《斯通納》 現(xiàn)在開始，你應該認真閱讀《斯通納》 作者 | 史蒂夫·阿爾蒙德 （ The English version follows below ) 15 年前的一天，我參加一個書呆子研究生聚會，跟我一起排在隊伍尾巴上的一個朋友把我扯到一邊，硬塞給我一本小說，封面上寫著“斯通納”。那個年紀的我正醉心于各路“垮掉”的作家，于是自然認為這本《斯通納》（原文 STONER ，英語中有“癮君子”之義）是個講靈魂墮落的故事。 作為一個不夠聰明的讀者，如何說明自己喜歡哪一類型的書呢，我決定直接呈上下面這段描寫婚外情的簡短內(nèi)容來說明我喜歡的類型。主角斯通納以這段婚外情來躲避自己乏味的婚姻： “斯通納還非常年輕的時候，認為愛情就是一種絕對的存在狀態(tài)，在這種狀態(tài)下，如果一個人挺幸運的話，可能會找到入口的路徑。成熟后，他又認為愛情是一種虛幻宗教的天堂，人們應該懷著有趣的懷疑態(tài)度凝視它，帶著一種溫柔、熟悉的輕蔑，一種難為情的懷舊感。如今，到了中年，他開始知道，愛情既不是一種優(yōu)美狀態(tài)，也非虛幻。他把愛情視為轉(zhuǎn)化的人類行為，一種一個瞬間接一個瞬間，一天接一天，被意志、才智和心靈發(fā)現(xiàn)、修改的狀態(tài)。” 我覺得這些文字足夠了。 1965 年出版之后，《斯通納》曾經(jīng)兩次絕版，原因是俗常的日常生活情節(jié)和克制的風格令這本書的銷售難有起色——同時一件值得玩味的事發(fā)生在圖書庫存變化上。多年以來它逐漸在名人雅士中累積了一批忠實擁躉——其中不乏名作家，它成為了一份“小眾閱讀”的選擇，相比當年第一版在美國只賣了不到 2000 冊，如今《斯通納》已經(jīng)橫掃歐洲的暢銷榜單，持續(xù)引爆了關于美國文學正典的討論。 總體上講，這場文學復活故事印證了我們這樣一個判斷：細水長流無關乎出版趨勢與營銷預算?！栋做L記》是赫爾曼·梅維爾的代表作，當這本書開始突然流行時梅維爾感到非常意外，《了不起的蓋茨比》有很多年都被認為是不值一提的作品，類似的情況還有很多。奧威爾曾說過，時間才是真正能評價文學的唯一標準。 但與上述幾例事例相比，《斯通納》重生的原因截然不同的顛覆性差異。這么講可能顯得我是個喜歡夸大其詞的狂熱分子，但這場事件確認讓我燃起了一份希望：資本主義能量牢牢控制著我們的注意力，屏蔽了人類對心靈世界痛苦的必要關注，在這樣一個時代，《斯通納》告訴我們最終衡量人類的，是人直面那個隱秘的自我、而非展現(xiàn)在公眾前的自我的能力。換句話說，這本書對社會文化提出了一針見血的譴責——而恰巧的是，這本書居然寫于五十年前。 最近我正在主持一個不錯的讀書小組，讀的正是《斯通納》。有一次一個上了年紀的紳士起身發(fā)言。他臉色漲得通紅，顯然有一肚子火：“為什么非要我讀個 Loser 的故事？”他繼續(xù)說，“他不愿意為國效命（斯通納在戰(zhàn)爭爆發(fā)時沒有志愿參軍），他的婚姻簡直是場噩夢，工作上只有受氣的份兒?？偟恼f起來他簡直一事無成?！?/span> 他說完之后屋子里沉默了，第二個站起來說話打破了沉默，說話輕輕地，幾乎不帶任何感情，他說自己讀這本書時覺得在讀自己的生活， William Stoner 可能就是他本人。
我覺得這兩個人說的都沒錯。在很多方面， William Stoner 都是一個猶豫曖昧的主角，保守，被動，甚至無法保護女兒免受妻子心血來潮時種種任性妄為。他生活的主旋律不是進取與成功的整飭有序，而是一種近似于我們自己生活的樣子——一種雜糅了欲望、壓抑與妥協(xié)的混亂狀態(tài)。
對有些讀者來說——比如那個老紳士，這會讓他們難以接受，尤其是他讀到斯通納也曾勇敢做過決定。一個充滿責任心的、來自窮困農(nóng)家的孩子，在大學里遇見了文學的力量，選擇追尋自己的使命，他獻身于教育并傾力而為，也曾放縱自己沉湎于一場明知不可避免淪為一地雞毛的婚外情。這些片段的發(fā)生背景不是歷史的宏大舞臺，而是斯通納工作、生活的斗室。《斯通納》教給我們的最深刻的道理是：生活中唯一的英雄主義，只在于人甘愿投入生活的精神的品質(zhì)。
今天讀這本書讓我們認識到我們對英雄主義的認知到底有多淺薄。美國式的崇拜，目標向來是偉大的運動員，巨富商賈，電影明星——他們手中閃耀炫目的成果在我們眼中直接關聯(lián)著人生價值與快樂。電視熒幕上播放的故事為野心家大唱贊歌——而如果我們唯一愿意欣賞關于一位性情溫和的高中老師的電視劇，一定是因為他后來墮落成一個手段很辣的大毒梟。連文學回憶錄都得標榜記錄了“一場比生活更重大的生命”，來贏取讀者注意。
William Stoner 是個什么角色呢？文學史上典型的庸眾，一個能力指數(shù)排名第十的普通人：一個內(nèi)向的中世紀研究專家，一輩子與古代文獻為伍。他懷著虔誠的堅毅仰望大學，認為依舊相信信念的力量的人能在這里找得到庇護。雖然還沒退休，但依舊是校園里的古董。如果放在今天，比較合適的類比對象應該是化石。
今天的世界和斯通納間的差異，不光是我們手握智能機器能夠無所不知，更是我們在智識和情感上的新陳代謝能力快到驚人：我們追逐聳動，又容易自我滿足；滿足行為，止步于思考。最重要的是，內(nèi)心塞滿希望世界記住自己的野心，卻絲毫沒有探尋自我、了解自我的欲望。
美國人并非一向如此。據(jù)歷史學家沃倫·薩斯曼（ Warren Susman ）的觀察——蘇珊·凱恩（ Susan Cain ,著有《安靜：內(nèi)向性格的競爭力》）在自己論述內(nèi)向性格的著作《安靜》中也有引述—— 20 世紀正經(jīng)歷著社會文化價值觀從“品格文化”轉(zhuǎn)變?yōu)椤皞€性文化”，前者注重個體私人行為的重要性，后者則強調(diào)社會角色就是扮演者的角色。
當窄小荒僻的社區(qū)發(fā)展到繁華的大城市，人們不得不在競爭激勵的職場和社交中爭得一席之地，日積月累的修養(yǎng)品德不及第一印象重要，大肆推崇廣告式文化的迫切感又增強了美國式舞臺存在感，因此需要源源不斷地精美服裝與道具。如果說古典式的理想生活是過一種被檢視的生活，那么現(xiàn)今的目標是過一種被展示的生活。
文化價值觀轉(zhuǎn)變帶來的效果已經(jīng)十分顯著：想想我們每晚黃金時間播出的選秀，煽動力十足的所謂紀錄片，看秀的商人、典當行老板和無所事事的家庭主婦們假裝能重設自己的生活。
