本書中二十來位女作家都是獨一的。她們的長篇小說、詩集、論文、演講……蜚聲海內外，被譯成多國文字、被拍成影視、收入教科書……影響非常大。 不同年齡段女作家們不經意的汩汩真情浸濡張張書頁，竟翻騰起磅礴動盪的20世紀風雲，精靈般地映出了中國在這不得了的時代動心的連漪。
基本介紹
- 書名：嬉雪:中國當代女性散文選
- 作者：朱虹 周欣
- 出版日期：2002年1月1日
- 語種：簡體中文, 英語
- ISBN：7538262091
- 外文名：A Frolic in the Snow
- 出版社：遼寧教育出版社
- 頁數：466頁
- 開本：32
媒體推薦,圖書目錄,文摘,
媒體推薦
序
人若活個沒完沒了，意想不到的麻煩就會惹上身來——譬如為這本書寫序，居然輪到我。惟願我的滿頭白髮，能讓比我年長的、年輕的女作家們寬容我笨拙的叨咕。
這二十來位女作家我幾乎都認識。她們的長篇小說、詩集、論文、演講……蜚聲海內外，被譯成多國文字、被拍成影視、收入教科書……影響之大令我退避三舍，起碼用沙子搭個心的堤防不自我煩惱跟她們比，免得羞慚不知所措。此番被迫一口氣讀完這一篇篇短短的散文，恰又似乍見初驚恨晚，竟身不由主陪同她們從少女、少婦迎世紀風雲錯步追行。我正挎著小籃和姑娘們在收割過的田野拾麥穗，或盤腿坐在炕頭上嬉笑著編結狗尾巴草戒指，憧憬著初戀；忽而跌進人間地獄，受盡荒誕的摧殘踐踏，我們的髮辮糾結著在濁浪里滾翻，真恨不得嚎啕大哭，把多少年忍住的淚全都傾倒出來。喔，別。我聽到了坦坦然的低語：“讓風吹走悲傷，讓夢留著。”我怎能不默默陪她一起紀念昔日的悲壯，企盼不是去年開過的那朵花。是她們，是她們呀，把人生的酸甜苦辣死去活來活來死去攪拌，調皮地變幻出千姿百韻萬種顏色。憑心靈肉搏廝殺、斷矛折戟，且柔情傳吟樹葉的歌唱，植被的細語。詰問雲朵，擁抱雷霆，對妖魔藐視，對死神開玩笑，卻依然分心撫慰一縷輕煙、一抹塵埃和憤怒的石頭……。凡塵的計齡拴不住她們青春的血液和心靈，只無日無夜在這兒、那兒，從這個人、那個人，每個角落、每片土地，去探測追縱情感輕微的震顫和剝離，痴痴要把天和地、哲人和傻子都鬧不清的事去問個究竟。
也許，只因散文往往是不遮窗簾敞開心扉之棲息地。不同年齡段女作家們不經意的汩汩真情浸濡張張書頁，竟翻騰起磅礴動盪的20世紀風雲，精靈般地映出了中國在這不得了了不得的時代動心的漣漪。
近年中國文壇嘩啦啦湧現出一茬又一茬女作家們和數不清的優秀作品，惹得中外評論家頗費腦筋分析來分析去，這我不參與。我只知道，本書中的二十來位女作家，她們都是獨一的。在以前，在以後的中國文學史中，再也找不到她們(每個人)的替身。此刻，我甚而找不到能配她們身影的畫框。不信，你就琢磨琢磨，或許你竟然因之可預見當21世紀來臨，中國人(當然不僅是女性)鐘情什麼?護衛什麼?抗拒什麼?並要把什麼狠狠拋棄。
197年7月1日
人若活個沒完沒了，意想不到的麻煩就會惹上身來——譬如為這本書寫序，居然輪到我。惟願我的滿頭白髮，能讓比我年長的、年輕的女作家們寬容我笨拙的叨咕。
這二十來位女作家我幾乎都認識。她們的長篇小說、詩集、論文、演講……蜚聲海內外，被譯成多國文字、被拍成影視、收入教科書……影響之大令我退避三舍，起碼用沙子搭個心的堤防不自我煩惱跟她們比，免得羞慚不知所措。此番被迫一口氣讀完這一篇篇短短的散文，恰又似乍見初驚恨晚，竟身不由主陪同她們從少女、少婦迎世紀風雲錯步追行。我正挎著小籃和姑娘們在收割過的田野拾麥穗，或盤腿坐在炕頭上嬉笑著編結狗尾巴草戒指，憧憬著初戀；忽而跌進人間地獄，受盡荒誕的摧殘踐踏，我們的髮辮糾結著在濁浪里滾翻，真恨不得嚎啕大哭，把多少年忍住的淚全都傾倒出來。喔，別。我聽到了坦坦然的低語：“讓風吹走悲傷，讓夢留著。”我怎能不默默陪她一起紀念昔日的悲壯，企盼不是去年開過的那朵花。是她們，是她們呀，把人生的酸甜苦辣死去活來活來死去攪拌，調皮地變幻出千姿百韻萬種顏色。憑心靈肉搏廝殺、斷矛折戟，且柔情傳吟樹葉的歌唱，植被的細語。詰問雲朵，擁抱雷霆，對妖魔藐視，對死神開玩笑，卻依然分心撫慰一縷輕煙、一抹塵埃和憤怒的石頭……。凡塵的計齡拴不住她們青春的血液和心靈，只無日無夜在這兒、那兒，從這個人、那個人，每個角落、每片土地，去探測追縱情感輕微的震顫和剝離，痴痴要把天和地、哲人和傻子都鬧不清的事去問個究竟。
