论文部分内容阅读
盛可以，上世纪七十年代出生于湖南益阳，国家一级作家。盛可以于2002年开始小说创作，发表作品近两百万字，主要作品有长篇小说《北妹》、《水乳》、《道德颂》、《死亡赋格》等六部，以及《可以书》、《缺乏经验的世界》、《留一个房间给你用》等多部中短篇小说集。部分作品被译成英、德、日、韩、荷兰等文字在海外出版发行。曾获首届华语文学传媒大奖、女性文学奖、郁达夫小说奖、中国未来文学大家“TOP20”等，被视为中国当代最杰出的女性作家之一，也是当下最受国际文坛关注的女性作家之一，美国《纽约时报》评价其为“冉冉升起的文学新星”，英国企鹅出版社称其为“非常勇敢和有才华的作家”。
我有童年，还有不少值得一提的回忆：小时候被小伙伴们取笑的一对小红布鞋，外公为了给我解馋而杀掉的那只有着哀怨眼神的老母鸡，因为咬了我一口而毙命的鳖丞相，拍一只苍蝇赚一毛钱的营生，一打雷就跟我一起颤得抖灰的老房子……最终这些都因城市的开发以及新工厂的建立而变得再也无迹可寻，它们唯独存活于我的脑海之中。我也想信奉那句“只要曾经拥有，何必天长地久”，可是事实证明当能够鉴证你某段记忆的事物不复存在时，那段记忆就好像是你在脑子里凭空捏造的一般，哪怕那段记忆千真万确。我们并无回天之力，唯一可做的仅有将那股浓郁香醇的生命味道刻在脑海之中反复回味，作者说得没错，任何生命都不应该被忘记。
这是一篇非常棒的短篇故事，作者用其清澈的笔锋还原了她的童年生活，更是以其透彻的视角向我们阐释了一些梦想与遗憾，让我们一起随着作者笔下那条卑微的兰溪长河，漂回那些旧时光里看看吧……
When I was younger I was ashamed to admit I came from a remote village， yet I lacked the courage to claim I was from a city， so I usually said simply that I came from an 1）outlying township. Now I must tell the truth； that I was born in an isolated village. Let me start from the banks of a humble river where my life began and which is the true source of my writing. My fellow villagers live and while away their time in a 2）monotonous environment completely cut off from the outside world. I know their lives only too well. Had I not harbored a distant dream from a very young age， I would have shared their fate.
In the northeastern part of Hunan Province， in an area called Yiyang， a river passes a place not found on maps and only known to the people who live there. This humble river passes through the ancient township of Lanxi， so， like the 3）haphazard naming of village children， the river is called the Lanxi River. All my memories of a joyful childhood and the pains of growing up are 4）intertwined with the river. She keeps all of my secrets. To this day I have never seen a river as beautiful as the Lanxi， with its sweet translucent waters， 5）verdant embankments and weeping willows gently sweeping the water’s surface. In the 1970s， 6）skiffs with white 7）sails still 8）languidly glided by while barefooted 9）boat trackers trudged along the sandy verges. Poverty and poetic beauty are inseparable twins—whenever this image resurfaces in my conscience， more often it is the sorrow of life that comes to my mind.
The Cultural Revolution， the “smashing of the Gang of Four，” the reform and opening up—these momentous events did not make much impression on me as I grew up in this isolated rural setting. I just remember my mother 10）scrounging for rice to feed her family and the look of despair on her face whenever she returned empty-handed； I remember the exquisite 11）aroma of pork and 12）lard； I remember going to school barefoot， and the chill in the air as my bare feet squished in the muddy roads is as vivid today as it was back then； I remember every semester my school fees were 13）in arrears until my mother was able to sell off a basket of eggs. But at the time， I was too young to worry about the hardships of life. The river brought me unlimited childish pleasure—swimming， fishing， catching shrimps， sailing. I cannot agree with people who praise the poetic beauty of the countryside. I cannot agree with them because I know， in reality， life in the countryside is all about poverty and hunger. The cruel and harsh elements in my literary works often 14）stymie the romantic feelings people have for rural life. I can’t help that. It’s the reality I grew up with and I don’t want to dress it up with a layer of poetic beauty.