這就是我們將面臨的情況。如果你想成為焦點，不必天生我材，也不必系出名門，你要做的僅僅是造出些動靜——隨便發(fā)點你的笑話、段子、臟話或者惡作劇到網(wǎng)上吧。 作為一個虛構的英雄，斯通納只能淹沒在默默無聞的生活中。但這也是我們共同的命運。我們有過的最善或最惡，英雄主義或卑鄙無恥，也只能被最親近我們的知曉，終究免不了被遺忘，何況大多數(shù)情況下我們最深的感情都封藏于自己的內(nèi)心。我們憧憬名望的動機多源自缺乏直面以上事實的勇氣，我們向很多人懺悔，仿佛通過這些自我曝光人就能避免直面隱秘自我時的恐慌?！端雇{》之所以能成為一部小說藝術的杰作，因為約翰·威廉斯筆下這場直面隱秘自我的故事沒有變成一場悲劇，而為我們的自我救贖提供了必不可少的勇氣。 同時，這種救贖并不非以宗教的形式得以實現(xiàn)，反而是以文學為契機。正是因為這個故事向藝術獻上了虔誠的誠服，它所展示的典雅是一種藝術式的典雅（這也解釋為何作家無法抗拒這本小說）。 這本書開頭的部分，斯通納的啟蒙老師朗誦了莎士比亞的一首十四行詩： 目睹這些，你的愛會更加堅定， 因為他轉(zhuǎn)瞬要辭你溘然長往。 他望向斯通納——一個專業(yè)農(nóng)學只想著在這堂課上修學分的學生——要求闡釋這些詩的意思。斯通納不知道怎么回答，他唯一能感覺到的是這首詩好像開啟了內(nèi)心某些陌生的東西。在這么多年的麻木不仁之后，他仿佛好像突然奇跡般地有了意識，連樹木和天空都承受著不能承受之重，他能感覺到血液在無形地穿過纖細的血管和動脈流淌，周圍的同學放佛都被照亮了，“他好奇地看著他們，好像以前沒見過這些同學，好像自己離他們很遠又很近”。這一刻，是斯通納意識到自己靈魂的一刻。
或者更準確地說，他開始對自己的生命投以精神。 很快，命運開始了對他的戲弄。婚姻變成了一場家庭噩夢，女兒陷入了絕望，一個麻木不仁的宿敵毀滅他的事業(yè)。對于在這世上的境況，他已經(jīng)不抱期待，他意識到在別人眼中自己的怪異，自己投入事業(yè)進取的智識與能力也不過爾爾。這種周而復始的境遇中，斯通納一次次被逼面對自己的軟弱，挑戰(zhàn)自己身為一個兒子、父親、丈夫和學者的底線——但他從未逃避面對。 在斯通納彌留之際，作者這樣寫道：“一種柔軟感纏在他身上，一種倦怠感爬上他的四肢。一種他自己的身份感忽然猛然襲來，他感覺到了這個東西的力量。他就是自己，他知道自己曾經(jīng)是什么樣的人。”
“他就是自己，他知道自己曾經(jīng)是什么樣的人”。試問，我們中有多少人做到了這一點？
You Should Seriously Read ‘Stoner’ Right Now By STEVE ALMOND
Fifteen years ago, a friend of mine pulled me aside at the tail end of some sodden grad-school party and pressed a copy ofthe novel “Stoner” into my hands. I was at the time in the thrall of various junkie authors and thus assumed “Stoner” would be a tale of psychoactive depravity. The book was a different sort of trip altogether. The novel follows the life of an academic named William Stoner, a man forgotten by his students and colleagues, by history itself. The author, the late John Williams, announces all this on Page1. It’s as if he’s daring us to dismiss the book. I devoured it in one sitting. I had never encountered a work so ruthless in its devotion to human truths and so tender in its execution.
I realize this is the kind of thing besotted readers say all the time about their favorite books, so let me offer into evidence this brief passage about an affair Stoner initiates as a refuge from his joyless marriage:
“In his extreme youth Stoner had thought of love as an absolute state of being to which, if one were lucky, one might find access; in his maturity he had decided it was the heaven of a false religion, toward which one ought to gaze with an amused disbelief, a gently familiar contempt, and an embarrassed nostalgia. Now in his middle age he began to know that it was neither a state of grace nor anillusion; he saw it as a human act of becoming, a condition that was invented and modified moment by moment and day by day, by the will and the intelligenceand the heart.” I sort of rest my case.