也許，只因散文往往是不遮窗簾敞開心扉之棲息地。不同年齡段女作家們不經意的汩汩真情浸濡張張書頁，竟翻騰起磅礴動盪的20世紀風雲，精靈般地映出了中國在這不得了了不得的時代動心的漣漪。
近年中國文壇嘩啦啦湧現出一茬又一茬女作家們和數不清的優秀作品，惹得中外評論家頗費腦筋分析來分析去，這我不參與。我只知道，本書中的二十來位女作家，她們都是獨一的。在以前，在以後的中國文學史中，再也找不到她們(每個人)的替身。此刻，我甚而找不到能配她們身影的畫框。不信，你就琢磨琢磨，或許你竟然因之可預見當21世紀來臨，中國人(當然不僅是女性)鐘情什麼?護衛什麼?抗拒什麼?並要把什麼狠狠拋棄。
197年7月1日
圖書目錄
序 黃宗英
冰 心 Bing Xin （1900—1999）
春的訊息
Signs of Spring
我的家在哪裡
Middle Scissors Lane
綠的歌
Ode to Green
霞
Sunset's Glow
我夢中的小翠鳥
The Little Kingfisher in My Dream
生命從八十歲開始
Life Begins at Eighty
楊 絳 Yang Jiang （1911— ）
黃宗英 Huang Zongying （1925— ）
文潔若 Wen Jieruo （1925— ）
諶 容 Zong Pu （1935— ）
張 潔 Chen Rong （1937— ）
竹 林 Zhu Lin（1949— ）
陸星兒 Lu Xing'er （1949— ）
張抗抗 Zhang Kangkang（1950— ）
舒 婷 Shu Ting （1952— ）
王安憶 Wang Anyi （1954— ）
斯 妤 Si Yu（1954— ）
唐 敏 Tang Min （1954— ）
蔣子丹 Jiang Zidan （1954— ）
張愛華 Zhang Ai hua （1955— ）
鐵 凝 Tie Ning（1959— ）
徐 坤 Xu Kun （1965— ）
……
冰 心 Bing Xin （1900—1999）
春的訊息
Signs of Spring
我的家在哪裡
Middle Scissors Lane
綠的歌
Ode to Green
霞
Sunset's Glow
我夢中的小翠鳥
The Little Kingfisher in My Dream
生命從八十歲開始
Life Begins at Eighty
楊 絳 Yang Jiang （1911— ）
黃宗英 Huang Zongying （1925— ）
文潔若 Wen Jieruo （1925— ）
諶 容 Zong Pu （1935— ）
張 潔 Chen Rong （1937— ）
竹 林 Zhu Lin（1949— ）
陸星兒 Lu Xing'er （1949— ）
張抗抗 Zhang Kangkang（1950— ）
舒 婷 Shu Ting （1952— ）
王安憶 Wang Anyi （1954— ）
斯 妤 Si Yu（1954— ）
唐 敏 Tang Min （1954— ）
蔣子丹 Jiang Zidan （1954— ）
張愛華 Zhang Ai hua （1955— ）
鐵 凝 Tie Ning（1959— ）
徐 坤 Xu Kun （1965— ）
……
文摘
書摘
坐在書桌旁往外看，我的窗外周圍只是一座一座的長長方方的宿舍樓，樓與樓之間沒有一棵樹木!窗前一大片的空地上，歷年來堆放著許多長長的、生了銹的鋼筋——這是為建築附近幾座新宿舍樓用的——真是一片荒涼沉寂。外邊看不到什麼顏色了，我只好在屋子裡“創造”些顏色。我在堂屋裡掛上綠色的窗簾，鋪上綠色的桌布，窗台上擺些朋友送的一品紅、仙客來，和孩子們自己種的吊蘭。在牆上掛的總理油畫前，供上一瓶玫瑰花、菊花、石竹花或十姊妹。那是北方玫瑰花公司應我之請，按著時節，每星期送來的。我的書桌旁邊的窗台上擺著一盆朋友送的還沒有開過花的君子蘭。有時也放上一瓶玫瑰。這一絲絲的綠意，或說是春意吧，都是“慰情聊勝無”的。
我想起我窗前的那片空地，從前堆放鋼筋的地方，每到春來。從鋼筋的空隙中總會長出十分翠綠的草。夏雨來時，它便怒長起來，蔓延到鋼條周圍。那勃勃的生機，是鋼鐵也壓不住的。如今，這些鋼條都搬走了，又聽說我們樓前這一塊空地將要種上花草。春寒料峭之中，我的期望也和春寒一樣地冷漠。