Of course， I was blessed to be born in that remote village， and to spend my childhood by the crystal clear river. Looking back at my path from the village gives rise to a complicated happiness. The river gave me a humble yet unique life experience—as if it was preparing me for my literary journey.Whatever life has given me， be it poverty， hunger， misfortune or tragedy， for me， they are treasures. I will be forever grateful for， and feel blessed by these treasures.
Having a complete set of textbooks was a dream for schoolchildren in the isolated countryside. My first two encounters with literature and reading were not honorable events and I will never forget them.
The first took place when I was 6 or 7. One day， Mother and I were on our way back from a visit to my grandmother. We were in the Yiyang county seat waiting for a boat to take us back to Lanxi. I stood at a bookstand reading comic books. I was only halfway through when the boat arrived. My heart began to race because I knew what I was about to do. I was horrified with my decision. We got on to the boat， and for a long while I lost my voice. In my pocket， my hand was clenching a thin copy of the comic book version of The Three Kingdoms， a classical Chinese novel written in the 14th century. That was the first time I was 15）captivated by drawings because at the time I could read very few words.
The second encounter relates to my grandfather’s treasure box. My grandfather turned 100 this year but he is still very healthy. He is an 16）aloof figure. He never paid attention to the younger generation， and never helped us with our studies. He was rarely home. Even when he came home， he would take a chair outside and just read， regardless of whether or not it was busy in the fields. After reading， he would put the book back in his treasure box， lock it and then take to the road again.
It was when I was in high school. One day he stepped out of his room without locking the door. I snuck in and opened his treasure box. There were some bottles and a few well-read books. The book I randomly picked up was a kung fu novel by 17）Louis Cha， a famous Hong Kong writer. I flipped through the book and selectively read the passages about romance and kung fu fighting. After I finished， I carefully returned the book. The reading experience was satisfying. That was probably the first time I felt the magical power of words and literature. If I were asked to identify the moment of my literary enlightenment， I would have to refer to these two stolen literary encounters.
Despite having lived in big cities for many years， I still consider myself a village girl from Lanxi. Nine years ago when， in a large city， I decided to write a novel， I first of all thought of the Lanxi River and all the people whose livelihoods depend on the river. I wrote of women whose fates were in the hands of others， I wrote of men who lost their lives to the constraints of tradition， I wrote of women who battled inequities to achieve better lives， and those silent and 18）obedient souls who live and die unnoticed.
Since China began economic reforms in 1978， countless girls like Qian Xiaohong， the 19）protagonist of my first novel， Northern Girls， have left the rural areas for the big city lights. Their struggles to find their place in the new world brought dramatic social changes， affecting family relationships， fashion trends and moral values. Northern Girls reflects the life experience of these women and the process of urbanization.
While I still consider myself a village girl from Lanxi， I am conflicted because I 20）shudder to think that I could become one of my fellow villagers and live that dreadful life of theirs. I am constantly driven by a desire to break away and escape to an even more distant place.
When a lonely river flows out of the village， it flows past a variety of landscapes along the way， winding and twisting， as its relation with the world changes and its loneliness grows. Three years ago I started work on my new novel， Death 21）Fugue. My perspective is different， but the loneliness and despair remain the same. Death Fugue is a twisted fable about revolution， faith， sexual taboos and utopia， how the desire for freedom brings only confinement and how an initial rebellion against the ruling power was transformed into a new ruling power. I want to write about how intellectuals face the destruction of faith after social turmoil， their passiveness and their struggles. Through my book， I want to retrieve the historical memories that are about to be washed away by the river of time.
