匆匆匆匆

我的室友今天去珠海谈生意，第一次到珠海的他发短信跟我说他想定居。空气太好了。而对我来说，今天是在广州的最后一天。

去了文津阁和学而忧。很有买书的野心，毕竟珠海没有好书店。可惜昨晚宿醉，第二天还是头晕晕。最后还是廉价购入了一套四册的《大唐狄公案》。

珠海也没有好的星巴克。讽刺的是，当星巴克进驻珠海的时候我已经去到想吐了。但是，我现在还是在星巴克。因为学校为了驱赶我们滚蛋，停电一天。每每经过吉大星巴克，背上都在彪冷汗。不知道为什么，一直都很期待星巴克来珠海的我现在觉得珠海和它好不搭。

是不是应该再去一次广东美术馆？还是星海音乐厅？宜家、钱柜、沙面。还是我一直想去的金矿。

但珠海还是我的家，不管它有多无聊。所以，还是要走了。

I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.

 

Of course, novelists are not the only ones who tell lies. Politicians do it, too, as we all know. Diplomats and military men tell their own kinds of lies on occasion, as do used car salesmen, butchers and builders. The lies of novelists differ from others, however, in that no one criticizes the novelist as immoral for telling them. Indeed, the bigger and better his lies and the more ingeniously he creates them, the more he is likely to be praised by the public and the critics. Why should that be?

 

My answer would be this: Namely, that by telling skillful lies - which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true - the novelist can bring a truth out to a new location and shine a new light on it. In most cases, it is virtually impossible to grasp a truth in its original form and depict it accurately. This is why we try to grab its tail by luring the truth from its hiding place, transferring it to a fictional location, and replacing it with a fictional form. In order to accomplish this, however, we first have to clarify where the truth lies within us. This is an important qualification for making up good lies.

 

Today, however, I have no intention of lying. I will try to be as honest as I can. There are a few days in the year when I do not engage in telling lies, and today happens to be one of them.

 

So let me tell you the truth. A fair number of people advised me not to come here to accept the Jerusalem Prize. Some even warned me they would instigate a boycott of my books if I came.

 

The reason for this, of course, was the fierce battle that was raging in Gaza. The UN reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded Gaza City, many of them unarmed citizens - children and old people.

 

Any number of times after receiving notice of the award, I asked myself whether traveling to Israel at a time like this and accepting a literary prize was the proper thing to do, whether this would create the impression that I supported one side in the conflict, that I endorsed the policies of a nation that chose to unleash its overwhelming military power. This is an impression, of course, that I would not wish to give. I do not approve of any war, and I do not support any nation. Neither, of course, do I wish to see my books subjected to a boycott.

 

Finally, however, after careful consideration, I made up my mind to come here. One reason for my decision was that all too many people advised me not to do it. Perhaps, like many other novelists, I tend to do the exact opposite of what I am told. If people are telling me - and especially if they are warning me - "don't go there," "don't do that," I tend to want to "go there" and "do that." It's in my nature, you might say, as a novelist. Novelists are a special breed. They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands.

 

And that is why I am here. I chose to come here rather than stay away. I chose to see for myself rather than not to see. I chose to speak to you rather than to say nothing.

 

This is not to say that I am here to deliver a political message. To make judgments about right and wrong is one of the novelist's most important duties, of course.

 

It is left to each writer, however, to decide upon the form in which he or she will convey those judgments to others. I myself prefer to transform them into stories - stories that tend toward the surreal. Which is why I do not intend to stand before you today delivering a direct political message.

 

Please do, however, allow me to deliver one very personal message. It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction. I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: Rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this:

 

"Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg."

 

Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg. Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong; perhaps time or history will decide. If there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be?

 

What is the meaning of this metaphor? In some cases, it is all too simple and clear. Bombers and tanks and rockets and white phosphorus shells are that high, solid wall. The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them. This is one meaning of the metaphor.

 

This is not all, though. It carries a deeper meaning. Think of it this way. Each of us is, more or less, an egg. Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell. This is true of me, and it is true of each of you. And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall. The wall has a name: It is The System. The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others - coldly, efficiently, systematically.