Looking out of the window from where I sat at my desk, all I could see were rows and rows of tall apartment buildings, with not a blade of green between them. As to the empty lot beneath my window, for years it had been the dumping site of rusting iron bars left over from the construction of apartment buildings nearby. A
desolate sight. The outside being devoid of color, I had no choice but to create some color indoors. I hung up green curtains in the living room, and covered the table with green table cloths. On the windowsill I put out the poinsettias that friends had given me and the bracketplant that my children had cultivated. In ront of the oil painting of premier Zhou Enlai hanging on the wall, there was always a vase with roses,or chrysanthemums,or carnations, They were from the North Rose shop, which had contracted to supply me with flowers of the season every week. On the windowsill near my desk was a friend's gift of a pot of orchids that had not yet flowered, or sometimes there would be a vase of roses. All those signs of green, or rather signs of spring, were makeshift compensations for the lack of
green in general.
I thought of the empty lot beneath my building, the dumping site of rusting iron bars. I remember that with the coming of spring, blades of jade green grass would sprout between the iron bars. When the rains come, they would grow at a furious pace and overwhelm the rusting iron bars. Even iron could not keep down the force of bubbling life itself. By now the iron bars have been removed, and it
is said that the empty lot will be planted with flowers. But in the chill of early spring, my expectations were just as dull and listless.
在農村長大的姑娘誰還不知道揀麥穗這回事。
我要說的，卻是幾十年前的那段往事。
或許可以這樣說，揀麥穗的時節，也是最能引動姑娘們幻想的時節。
在那月殘星稀的清晨，挎著一空籃子，順著田梗上的小路走去揀麥穗的時候，她想的是什麼呢?
等到田野上騰起一層薄霧，月亮，像是偷偷地睡過一覺重又悄悄地回到天邊，她方才挎著裝滿麥穗的籃子，走回自家那孔窯的時候，她想的是什麼呢?，
唉，她還能想什麼!