I had thought life would be better and people would be happier and friendlier when they had more money. However， I was wrong. A section of the Lanxi River has been carved off for fish farming and turned into a filthy ditch almost 10 kilometers long. The river water is no longer suitable for drinking or swimming. Worse， the water now is full of blood flukes. No one dares to get into the water any more. When a river stops flowing， its beauty dies. The tranquil and simple country life disappears and people start to change. I feel the most precious thing in my life has been destroyed. Destroyed by what？ I don’t know. No one can truly understand my sadness. What happened？ I put my questions and sighs in my novels. Several kilometers of my journey home are alongside the Lanxi River. I always sit on the side with a river view. All kinds of feelings well up when I gaze at the water， when I gaze at the disappearing country life and when I gaze at myself in the past. Slowly， an idea began to grow—I will use my pen to write about the beauty of a living river， to revive the crystal clear Lanxi River and realize its dream of joining the ocean.
I believe there are many similar humble villages and rivers in this world， and many ordinary people being neglected， forgotten and abandoned； I believe every one of us is a humble river， being carried forward by loneliness， and we move forward， regardless of whether we have dreams or not， regardless of whether we have ambition or not； I believe no life deserves to be forgotten and that is what I believe to be the value of my writing.
年轻的时候，我羞于承认自己来自一个偏僻的乡村，也没有勇气谎称自己来自什么城市，所以我通常会简单地说，我来自一个偏远小镇。现在，我要说出真相；我生在一个与世隔绝的村庄。我要从一条卑微的河流两岸说起，它是我生命的开端，也是我写作的真正源泉。我的乡亲们生活在一个与世隔绝的地方，并在单调乏味的环境里打发时光。我对他们的生活再熟悉不过了。假如我不是自小怀有一个遥远的梦想，我的命运会跟他们一模一样。
这条河流，在湖南省的东北部，一个名叫益阳的地方，穿过一个在地图上也找不到的地方，只有生活在那里的人，才知道它的存在。这条卑微的小河流过兰溪古镇，所以，就像村里孩子的随意取名一样，那河便被叫作兰溪河。我的快乐童年及成长苦恼，所有这些记忆，都与这条河错综交织在一起。她掌握了我所有的秘密。我至今没有再见过像兰溪河那么甜蜜、清澈、美丽的河流，两岸翠绿的长堤呵护着她，垂柳拂扫着水面。上个世纪70年代，兰溪河上还有白色的帆船缓慢地行驶，还有赤足的纤夫，在河滩上艰难地跋涉。贫苦和诗意就是一对形影不离的孪生儿——每每当这种画面在我的脑海中浮现的时候，我心里想到的更多是生活的悲凉。
文化大革命，“打倒四人帮”，改革开放——这些重大的事件并没有给成长在与世隔绝的乡间的我留下多么深刻的印象。我只记得母亲为家人糊口讨米而四处奔走，还有每当两手空空回家时那绝望的神色；我记得猪肉和猪油的浓郁香味；我记得自己赤足上学，光脚嘎吱嘎吱踩在泥泞小路上时，空气中的寒冷；我记得每个学期都要拖欠学费，直到母亲能够低价卖出一篮鸡蛋。但在那时候，我完全不懂得担心生活的艰难。兰溪河带给了我无穷的童稚乐趣——游泳、钓鱼、摸虾、划船。我并不能认同那些爱好赞颂乡村诗意美态的人们。我不能认同他们是因为我知道，现实中的乡村生活只有贫穷和饥饿。我的作品里往往会有残酷和坚硬的元素，往往会破坏人们心中对于乡村的诗意感。我不能自控。那是我成长中的现实，而且我不想给它披上那层薄如蝉翼的诗意。
当然，能出生在这个小村庄并与一条晶莹清澈的小河为伴度过了我的童年，我深感幸运。回顾我由这个村庄开始的道路总能令我涌起复杂的幸福感。这条小河给了我卑微、却又迥然不同的生活经历，好像是专为我的文学旅程做准备。于我而言，生活给予我的一切，包括贫穷、饥饿、不幸或灾难，都是财富。对这些财富我将永远感激并感觉幸福。
拥有一整套课本曾是偏远乡村儿童的一个梦想。我与文学和阅读的最初两次照面算不得什么光彩之事，而我却永难忘怀。
