $19.95), is a dazzling kaleidoscope of fiction, philosophy, history and fable. Elegantly translated by Australian sinologist Mabel Lee, this richly textured autobiographical novel recounts a dual journey-a literal journey into the heart of China and a spiritual journey of the self.
When Gao was 43, he was incorrectly diagnosed with lung cancer. Resigned to death by the same means that had claimed his father just a few years before, Gao spent six weeks indulging his appetites and reading philosophy. The spot on Gao's lung mysteriously disappeared, but a new threat arose when rumors began to circulate that he was to be sent to a prison farm because of his controversial writings. No longer facing imminent death, the writer quickly left Beijing and disappeared into the remote forest regions of Sichuan, then spent five months wandering along the Yangtze River from its source down to the coast. Gao's 15,000 kilometer sojourn forms the geographic parameters of the fictional journey in SOUL MOUNTAIN.
While on a train at the start of his trip, the writer protagonist meets another traveler who says he is going to Lingshan, "soul mountain," which can be found by the remote source of the You River. The writer has never heard of such a place, and he resolves to go there, but his fellow traveler can give him none but the vaguest directions. Thus begins a metaphoric odyssey into the hinterlands of China and the outlying Qiang, Miao and Yi districts that dangle on the fringes of Han Chinese civilization.
The writer is in search of the traditions that are hidden in rural China, and as he travels he encounters a parade of unforgettable characters who embody both vestiges of the past-Daoist masters, Buddhist monks, ancient calligraphers-and the modern culture that has surfaced since the revolution: small town communist cadres, budding entrepreneurs, independent young girls grappling with parochial repression. The two worlds exist uneasily as one, with stories and customs from centuries past colliding with a world of televisions, automobiles, and technology. All is permeated by the dark legacy of the Cultural Revolution, the encroachment of ecological damage, and the harsh monetary realities of everyday life in contemporary China.
SOUL MOUNTAIN is a dazzling work of the imagination, where classic fables merge with tales of modern cruelty and ancient philosophy does battle with existentialism. But Gao goes deeper still as he explores notions of the devastation of the self at the hands of social expectations. He continually shifts his narrative voice as the "I" of the writer becomes the "you" of an imagined companion, then the "she" of a woman companion. Yet all reflects back on the protagonist, who craves these two seemingly contradictory ends-the solitude necessary for nurturing the self and the anxiety-provoking warmth of human society.
Gao began this novel in the mid-eighties, then carried the manuscript with him when he fled China in 1987. Now living in Paris, he completed the book there in 1989. His writings continue to be banned in his native country. As Gao's work at last gains the public's attention here in the West, SOUL MOUNTAIN provides a dazzling introduction to the achievement of one of contemporary literature's acknowledged masters.
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二十三
你说你做了个梦，就刚才，睡在她身上。她说，是的，只一会儿，还同你说话来着，你好像并未完全入睡，她说她摸着你，就在你做梦的时候，她也感觉到了你的脉搏，只有一分钟。你说是，前一刹那还什么都清楚，感到她乳房的温暖，她腹部的呼吸。她说她握着你，触摸到你的脉搏。你说你就看见黑色的海面升了起来，本来平平的海面缓缓隆起，不可以阻挡。涌到面前，海天之间的那水平线挤没了，黑色的海面占据了整个视野。她说，你睡着的时候，就贴在她胸脯上。你说你感到了她乳房鼓涨，像黑色的海潮，而海潮升腾又像涌起的欲望，越来越高涨，要将你吞没，你说你有种不安。她说，你就在我怀里，像个乖孩子，只是你脉搏变得急促了。你说你感到一种压迫，那鼓涨，伸延而不可遏止的海潮，变成一张巨大的平面，向你涌来，没有一丝细碎的波涛，平滑得像一匹展开的黑缎子，两边都没有尽头，一无滞涩，流泻着，又成了黑色的瀑布，从望不到顶的高处倾泻而下，落入不见底的深渊，没有一丁点阻塞。她说你真傻，让我抚爱你。你说你看见那黑色的海洋，海平面隆起的波涛，尔后便鼓涨舒展开来，占据了整个视野，全不容抗拒。你在我怀里，她说，是我拥抱你，用我的温香，你知道是我的乳房，我的乳房在鼓涨。你说不是的。她说是的，是我握着你，摸着你悸动的脉搏，越来越强劲。你说那涌起的黑色的波涛里有一条白的鳗鱼，润湿，平滑，游动着，像一道闪电，还是被黑色的浪潮整个儿吞没了。她说她看见了，也感觉到了。然后，在海滩上，浪潮终放过去之后，只剩下一片无垠的海滩，平展展铺着细碎的沙粒，湖水刚退，只留下了泡沫，你就看见了黑色的人体，跪着匍匐蟋曲在一起，蠕动，相互拱起，又扭曲绞合，又角斗，都一无声息，在广漠的海滩上，也没有风声，扭曲绞合，起而又落，那头和脚，手臂和腿，纠缠得难分难解，像黑色的海象，却又不全像，翻滚，起来又落下，再翻滚，再起再落。她说，她感觉到了你，一番激烈的搏动之后，又趋放平缓，间歇了一下，再搏动，再归故平缓，她都感觉到了。你说你看见了人样的诲兽或兽像的人的躯体，黑色平滑的躯体，稍微有些亮光，像黑缎子，又像润泽的皮毛，扭曲着，刚竖立起来就又倾倒了，总也在滚动，总难解难分，弄不清在角斗还是屠杀，没有声音，没有一丁点声响，你就清清楚楚看见了，那空寂的连风声也没有的海滩上，远远的，扭曲滚动的躯体，无声无息。她说那是你的脉搏，一番激烈的搏动之后，又平缓下来，间歇了一下，再搏动，再间歇。你说你看见那人样的海兽或兽像的黑色平滑的躯体，闪着些微的亮光，像黑缎子，又像是润泽的皮毛，扭曲滚动，难解难分，没有瞬息休止，缓缓的，从容不迫，角斗或者是屠杀，你都清清楚楚看见，平展展的海滩上，在远处，分明在滚动。她说你枕在她身上，贴着她乳房，像一个乖孩子，你身上都出汗了。你说你做了个梦，就刚才，躺在她身上。她说只有一分钟，她听着你在她耳边的呼吸。你说你都清清楚楚看见，你也还看得见，那黑色隆起的海平面，缓缓涌来而不可阻挡，你有种不安。她说你是个傻孩子，什么都不懂。可你说你明明看见了，清清楚楚，就这样涌来，占据了整个视野，那无边无际的黑色的浪潮，汹涌而不可遏止，都没有声响，竟平滑得如同一面展开的黑色缎子，倾泻下来又如同瀑布，也是黑色的，没有凝滞，没有水花，落入幽冥的深处，你都看见了。她说她胸脯紧紧贴住你，你背上都是汗水。那一面竖起的光滑的倾泻的黑墙令你不安，你身不由己，闭住眼睛，依然感觉到自身的存在，听任它倾泻而不可收拾，你什么都看见了，什么都看不见，那倾斜了的诲平面，你坠落下去，又飘浮着，那黑色的兽，角斗抑或屠杀，总扭曲不已，空寂的海滩，也没有风。她把你枕在她怀里，凭触觉记住了这一切细微末节，竟又不可以重复。她说她要重新触摸到你脉搏的跳动，她要，还要那扭曲的人形的兽，无声的搏斗，是一种屠杀，流动纠缠绞合在一起，平展的海滩，细碎的砂粒，只留下泡沫，她要，她还要。那黑色的来潮退去，海滩上还剩下什么？