 

I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it. The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on The System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them. I fully believe it is the novelist's job to keep trying to clarify the uniqueness of each individual soul by writing stories - stories of life and death, stories of love, stories that make people cry and quake with fear and shake with laughter. This is why we go on, day after day, concocting fictions with utter seriousness.

 

My father died last year at the age of 90. He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest. When he was in graduate school, he was drafted into the army and sent to fight in China. As a child born after the war, I used to see him every morning before breakfast offering up long, deeply-felt prayers at the Buddhist altar in our house. One time I asked him why he did this, and he told me he was praying for the people who had died in the war.

 

He was praying for all the people who died, he said, both ally and enemy alike. Staring at his back as he knelt at the altar, I seemed to feel the shadow of death hovering around him.

 

My father died, and with him he took his memories, memories that I can never know. But the presence of death that lurked about him remains in my own memory. It is one of the few things I carry on from him, and one of the most important.

 

I have only one thing I hope to convey to you today. We are all human beings, individuals transcending nationality and race and religion, fragile eggs faced with a solid wall called The System. To all appearances, we have no hope of winning. The wall is too high, too strong - and too cold. If we have any hope of victory at all, it will have to come from our believing in the utter uniqueness and irreplaceability of our own and others' souls and from the warmth we gain by joining souls together.

 

Take a moment to think about this. Each of us possesses a tangible, living soul. The System has no such thing. We must not allow The System to exploit us. We must not allow The System to take on a life of its own. The System did not make us: We made The System.

 

That is all I have to say to you.

 

I am grateful to have been awarded the Jerusalem Prize. I am grateful that my books are being read by people in many parts of the world. And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.

《1Q84》在中国这样红，我也不用多说什么了。但有一件事提请大家注意，《1Q84》前两册在日本出版的时间是2009年5月底，台湾赖明珠的翻译本是于2009年11月出版的。直到2010年5月，中国才发行了《1Q84》的第一册大陆版。现在6月了，第二册还没有出来。为什么大陆和台湾会相差半年才出呢？其中猫腻自有人推敲。

 

2009年2月村上春树获得了耶鲁撒冷文学奖。这个奖项历届获奖者包括：阿瑟·米勒、苏珊·桑塔格、伯特兰·罗素、VS.奈保尔、JM.库切、博尔赫斯、米兰·昆德拉、西蒙娜·波伏瓦、奥克塔维奥·帕斯和巴尔加斯·略萨等人。我相信大家最熟悉的获奖者是米兰昆德拉。他在耶路撒冷的演讲《小说与欧洲》收录在其《小说的艺术》一书当中。文中昆德拉引用的“人类一思考，上帝就发笑。”这句犹太谚语已经家喻户晓，乃至大家都以为是昆德拉的原创。

有意思的是，村上春树在拿奖的时候并没有出版《1Q84》。三个月后，这本杰作出版时，耶路撒冷文学家的评审们一定很满意他们看人的眼光吧？

 

“在墙与鸡蛋之间，我总是站在鸡蛋的一边。” 但如果墙是正义的又应该如何呢？或者强永远都不能是正义的？也许吧。演讲中文翻译

现在恐怕没有人说，我不读《……》因为它没有用了吧？因为以没有用为理由会让人觉得很没有水准。但仔细想想，为什么要读没有用的书呢?对于发问的人来说，这可能是一个诚恳的问题。虽然对于“惯读”（偷于惯偷）来说，这是一个不曾细想的问题。惯读们可能会为一个八竿子打不着的问题想得脑袋撞墙，比如我最近在想的问题是：1949年以后的政治生活是如何影响我们的语言从而改变我们的思维习惯和生活方式的。这个问题比思考为什么读无用的书来说实在是扯太多了。

我其实很想认真回答为什么要读无用的书这样一个话题。但我无法给出一个让我深信的答案。开心当然是个很好的答案，但这太容易了。为了这个答案，这个问题根本都不值得提出。但这可能是最好的答案。
好吧，让我看看有没有什么其他更让人信服而不那么私人的答案。

1，恐怕“有用”这个定义需要探讨一下。以什么标准来探讨什么是有用的知识什么是无用的知识呢？如果从产生实际效用的方面来定义，日心说对于绝大部分人来说都是无用的。但什么知识有用，或者什么知识无用并不在知识，而是在人。控诉学校教的东西没有用是没有道理的。任何知识和观念都有存在的价值，价值的体现者却在个人。
一个刀币或许在某些人看来是一块铜，但对于另一些人可能可以把它卖到比金贵的价钱。这大概不是刀币的问题吧？