第一次照面是在我六七岁那年。一天，我跟母亲看完外婆走在回家的路上。我们在益阳县城等船回兰溪。我站在一个书摊前看连环画。手中的书才翻了一半，船就来了。我的心跳开始加速，我知道自己想干什么。我被自己大胆的想法吓着了。我们上了船，很长一段时间我都说不出话来。揣在口袋里的那只手紧紧地攥着那本薄薄的连环画版《三国演义》，一本写于十四世纪的中国经典小说。那是我第一次为图画的魅力所倾倒，因为那时我还不识得多少汉字。
第二次照面跟我爷爷的百宝箱有关。我爷爷今年一百岁了，但还是很健康。他是一个超然脱俗的人物。他从来不关心小辈的事情，也从不帮我们学习。他很少待在家里。即使回到家，他也只是拿把椅子坐在外面看书，全然不理会田里的活儿是忙是闲。看完书，他会把书放回他的百宝箱，锁上之后再出门。 那时我上中学。有一天，我爷爷从房间里走开了，没锁门。我偷偷地潜进去，打开了他的百宝箱。里面有些瓶瓶罐罐，还有几本翻得蓬松的书。我随手抓了一本，是金庸的武侠小说。我翻了翻那本书，专挑了爱情和武打的段落来读。看完之后，我又偷偷地把书放回原处。那次阅读经历令我很满足。那应该是我第一次领略文字文学的魔力。
如果我被问及自己的文学启蒙时刻，我应该会提到这两次与文学偷打的照面。
尽管在大城市中生活多年，我仍然认为自己是来自兰溪的农村姑娘。九年前，我在大都市打算写一本小说时，首先想到的便是兰溪河，以及被兰溪河养育的所有人们。我写命运攥在别人手中的姑娘，写命丧传统园囿的男人，写抗争不公追求幸福的女人，写那些生死不为人所知，沉默而屈从的人们。
自1978年中国开始经济改革以来，无数像我第一部小说《北妹》的主人公钱小红那样的姑娘，告别乡村，投奔到大城市的灯红酒绿之中。为了在新世界里寻找自己的一席之地，她们努力挣扎，引发了巨大的社会变革，影响了家庭关系、时尚风潮及道德观。《北妹》映射出了这些女人的生活经历以及城市化进程。
虽然我仍将自己视为来自兰溪的乡村姑娘，可我很矛盾，因为我惧怕想象自己会成为乡亲中的一员，惧怕过他们那样可怕的生活。我总被一种要挣脱的渴望驱使，朝着更远的远方逃跑。
当孤独的小河流出村庄，沿途流经各样景观，蜿蜒曲折，它与世界的关系在改变，而它的孤独也与日俱增。三年前，我开始创作我的新小说《死亡赋格》。我的视野有所变化，但孤独与绝望依旧。《死亡赋格》讲述了革命、信仰、性禁忌与乌托邦，是一个追求自由却走向禁锢、始于反叛而终于新统治的悖论式寓言。我想写经历社会剧烈动荡之后的知识分子如何面对信仰的摧毁，写他们的被动无助，写他们的抗争。通过这本书，我希望找回即将被时间河流冲走的历史记忆。
我曾以为当人们有了更多钱以后，生活将会更好，人们会更加快乐和友善。然而，我错了。兰溪河的一段已经被截流，用来发展养殖渔业，这段河流已经变成一条将近十公里长的臭水沟。河水已经不再适合饮用或游泳。更糟的是，现在的河水中布满了血吸虫。谁也不敢下河。
一条河流如果停止流动，美便消失殆尽。宁静而简朴的乡村生活消失了，连人也开始变化。我觉得自己生命中最珍贵的东西已被破坏。被什么毁了呢？我不知道。没人能真正懂得我的悲伤。发生了什么？在我的小说里，我提出了自己的问题，发出自己的感叹。回家途中，我沿着兰溪河走了好几公里。我总喜欢坐在堤坡看河边的景色。当我凝视河水、凝视那正在消失的乡村生活、凝视过去的自己，感慨万千。慢慢地，一个想法开始冒了出来——我要用我的笔描绘一条富有生机的河流的美丽，延续兰溪河清澈的生命，实现它汇入大江大海的梦想。
我相信世界上有许多同样卑微的村庄与河流，有许许多多被忽视、遗忘和抛弃的普通人；我相信我们每个人都是一条卑微的河流，循着孤独支撑着前行，我们流向远方，不管有没有梦想，不管有没有抱负；我相信任何生命都不应该被忘记，而这便是我认为自己写作的价值所在。
我有童年，还有不少值得一提的回忆：小时候被小伙伴们取笑的一对小红布鞋，外公为了给我解馋而杀掉的那只有着哀怨眼神的老母鸡，因为咬了我一口而毙命的鳖丞相，拍一只苍蝇赚一毛钱的营生，一打雷就跟我一起颤得抖灰的老房子……最终这些都因城市的开发以及新工厂的建立而变得再也无迹可寻，它们唯独存活于我的脑海之中。我也想信奉那句“只要曾经拥有，何必天长地久”，可是事实证明当能够鉴证你某段记忆的事物不复存在时，那段记忆就好像是你在脑子里凭空捏造的一般，哪怕那段记忆千真万确。我们并无回天之力，唯一可做的仅有将那股浓郁香醇的生命味道刻在脑海之中反复回味，作者说得没错，任何生命都不应该被忘记。
这是一篇非常棒的短篇故事，作者用其清澈的笔锋还原了她的童年生活，更是以其透彻的视角向我们阐释了一些梦想与遗憾，让我们一起随着作者笔下那条卑微的兰溪长河，漂回那些旧时光里看看吧……
When I was younger I was ashamed to admit I came from a remote village， yet I lacked the courage to claim I was from a city， so I usually said simply that I came from an 1）outlying township. Now I must tell the truth； that I was born in an isolated village. Let me start from the banks of a humble river where my life began and which is the true source of my writing. My fellow villagers live and while away their time in a 2）monotonous environment completely cut off from the outside world. I know their lives only too well. Had I not harbored a distant dream from a very young age， I would have shared their fate.
