文学是越来越不景气了,从卡西莫多对爱斯美拉达的动人心魄撼人心扉到琼瑶笔端的鼻涕眼泪大喊大叫,已冷人扼腕痛惜,可偏有人更在自称圣明地大言不惭着:“清者阅之以为圣,浊者阅之以为淫”,于是感情只剩床头,交情只剩拳头,那种男的见了女的不上床不了事的作品亵渎了读者,亵渎了作者,也亵渎了文学的尊严。每个作家支颐一想时,总会面临心灵的拷问,每个作家提笔倚马时,总先直视心灵的选择。可悲的是相比于世俗的快意,芥川龙之介的身影显得那么单薄,大仲马的老泪显得那么柔弱,美国土地上那杆掀翻海明威的双筒猎枪又是那么的无助。深沉不见了,“满汉全席”只剩“文化快餐”;纯真不见了,警钟长鸣换成了歌功颂德。然而或许这尚不足惜,至少没有污了文学的清名,更可悲的是高雅不见了,高山流水蜕变成龌龊的精神垃圾。在心灵的拷问前很多人无法坦然面对,在心灵的选择时很多人内心的天平已然倾斜。文学便是这可怜的受害者。翘着二郎腿叼着万宝路的作家们并不明白,文学不是妓女,不是哪天一时兴起拿支笔杆肆意耍弄的玩物,也不是街头游荡的荡妇夜女。文学的品格成百上千,何苦只钻女人的裤裆;文学的道路横七竖八,何苦只媚“过把瘾就死”的世俗;文学的内容包罗万象,何 Literature is getting more and more sluggish, from the chilling heart of Casimodo’s touching heart to the love of Smyrada to Qiong Yao’s nose and tears. The land is too loud to say: “The Qing read it for sanctification, and the muddy read it for obscenity,” and then the feelings left the bed, leaving only fists in the relationship. This kind of work that the male did not go to bed crippled the reader. The writer has also smashed the dignity of literature. When each writer thinks about it, he always faces the torture of his soul. When each writer draws a pen to a horse, he always looks directly at the choice of his heart. Sadly, compared to the secular pleasure, Akutagawa Ryunosuke’s figure appeared so thin that the old tears of Dumas appeared to be so weak that the double-barrelled shotgun that overturned Hemingway in the US land was so helpless. Deeply gone, “Manchu Hanban” left only “cultural fast food”; innocent disappeared, and the bell of police bells changed to singing praise. However, this may not be enough, at least not contaminating the name of the literature, more sad is the elegance has disappeared, the high mountains and rivers have become a spiritual waste. Before the torture of the soul, many people couldn’t face it calmly. When the mind was chosen, many people’s inner scales were already tilted. Literature is the poor victim. The writers who squatted on Erlang’s legs and looked at Marlboro did not understand that literature was not a prostitute. It wasn’t a playful thing that took off with a penholder on a certain day, nor was it a slut who was loitering on the streets. There are hundreds of literary characters, why bother with the pants of a woman; the roads of literature are so rampant that why is it only because of the secular world that “has died of addiction?”; the content of literature is all-embracing.