2，进一步，以是否“有用”来衡量一件事的价值是否是一种值得商榷的观念呢？如果你认为除了实用主义以外还有其他的思考方式是可供选择的，那这个问题本身的根基就不够牢固了吧？

3，人生不是拿来用的。人生是拿来活的。

4，很多有用的东西并不有趣，而大多有趣的东西并不是有用的。不是吗？

5，如果我们需要被别人懂得，我们应该首先学会如何懂得别人。如果我们需要被谅解，我们首先应该学会如何谅解别人。如果你赞同我的观点，那么没有一本书是没有用的了。因为每一本书后面起码有一个人。

6，读书是没有用的，但是我还是要读。这说明我无比牛X。

8:00   起床
8:30   早餐 听歌  （一定要吃早餐）
9:00-10:30  读英语 跑步 洗澡
10:30-11:30 收发邮件
12:00  午餐

13:00  午睡
14:00-18:00 阅读 （主要读小说） 
18:00  晚餐
18:30-19:30 康熙来了
19:30-22:30 阅读 （主要读亚当斯密、韦伯和涂尔干）
22:30-00:30 电影
01:00  睡觉

1，实习结束。必须开始另一种生活。为了申请必须先练好英语。从早读开始。
2，目前我早上读英语的材料是George Lakoff：《Don't Think Of An Elephant》。是一本演讲集非常适合朗读而且很有意思。另一本我也想读的是他的《Metaphors We Live By》。台湾译为《我们赖以生存的隐喻》。题目相当诱人吧。

3，人一无聊就会觉得孤单，我让自己不孤单的办法就是忙起来。忙起来的办法就是Setting Goals.我近期的Goals如下：a，每天跑4000米。b，提高口语。c，收集资料，选定学校。d，重读昆德拉 e，认真读韦伯
4，康熙来了可以防止我变成Outman。起码我现在知道了很多台湾当红艺人还有他们拍的白痴偶像剧以及他们在闹的无聊绯闻。
5，五一期间最难忘的经历就是和Sandra以及她的两个室友在杰克魔豆看《瑞丽》。天啊！康熙来了救了我，起码我还认识里面几个Models.

总结一下，在毕业前我生活的关键词大概就是：跑步 英语 申请 阅读

我的一个好朋友终于拍拖了。真心为他开心。毕竟他喜欢那个女生好久好久好久了。久得像似乎他从来没喜欢过别的女生。我以前就跟他说过，如果你的事儿能成，老子25岁前部拍拖都没有问题。虽然这两者没有什么关系。

我已经厌倦了爱情话题，虽然还是有人想跟我探讨，好像一个没有拍过拖的人就跟拍了一万次的人一样。
我已经厌倦了人生话题，对人已经没那么有激情了。

这段时间我就像凝固了一样，damn it!唯一有趣的事就是和我表妹通信。每天通信，从男女关系谈到医疗改革。不敢相信她还是大一。她可能是我今年到现在遇到的最有意思的女生了。可惜她是我表妹。

实习就要结束了，如你从豆瓣所见，期间我只是在狂读书而已，没什么事做。这次实习最大的收获就是以后坚决不在银行工作。
最近开始看了一些侦探小说，过段时间看看能不能写个读书报告吧。

实习期间完成了论文。这件事比较值得欣慰。因为银行在老城区也吃了很多猪脚姜这个也是让人开心的，我爱吃渴望猪脚姜就像我怀孕了一样。

之后就要开始做申请，因为想自己申当然越早准备越好。当然希望赶到第一轮，不然我空一年也没什么意义了。身边牛人太多了，特别是在看blog的你、你、你，一定已经拿到了很好的offer吧。Peer pressure是难免的，万一你们把我甩了咋办呢？所以还是加油吧！

如你所见，我的中文退步了。每天都要写英文信，导致我发现英文用起来更加顺手了。特别是从句，太好用了。终于明白，Koala刚回国的时候总是想用中文说从句的心情。

这当然不是好事情，我还是觉得把中文用好是很重要的。中文真的很美。我应该重读木心了，看看能不能有所改善吧。