In the northeastern part of Hunan Province， in an area called Yiyang， a river passes a place not found on maps and only known to the people who live there. This humble river passes through the ancient township of Lanxi， so， like the 3）haphazard naming of village children， the river is called the Lanxi River. All my memories of a joyful childhood and the pains of growing up are 4）intertwined with the river. She keeps all of my secrets. To this day I have never seen a river as beautiful as the Lanxi， with its sweet translucent waters， 5）verdant embankments and weeping willows gently sweeping the water’s surface. In the 1970s， 6）skiffs with white 7）sails still 8）languidly glided by while barefooted 9）boat trackers trudged along the sandy verges. Poverty and poetic beauty are inseparable twins—whenever this image resurfaces in my conscience， more often it is the sorrow of life that comes to my mind.
The Cultural Revolution， the “smashing of the Gang of Four，” the reform and opening up—these momentous events did not make much impression on me as I grew up in this isolated rural setting. I just remember my mother 10）scrounging for rice to feed her family and the look of despair on her face whenever she returned empty-handed； I remember the exquisite 11）aroma of pork and 12）lard； I remember going to school barefoot， and the chill in the air as my bare feet squished in the muddy roads is as vivid today as it was back then； I remember every semester my school fees were 13）in arrears until my mother was able to sell off a basket of eggs. But at the time， I was too young to worry about the hardships of life. The river brought me unlimited childish pleasure—swimming， fishing， catching shrimps， sailing. I cannot agree with people who praise the poetic beauty of the countryside. I cannot agree with them because I know， in reality， life in the countryside is all about poverty and hunger. The cruel and harsh elements in my literary works often 14）stymie the romantic feelings people have for rural life. I can’t help that. It’s the reality I grew up with and I don’t want to dress it up with a layer of poetic beauty.
Of course， I was blessed to be born in that remote village， and to spend my childhood by the crystal clear river. Looking back at my path from the village gives rise to a complicated happiness. The river gave me a humble yet unique life experience—as if it was preparing me for my literary journey.Whatever life has given me， be it poverty， hunger， misfortune or tragedy， for me， they are treasures. I will be forever grateful for， and feel blessed by these treasures.
