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Sons and Lovers

(2008-10-04 21:44:44) 下一个
Such a grand book!如此细腻,如此精深的感情剖析。。。 breathless, breathless.....

先要迫不及待的说说为什么这本书不该成为禁书。因为没太关注书被划为禁书的理由,只是依稀看到大概归咎于恋母情结,所以不好驳辨。但从恋母来讲,Paul对母亲爱的感觉其实一点也不过分,那种在相依为命中产生的依恋感,由血缘建立的归属感都是自自然然的母爱子爱, 每个男人在他心灵的一角都或多或少的保存着这份对母亲的爱恋,这份爱恋伴随他们一生一世,不可磨灭,只是Lawrence的笔触可以真实细腻的把这份情感描写出来罢了。从另一个方面讲,Mrs. Morel对几个孩子都充满爱,并没有太过特意偏袒Paul, 比如对大儿子William, 她寄托了更多的精神和情感。

说情爱,书中一点过分的痕迹都没有。当然,Lawrence是Lawrence, 他的笔墨总是在一种精神世界中探寻,即使是描写Paul对Clara的欲望,那种感情的描绘也是高高的凌驾于简单的视觉和语声之上,就像我们看到的不是一个人的血肉之躯, 而是他的精神和脉络,和涌动在这些脉络中的思想和情感。

Lawrence的细腻文笔让人不断的想到Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte...英国的作品的确有相通之处,可能是环境氛围,可能是语言习惯,可能是文学艺术的承传和积攒。但是,细腻的Lawrence有他独到的地方。他的文字简洁清晰,所有的语言对话,言简意赅,没有半句废话,却又句句带着沉重的分量,有着不可承受之轻。同样,对环境的描述,即使是用整段的描述,单句也是简单到不能再简单,但是三言两语的描述,他竟可以把环境泼洒开来,那幅打开的画卷,清晰,睿智,伤感,它真实的包容了琐碎的景色和心情,却又像天外的世界,飘在灵魂深处,不可触及。

在情节的展现上,Lawrence比Jane的结构复杂,比Charlotte的推进有力度。尽管Lawrence讲述的事件实在是再平凡不过的。Lawrence用男性的眼光看这个世界,用理性剖析情感,这一点上和百年孤独的马尔克斯有叠映。这些理性甚至是幻象让文章产生意识的流动。比如Paul和Clara的丈夫的Baxter的对打,平平凡凡的事例,但Lawrence让文字切换在幻象和真实之间,意识流淌,精彩至极。

书中的每个人的形象如此鲜明,令人唏嘘感动。不想在这里回味粗俗的Mr. Morel,精神帅气的William和他妖艳无知的女友Lily, 还有 Annie, Arthur, Edgar, Mrs. Levivers, Mrs. Dawes.....就说说围绕在Paul周围的女人吧。

Mrs. Morel, 一个圣洁,聪明,豁达的女人,她对孩子们充满关爱,对每一个孩子所遇到的问题,不急不脑的,甚至是蜻蜓点水般的,把问题化解掉,从没有不合时宜的把矛盾激化起来,放大出去。每个孩子都对她敞开心扉,爱恋有加。

Clara, 美丽,善良,性感,但是她想得到的太多了。她不想给男人留有空间,她看着Paul, 无助的想得到他,得到他的全部,她不能忍受没有把握的恍惚和失落。其实,女人,要给男人一些空间的,虽然你的感情你的生命可以毫无保留地维系在一个男人身上,但男人,有着他们与生俱来的特殊头脑和理性,这些需要空间去生长,去消融。

Miriam, 聪明,执著,有着beautiful taste, 但太过严肃。正像文中说的,这种严肃让人更易显得衰老。她对Paul也有全心占据的欲望,但是不同于Clara,她对Paul的管束超越了心灵而泛滥成灾。不仅Paul, 不仅男人,对这样圣教徒般的严格和拘谨,没有多少人会忍受的住。换句话说,Miriam缺少女人的柔媚,有了这种柔媚,她才能化解Paul,化解男人。

Paul就这样带着一身的哀伤和迷茫,找寻属于他的生命。文章的结尾在一片孤寂和沉沦之后还是崭露出微弱的曙光,让时间行走,让生命延续。。。

(选择了这段文字作纪念,觉得Clara和Paul最初的感觉很beautiful, 也记住Lawrence的短句所能打开的空间和力度)

“The breath of her words were on his mouth. Her arms clasped
his knees. The cord of his sleeping-suit dangled against her and made
her shiver. As the warmth went into him, his shuddering became less.

At length, unable to stand so any more, he raised her, and she
buried her head on his shoulder. His hands went over her slowly
with an infinite tenderness of caress. She clung close to him,
trying to hide herself against him. He clasped her very fast.
Then at last she looked at him, mute, imploring, looking to see if she
must be ashamed.

His eyes were dark, very deep, and very quiet. It was as if her
beauty and his taking it hurt him, made him sorrowful. He looked at
her with a little pain, and was afraid. He was so humble before her.
She kissed him fervently on the eyes, first one, then the other,
and she folded herself to him. She gave herself. He held her fast.
It was a moment intense almost to agony.

She stood letting him adore her and tremble with joy of her.
It healed her hurt pride. It healed her; it made her glad. It made
her feel erect and proud again. Her pride had been wounded inside her.
She had been cheapened. Now she radiated with joy and pride again.
It was her restoration and her recognition.

Then he looked at her, his face radiant. They laughed to
each other, and he strained her to his chest. The seconds ticked off,
the minutes passed, and still the two stood clasped rigid together,
mouth to mouth, like a statue in one block.”
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