Hutte, for instance, used to quote the case of a fellow he called "the beach man." This man had spent forty years of his life on beaches or by the sides of swimming pools, chatting pleasantly with summer visitors and rich idlers. He is to be seen, in his bathing costume, in the corners and backgrounds of thousands of holiday snaps, among groups of happy people, but no one knew his name and why he was there. And no one noticed when one day he vanished from the photographs. I did not dare tell Hutte, but I felt that "the beach man" was myself. Though it would not have surprised him if I had confessed it. Hutte was always saying that, in the end, we were all "beach men" and that "the sand" - I am quoting his own words - "keeps the traces of our footsteps only a few moments.
——《Rue des Boutiques Obscures》 Patrick Modiano
卡夫卡的《城堡》真是一本极其absurd, bizzare but hooking novel. 从中间开始大段的人物对话,看似逻辑通畅,但马上对话者就可以用同样的事实解读出完全不一样的结果。最狠的是,两个人互相解释了一大通,看似解决了一些矛盾,实际事情根本没有推进,还在原地打转,nothing changed. 这是怎样深不可测的笔力!
读者就和K.本人一样,从一开始的continuous frustration,到之后演变成growing inured to disappointment。而这种感知的传达,字词和文段的组织结构只是工具,卡夫卡用文字构建了真正的村庄和城堡,lure the reader in, 然后让每个人在持续地沮丧、迷惑与坚持下感受K.的沮丧、迷惑与坚持。
Somehow, irresistibly, the prime thing was: nothing mattered. Life in the end seemed a prank of such size you could only stand off at this end of the corridor to note its meaningless length and it's quite unnecessary height, a mountain built to such ridiculous immensities you were dwarfed in its shadow and mocking of its pomp.
——《Something Wicked This Way Comes》Ray Bradbury
We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves.
I wish for all this to be marked on by body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography - to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience.
——《The English Patient》Michael Ondaatje