Having a complete set of textbooks was a dream for schoolchildren in the isolated countryside. My first two encounters with literature and reading were not honorable events and I will never forget them.
The first took place when I was 6 or 7. One day， Mother and I were on our way back from a visit to my grandmother. We were in the Yiyang county seat waiting for a boat to take us back to Lanxi. I stood at a bookstand reading comic books. I was only halfway through when the boat arrived. My heart began to race because I knew what I was about to do. I was horrified with my decision. We got on to the boat， and for a long while I lost my voice. In my pocket， my hand was clenching a thin copy of the comic book version of The Three Kingdoms， a classical Chinese novel written in the 14th century. That was the first time I was 15）captivated by drawings because at the time I could read very few words.
The second encounter relates to my grandfather’s treasure box. My grandfather turned 100 this year but he is still very healthy. He is an 16）aloof figure. He never paid attention to the younger generation， and never helped us with our studies. He was rarely home. Even when he came home， he would take a chair outside and just read， regardless of whether or not it was busy in the fields. After reading， he would put the book back in his treasure box， lock it and then take to the road again.
It was when I was in high school. One day he stepped out of his room without locking the door. I snuck in and opened his treasure box. There were some bottles and a few well-read books. The book I randomly picked up was a kung fu novel by 17）Louis Cha， a famous Hong Kong writer. I flipped through the book and selectively read the passages about romance and kung fu fighting. After I finished， I carefully returned the book. The reading experience was satisfying. That was probably the first time I felt the magical power of words and literature. If I were asked to identify the moment of my literary enlightenment， I would have to refer to these two stolen literary encounters.
Despite having lived in big cities for many years， I still consider myself a village girl from Lanxi. Nine years ago when， in a large city， I decided to write a novel， I first of all thought of the Lanxi River and all the people whose livelihoods depend on the river. I wrote of women whose fates were in the hands of others， I wrote of men who lost their lives to the constraints of tradition， I wrote of women who battled inequities to achieve better lives， and those silent and 18）obedient souls who live and die unnoticed.
Since China began economic reforms in 1978， countless girls like Qian Xiaohong， the 19）protagonist of my first novel， Northern Girls， have left the rural areas for the big city lights. Their struggles to find their place in the new world brought dramatic social changes， affecting family relationships， fashion trends and moral values. Northern Girls reflects the life experience of these women and the process of urbanization.
While I still consider myself a village girl from Lanxi， I am conflicted because I 20）shudder to think that I could become one of my fellow villagers and live that dreadful life of theirs. I am constantly driven by a desire to break away and escape to an even more distant place.
When a lonely river flows out of the village， it flows past a variety of landscapes along the way， winding and twisting， as its relation with the world changes and its loneliness grows. Three years ago I started work on my new novel， Death 21）Fugue. My perspective is different， but the loneliness and despair remain the same. Death Fugue is a twisted fable about revolution， faith， sexual taboos and utopia， how the desire for freedom brings only confinement and how an initial rebellion against the ruling power was transformed into a new ruling power. I want to write about how intellectuals face the destruction of faith after social turmoil， their passiveness and their struggles. Through my book， I want to retrieve the historical memories that are about to be washed away by the river of time.
I had thought life would be better and people would be happier and friendlier when they had more money. However， I was wrong. A section of the Lanxi River has been carved off for fish farming and turned into a filthy ditch almost 10 kilometers long. The river water is no longer suitable for drinking or swimming. Worse， the water now is full of blood flukes. No one dares to get into the water any more. When a river stops flowing， its beauty dies. The tranquil and simple country life disappears and people start to change. I feel the most precious thing in my life has been destroyed. Destroyed by what？ I don’t know. No one can truly understand my sadness. What happened？ I put my questions and sighs in my novels. Several kilometers of my journey home are alongside the Lanxi River. I always sit on the side with a river view. All kinds of feelings well up when I gaze at the water， when I gaze at the disappearing country life and when I gaze at myself in the past. Slowly， an idea began to grow—I will use my pen to write about the beauty of a living river， to revive the crystal clear Lanxi River and realize its dream of joining the ocean.