假如你沒有在那種日子裡生活過，你永遠也無法想像，從這一顆顆丟在地里的麥穗上，會生出什麼樣地幻想。
她拚命地揀吶、揀吶，一個揀麥穗的時節也許能揀上一斗?她把這麥子賣了，再把這錢攢起來，等到趕集的時候扯上花布、買上花線，然後，她剪呀、縫呀、繡呀……也不見她穿、也不見她戴，誰也沒和誰合計過，誰也沒和誰商量過，可是等到出嫁的那一天，她們全會把這些東西，裝進她們新嫁娘的包裹里去。
不過，當她們把揀麥穗時所伴著的幻想，一同包進包裹里的時候，她們會突然發現那些幻想全都變了味。覺得多少年來，她們揀呀、縫呀、繡呀的，是多么傻啊!她們要嫁的那個男人，和她們在揀麥穗、扯花布、繡花鞋的時候所幻想的那個男人，有著多么的不同。
但是，她們還是依依順順地嫁了出去。只不過在穿戴那些衣物的時候，再也找不到做它、縫它時的情懷了。
這又算得了什麼呢。誰也不會為她們嘆上一口氣，誰也不會關心她們曾經有過的那份幻想，甚至連她們自己也不會感到過份的悲傷，頂多不過像是丟失了一個美麗的夢。有誰見過哪一個人會死乞白賴地尋找一個丟失的夢呢?
當我剛剛能夠歪歪趔趔地提著一個籃子跑路的時候，我就在大姐姐的身後揀麥穗了。
對我來說，那籃子未免太大，老是磕碰著我的腿和地面，時不時就讓我跌上一跤，我也少有揀滿一籃子的時候，我看不見地里的麥穗，卻總是看見螞蚱和蝴蝶。而當我追趕它們的時候，好不容易揀到麥穗，還會從籃子裡重新掉進地里。
What country girl wouldn't know about gathering wheat stalks ! let me tell you a story of long long ago when you might almost say that wheat gathering time was when girls' imaginations were the most alive.
In the early hours of dawn, under a waning moon and a sprinkling of stars, what would a girl with a basket on her arm be thinking of as she walked along the ridges in the fields on her way to gather wheat stalks? When a thin mist hovered over the fields and the moon rose silently again as if it had wakened from a stolen nap, what was the girl thinking of as she walked back home with a basket on her arm filled with wheat stalks? Well, what else could she think of? If you had never been part of that life, you will never know the dreams these stalks of wheat scattered in the fields could conjure up.
She stoops and bends with no respite to pick the scattered stalks, and may muster together as much as one peck (ten litres) in one wheat-gathering season. She will sell the wheat, and save the money, and on a market day, she will go to the market and buy flowered cotton cloth and colored thread. Then she will return home and cut and sew and embroider. Nobody has seen her wear her finery, but on her wedding day, she will invariably stuff these sartorial treasures into her bridal baggage, as all the other girls do, though no one has seen them making an agreement.
But they will soon discover as they pack away their harvest that the dreams they dreamt while gathering wheat have turned sour. In years, the girls would realize how naive they had been, how different were the men they had married to the men of their dreams as they gathered wheat and sewed and embroidered. They had let themselves be married off so docilely. As they put on their new clothes and new shoes, the thrill that had gone into the making of them had disappeared.
And so what! Nobody would sigh for them, or commiserate with them for their lost dreams. Even they themselves would not yield to excessive grief; at most they had lost a beautiful dream. Who would be so foolish as to hold on to a dream!
When I was old enough to be running about on my own, I would trudge behind my elder sister to pick wheat, with a basket too on my arm. The basket was always too big for me; it would bounce against my legs or drag along the ground . Often it made me stumble. I rarely filled my basket. Either I missed the wheat stalks lying in the fields, or I was distracted by grasshoppers and butterflies. Sometimes even the stalks in my basket rambled out as I chased after butterflies.
