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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八十
你喘息着,一步歇一步,走向冰山,好不艰难。碧绿的冰河阴沉而透明。冰层下,墨绿得像翡翠巨大的矿脉。
你在光洁的冰面上滑行,严寒刺扎你冻得麻木的面颊,刚能觉察的冰花,五颜六色在眼前闪烁,呵出的水气在眉毛上立即结一层白霜。四下一片凝固了的寂静。
河床突起,冰川以无法觉察的速度,一年几米,十几米,几十米,一点一点移进。
你逆冰川而行,像一只快要冻僵了的爬虫。
前面,阳光照不到的阴影里,矗立被风扫荡过的冰的平面。当风暴起来,以每秒百公尺以上的速度,将这一面面洁净的冰壁全都抛光了。
你在这冰晶的断墙之间,不动也喘息不已。肺脏有种撕裂的疼痛,脑髓已经凝结,不能再思考,近乎一片空白,这不就是你寻求达到的境界?像这冰雪的世界,只有一些不能确定的阴影构成的各种模糊的图象,不诉说什么,没有意义,一片死寂。
每一步你都可能摔倒,摔倒就摔倒了,再挣扎滑着爬行,你手脚早已失去了疼痛的感觉。
冰层上积雪越来越少,残留在风扫荡不到的某些死角。雪层坚硬,绵软只不过是表象,都裹在冰晶的硬壳中。脚下冰谷里一只秃头鹫鹰在盘旋,除你之外的另一个生命,你也弄不清是不是你的一种印象,要紧的是你还有视象。
你回旋而上,在回旋之中,在生死之间,还在挣扎,这么个存在,也就是说,血管里的血还在流动,这条性命也还没断。
这巨大的沉寂里,晶铃铃,一个微弱的铃声刚可以捉摸,像冰晶撞击,你以为你听见了。
冰山巅出现了紫色的云霞,预示风暴正高速在云霞里旋转,边缘缈袅的云翳显示出这风暴的力度。
一个越来越分明的铃声唤起了你心底的悸动,你看见一个女人骑在马上,马头同她一起显露在雪线以上,背后衬着阴森的冰渊。你仿佛还听见马铃伴随的歌声。
昌都来的那个女人哟,
头上丝线盘的辫子,
耳上坠的绿松石耳环,
手上戴的馆馆闪亮的银手销,
袍子上扎的五彩腰带…
像是在大雪山海拔五千六百公尺的公路标杆旁你曾经见到过的一个骑马的藏族女人,她朝你回头一笑,在诱你堕入冰晶的深渊,你当时止不住还朝她走去…
都不过是一些追忆,这铃声只固守在你心里,又像是在你脑门上响,肺腑撕裂的痛楚难以忍受,心脏疯狂搏动,七上八下,脑袋就要炸裂开来。炸裂之时也就是血液在血管里凝固之时,一种无声无息的爆炸。生命是脆弱的,又顽强挣扎,只是本能的固执。
你睁开眼睛,光芒令你刺痛,什么也看不见,只知道还在爬行,恼人的铃声竟成了遥远的记忆,一种不甚分明的怀念,如同闪烁的冰花,细碎,飘忽不定,在视网膜上炫耀,你努力去辨认彩虹的颜色,你颠倒旋转,漂浮着后退,失去了自主的能力,都是徒然的努力,不分明的愿望,不肯冥灭,黑森森的空洞,一个骷髅的眼窝,貌似深邃,什么也没有,一个不和的旋律,分裂开来,轰的一下!…从未有过的明彻,又全部那么清新,你体会到这难以察觉的幽微,一种没有声响的声音,变得透明,被梳理。过滤、澄清了,你在坠落,坠落之中又飘浮,这般轻松,而且没有风,没有形体的累赘,情绪也不浮躁,你通体清凉,全身心都在倾听,又全身心都听到了这无声而充盈的音乐,你意念中那一缕游丝变细,却越益分明,呈现在眼前,纤细犹如毫发,又像一线缝隙,缝隙的尽头就融合在黑暗中,失去了形,弥散开来,变成幽微的毫光,转而成为无边无际无数的微粒,又将你包容,在这粒粒分明的云辍之中,毫光凝聚,进而游动,成为如雾一般的星云,还悠悠变幻,逐渐凝为一团幽冥发蓝的太阴,太阳之中的太阴,变得灰紫,就又弥漫开,中心倒更加凝集,转为暗红,发出紫莹莹的霞光,你闭目,拒绝它照射,却止不住,心底升起的悸动和期望,黑暗的边沿,你听见了音乐,这有形之声逐渐扩大,蔓延,一颗颗亮晶晶的声音穿透你的躯体,你无法辨别你自己的方位,这些晶莹透亮的声音的细粒,四面八方将你全身心浸透,一片正在形成的长音中有个浑厚的中音,你捕捉不住它的旋律,却感到了声音的厚度,它衔接另一片音响,混合在一起,舒张开来,成了一条河流,时隐时现,时现时隐,幽蓝的太阳在更加幽冥的太阴里回旋,你凝神屏息,失去了呼吸,到了生命的末端,声音的波动却一次比一次更有力,涌载你,推向高潮,那纯粹的精神的高潮,你眼前,心里,不知身居何处的躯体中,幽冥的太阴中的太阳的映象在不断涌进的持续轰鸣中扩张扩张扩张扩张扩张扩扩扩扩张张张张一声炸裂-又绝无声响,你堕入更加幽深的黑暗,重又感到人心的搏动,分明的肉体的痛楚,这生命之躯对于死亡的恐惧是这样具体,你这副抛弃不掉的躯体又恢复了知觉。
黑暗中,房间的角落里,录音机上那排明亮通红的音标上下跳跃。