I believe there are many similar humble villages and rivers in this world， and many ordinary people being neglected， forgotten and abandoned； I believe every one of us is a humble river， being carried forward by loneliness， and we move forward， regardless of whether we have dreams or not， regardless of whether we have ambition or not； I believe no life deserves to be forgotten and that is what I believe to be the value of my writing.
年轻的时候，我羞于承认自己来自一个偏僻的乡村，也没有勇气谎称自己来自什么城市，所以我通常会简单地说，我来自一个偏远小镇。现在，我要说出真相；我生在一个与世隔绝的村庄。我要从一条卑微的河流两岸说起，它是我生命的开端，也是我写作的真正源泉。我的乡亲们生活在一个与世隔绝的地方，并在单调乏味的环境里打发时光。我对他们的生活再熟悉不过了。假如我不是自小怀有一个遥远的梦想，我的命运会跟他们一模一样。
这条河流，在湖南省的东北部，一个名叫益阳的地方，穿过一个在地图上也找不到的地方，只有生活在那里的人，才知道它的存在。这条卑微的小河流过兰溪古镇，所以，就像村里孩子的随意取名一样，那河便被叫作兰溪河。我的快乐童年及成长苦恼，所有这些记忆，都与这条河错综交织在一起。她掌握了我所有的秘密。我至今没有再见过像兰溪河那么甜蜜、清澈、美丽的河流，两岸翠绿的长堤呵护着她，垂柳拂扫着水面。上个世纪70年代，兰溪河上还有白色的帆船缓慢地行驶，还有赤足的纤夫，在河滩上艰难地跋涉。贫苦和诗意就是一对形影不离的孪生儿——每每当这种画面在我的脑海中浮现的时候，我心里想到的更多是生活的悲凉。
文化大革命，“打倒四人帮”，改革开放——这些重大的事件并没有给成长在与世隔绝的乡间的我留下多么深刻的印象。我只记得母亲为家人糊口讨米而四处奔走，还有每当两手空空回家时那绝望的神色；我记得猪肉和猪油的浓郁香味；我记得自己赤足上学，光脚嘎吱嘎吱踩在泥泞小路上时，空气中的寒冷；我记得每个学期都要拖欠学费，直到母亲能够低价卖出一篮鸡蛋。但在那时候，我完全不懂得担心生活的艰难。兰溪河带给了我无穷的童稚乐趣——游泳、钓鱼、摸虾、划船。我并不能认同那些爱好赞颂乡村诗意美态的人们。我不能认同他们是因为我知道，现实中的乡村生活只有贫穷和饥饿。我的作品里往往会有残酷和坚硬的元素，往往会破坏人们心中对于乡村的诗意感。我不能自控。那是我成长中的现实，而且我不想给它披上那层薄如蝉翼的诗意。
当然，能出生在这个小村庄并与一条晶莹清澈的小河为伴度过了我的童年，我深感幸运。回顾我由这个村庄开始的道路总能令我涌起复杂的幸福感。这条小河给了我卑微、却又迥然不同的生活经历，好像是专为我的文学旅程做准备。于我而言，生活给予我的一切，包括贫穷、饥饿、不幸或灾难，都是财富。对这些财富我将永远感激并感觉幸福。
拥有一整套课本曾是偏远乡村儿童的一个梦想。我与文学和阅读的最初两次照面算不得什么光彩之事，而我却永难忘怀。