我是來這裡尋找山桃花的。二十年前一位老鄉就告訴過我：“看山桃開花，那得等清明。”於是我記住了清明，腦子裡常浮現著一個山桃的世界。那是一山的火吧，一山的粉紅吧？
誰知我已耽誤了十九個清明。十九個清明雖然都有被耽誤的理由，然而每逢這天，我都坐立不安著。
我決定不再耽誤第二十個清明。
我踏著今年的節令來到這裡，卻沒有看見山桃開花。在四周被浮雲纏繞的山巒里，只有山正在悄悄地變綠。綠像是被雲霧染成，又像是綠正染著雲霧。有人告訴我，今年春寒，山桃還未開花；又有人告訴我，山桃花早已開過，是因了常有來自山外的暖風。和山里人相處，你會發現，他們常常說不準他們要說的事。對同一件事，十個人或許有十種說法。就連對你的問路，他們回答起來都各有差異。那差異仿佛來自他們的敘述方式，就好比春寒花哪能開；風暖，花哪能不開。至於花到底開過與否倒無人注意了。
……
坐在書桌旁往外看，我的窗外周圍只是一座一座的長長方方的宿舍樓，樓與樓之間沒有一棵樹木!窗前一大片的空地上，歷年來堆放著許多長長的、生了銹的鋼筋——這是為建築附近幾座新宿舍樓用的——真是一片荒涼沉寂。外邊看不到什麼顏色了，我只好在屋子裡“創造”些顏色。我在堂屋裡掛上綠色的窗簾，鋪上綠色的桌布，窗台上擺些朋友送的一品紅、仙客來，和孩子們自己種的吊蘭。在牆上掛的總理油畫前，供上一瓶玫瑰花、菊花、石竹花或十姊妹。那是北方玫瑰花公司應我之請，按著時節，每星期送來的。我的書桌旁邊的窗台上擺著一盆朋友送的還沒有開過花的君子蘭。有時也放上一瓶玫瑰。這一絲絲的綠意，或說是春意吧，都是“慰情聊勝無”的。
我想起我窗前的那片空地，從前堆放鋼筋的地方，每到春來。從鋼筋的空隙中總會長出十分翠綠的草。夏雨來時，它便怒長起來，蔓延到鋼條周圍。那勃勃的生機，是鋼鐵也壓不住的。如今，這些鋼條都搬走了，又聽說我們樓前這一塊空地將要種上花草。春寒料峭之中，我的期望也和春寒一樣地冷漠。
Looking out of the window from where I sat at my desk, all I could see were rows and rows of tall apartment buildings, with not a blade of green between them. As to the empty lot beneath my window, for years it had been the dumping site of rusting iron bars left over from the construction of apartment buildings nearby. A
desolate sight. The outside being devoid of color, I had no choice but to create some color indoors. I hung up green curtains in the living room, and covered the table with green table cloths. On the windowsill I put out the poinsettias that friends had given me and the bracketplant that my children had cultivated. In ront of the oil painting of premier Zhou Enlai hanging on the wall, there was always a vase with roses,or chrysanthemums,or carnations, They were from the North Rose shop, which had contracted to supply me with flowers of the season every week. On the windowsill near my desk was a friend's gift of a pot of orchids that had not yet flowered, or sometimes there would be a vase of roses. All those signs of green, or rather signs of spring, were makeshift compensations for the lack of
green in general.
I thought of the empty lot beneath my building, the dumping site of rusting iron bars. I remember that with the coming of spring, blades of jade green grass would sprout between the iron bars. When the rains come, they would grow at a furious pace and overwhelm the rusting iron bars. Even iron could not keep down the force of bubbling life itself. By now the iron bars have been removed, and it
is said that the empty lot will be planted with flowers. But in the chill of early spring, my expectations were just as dull and listless.
在農村長大的姑娘誰還不知道揀麥穗這回事。
我要說的，卻是幾十年前的那段往事。
或許可以這樣說，揀麥穗的時節，也是最能引動姑娘們幻想的時節。
在那月殘星稀的清晨，挎著一空籃子，順著田梗上的小路走去揀麥穗的時候，她想的是什麼呢?
等到田野上騰起一層薄霧，月亮，像是偷偷地睡過一覺重又悄悄地回到天邊，她方才挎著裝滿麥穗的籃子，走回自家那孔窯的時候，她想的是什麼呢?，
唉，她還能想什麼!
假如你沒有在那種日子裡生活過，你永遠也無法想像，從這一顆顆丟在地里的麥穗上，會生出什麼樣地幻想。
她拚命地揀吶、揀吶，一個揀麥穗的時節也許能揀上一斗?她把這麥子賣了，再把這錢攢起來，等到趕集的時候扯上花布、買上花線，然後，她剪呀、縫呀、繡呀……也不見她穿、也不見她戴，誰也沒和誰合計過，誰也沒和誰商量過，可是等到出嫁的那一天，她們全會把這些東西，裝進她們新嫁娘的包裹里去。
不過，當她們把揀麥穗時所伴著的幻想，一同包進包裹里的時候，她們會突然發現那些幻想全都變了味。覺得多少年來，她們揀呀、縫呀、繡呀的，是多么傻啊!她們要嫁的那個男人，和她們在揀麥穗、扯花布、繡花鞋的時候所幻想的那個男人，有著多么的不同。
但是，她們還是依依順順地嫁了出去。只不過在穿戴那些衣物的時候，再也找不到做它、縫它時的情懷了。
這又算得了什麼呢。誰也不會為她們嘆上一口氣，誰也不會關心她們曾經有過的那份幻想，甚至連她們自己也不會感到過份的悲傷，頂多不過像是丟失了一個美麗的夢。有誰見過哪一個人會死乞白賴地尋找一個丟失的夢呢?