第一次照面是在我六七岁那年。一天，我跟母亲看完外婆走在回家的路上。我们在益阳县城等船回兰溪。我站在一个书摊前看连环画。手中的书才翻了一半，船就来了。我的心跳开始加速，我知道自己想干什么。我被自己大胆的想法吓着了。我们上了船，很长一段时间我都说不出话来。揣在口袋里的那只手紧紧地攥着那本薄薄的连环画版《三国演义》，一本写于十四世纪的中国经典小说。那是我第一次为图画的魅力所倾倒，因为那时我还不识得多少汉字。
第二次照面跟我爷爷的百宝箱有关。我爷爷今年一百岁了，但还是很健康。他是一个超然脱俗的人物。他从来不关心小辈的事情，也从不帮我们学习。他很少待在家里。即使回到家，他也只是拿把椅子坐在外面看书，全然不理会田里的活儿是忙是闲。看完书，他会把书放回他的百宝箱，锁上之后再出门。 那时我上中学。有一天，我爷爷从房间里走开了，没锁门。我偷偷地潜进去，打开了他的百宝箱。里面有些瓶瓶罐罐，还有几本翻得蓬松的书。我随手抓了一本，是金庸的武侠小说。我翻了翻那本书，专挑了爱情和武打的段落来读。看完之后，我又偷偷地把书放回原处。那次阅读经历令我很满足。那应该是我第一次领略文字文学的魔力。
如果我被问及自己的文学启蒙时刻，我应该会提到这两次与文学偷打的照面。
尽管在大城市中生活多年，我仍然认为自己是来自兰溪的农村姑娘。九年前，我在大都市打算写一本小说时，首先想到的便是兰溪河，以及被兰溪河养育的所有人们。我写命运攥在别人手中的姑娘，写命丧传统园囿的男人，写抗争不公追求幸福的女人，写那些生死不为人所知，沉默而屈从的人们。
自1978年中国开始经济改革以来，无数像我第一部小说《北妹》的主人公钱小红那样的姑娘，告别乡村，投奔到大城市的灯红酒绿之中。为了在新世界里寻找自己的一席之地，她们努力挣扎，引发了巨大的社会变革，影响了家庭关系、时尚风潮及道德观。《北妹》映射出了这些女人的生活经历以及城市化进程。
虽然我仍将自己视为来自兰溪的乡村姑娘，可我很矛盾，因为我惧怕想象自己会成为乡亲中的一员，惧怕过他们那样可怕的生活。我总被一种要挣脱的渴望驱使，朝着更远的远方逃跑。
当孤独的小河流出村庄，沿途流经各样景观，蜿蜒曲折，它与世界的关系在改变，而它的孤独也与日俱增。三年前，我开始创作我的新小说《死亡赋格》。我的视野有所变化，但孤独与绝望依旧。《死亡赋格》讲述了革命、信仰、性禁忌与乌托邦，是一个追求自由却走向禁锢、始于反叛而终于新统治的悖论式寓言。我想写经历社会剧烈动荡之后的知识分子如何面对信仰的摧毁，写他们的被动无助，写他们的抗争。通过这本书，我希望找回即将被时间河流冲走的历史记忆。
我曾以为当人们有了更多钱以后，生活将会更好，人们会更加快乐和友善。然而，我错了。兰溪河的一段已经被截流，用来发展养殖渔业，这段河流已经变成一条将近十公里长的臭水沟。河水已经不再适合饮用或游泳。更糟的是，现在的河水中布满了血吸虫。谁也不敢下河。
一条河流如果停止流动，美便消失殆尽。宁静而简朴的乡村生活消失了，连人也开始变化。我觉得自己生命中最珍贵的东西已被破坏。被什么毁了呢？我不知道。没人能真正懂得我的悲伤。发生了什么？在我的小说里，我提出了自己的问题，发出自己的感叹。回家途中，我沿着兰溪河走了好几公里。我总喜欢坐在堤坡看河边的景色。当我凝视河水、凝视那正在消失的乡村生活、凝视过去的自己，感慨万千。慢慢地，一个想法开始冒了出来——我要用我的笔描绘一条富有生机的河流的美丽，延续兰溪河清澈的生命，实现它汇入大江大海的梦想。
我相信世界上有许多同样卑微的村庄与河流，有许许多多被忽视、遗忘和抛弃的普通人；我相信我们每个人都是一条卑微的河流，循着孤独支撑着前行，我们流向远方，不管有没有梦想，不管有没有抱负；我相信任何生命都不应该被忘记，而这便是我认为自己写作的价值所在。