當我剛剛能夠歪歪趔趔地提著一個籃子跑路的時候，我就在大姐姐的身後揀麥穗了。
對我來說，那籃子未免太大，老是磕碰著我的腿和地面，時不時就讓我跌上一跤，我也少有揀滿一籃子的時候，我看不見地里的麥穗，卻總是看見螞蚱和蝴蝶。而當我追趕它們的時候，好不容易揀到麥穗，還會從籃子裡重新掉進地里。
What country girl wouldn't know about gathering wheat stalks ! let me tell you a story of long long ago when you might almost say that wheat gathering time was when girls' imaginations were the most alive.
In the early hours of dawn, under a waning moon and a sprinkling of stars, what would a girl with a basket on her arm be thinking of as she walked along the ridges in the fields on her way to gather wheat stalks? When a thin mist hovered over the fields and the moon rose silently again as if it had wakened from a stolen nap, what was the girl thinking of as she walked back home with a basket on her arm filled with wheat stalks? Well, what else could she think of? If you had never been part of that life, you will never know the dreams these stalks of wheat scattered in the fields could conjure up.
She stoops and bends with no respite to pick the scattered stalks, and may muster together as much as one peck (ten litres) in one wheat-gathering season. She will sell the wheat, and save the money, and on a market day, she will go to the market and buy flowered cotton cloth and colored thread. Then she will return home and cut and sew and embroider. Nobody has seen her wear her finery, but on her wedding day, she will invariably stuff these sartorial treasures into her bridal baggage, as all the other girls do, though no one has seen them making an agreement.
But they will soon discover as they pack away their harvest that the dreams they dreamt while gathering wheat have turned sour. In years, the girls would realize how naive they had been, how different were the men they had married to the men of their dreams as they gathered wheat and sewed and embroidered. They had let themselves be married off so docilely. As they put on their new clothes and new shoes, the thrill that had gone into the making of them had disappeared.
And so what! Nobody would sigh for them, or commiserate with them for their lost dreams. Even they themselves would not yield to excessive grief; at most they had lost a beautiful dream. Who would be so foolish as to hold on to a dream!
When I was old enough to be running about on my own, I would trudge behind my elder sister to pick wheat, with a basket too on my arm. The basket was always too big for me; it would bounce against my legs or drag along the ground . Often it made me stumble. I rarely filled my basket. Either I missed the wheat stalks lying in the fields, or I was distracted by grasshoppers and butterflies. Sometimes even the stalks in my basket rambled out as I chased after butterflies.
我是來這裡尋找山桃花的。二十年前一位老鄉就告訴過我：“看山桃開花，那得等清明。”於是我記住了清明，腦子裡常浮現著一個山桃的世界。那是一山的火吧，一山的粉紅吧？
誰知我已耽誤了十九個清明。十九個清明雖然都有被耽誤的理由，然而每逢這天，我都坐立不安著。
我決定不再耽誤第二十個清明。
我踏著今年的節令來到這裡，卻沒有看見山桃開花。在四周被浮雲纏繞的山巒里，只有山正在悄悄地變綠。綠像是被雲霧染成，又像是綠正染著雲霧。有人告訴我，今年春寒，山桃還未開花；又有人告訴我，山桃花早已開過，是因了常有來自山外的暖風。和山里人相處，你會發現，他們常常說不準他們要說的事。對同一件事，十個人或許有十種說法。就連對你的問路，他們回答起來都各有差異。那差異仿佛來自他們的敘述方式，就好比春寒花哪能開；風暖，花哪能不開。至於花到底開過與否倒無人注意了。
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