Since its publication in 1965, “Stoner” has gone out of print twice, doomed by its mundane plot and restrained style. But a funny thing happened on the way to the remainders table. Thanks to a legion of disciples, many of them prominent writers ( along with Tom Hanks, who recommended the book in a Time interview ),“Stoner” became the Little Novel That Could. Despite selling only 2,000 copies in its initial printing, “Stoner” topped best-seller lists allacross Europe last year, and has steadily infiltrated literary discussions about the American canon. One critic actually got so sick of the praise heaped upon the novel that he recently published a rather self-defeating screed condemning its popularity.
For the most part, though, this tale of literary resurrection affirms our sense that posterity shouldn’t be about publishing trends or marketing budgets. Herman Melville figured “Moby-Dick” would be his masterpiece and was bewildered when it bombed. “The Great Gatsby” was dismissed for years as a minor work. The list goes on. Orwell famously argued that the only real critic of literature is time. But there is something distinct and thrillingly subversive in the resurgence of “Stoner.” I am no doubt overstating the case, as fanatics do, but I find ittremendously hopeful that “Stoner” is thriving in a world in which capitalist energies are so hellbent on distracting us from the necessary anguish of our inner lives. “Stoner” argues that we are measured ultimately by our capacity to face the truth of who we are inprivate moments, not by the burnishing of our public selves. It is, in otherwords, a searing condemnation of our current cultural moment — one that happens to have been written nearly 50 years ago.
Recently, I hosted a well-lubricated book group for “Stoner.” At one point an elderly gentleman stood to address the room. He was clearly in a state of high dudgeon; his cheeks were a blazing red. “Why should I read about this loser?” he demanded. “He refuses to fight for his country. His marriage is a nightmare. Hegets bullied around at work. He never does anything.”
An awkward pause descended, broken only by a second man who observed, softly but with no less emotion, that he felt he was reading about his own life, and that William Stoner might as well have been he. I agreed with both of them.
William Stoner is, in many ways, a dubious leading man, introverted and passive. He fails even to protect his daughter from the deranged whims of his troubled wife. The story of his life is not an eat crescendo of industry and triumph, but something more akin to our own lives: a muddle of desires and inhibitions and compromises.
This makes it hard for some readers, like the elderly gentleman, to see that Stoner also makes courageous decisions. The dutiful son of a poor farmer, he discovers the power of literature in college and pursues his calling. He labors to honor the mission of teaching and gives himself over to a passionate affair he knows will end in ruin. These events play out not on the grand stage of history but the small rooms of his workplace and home. The deepest lesson of “Stoner” is this: What makes a life heroic is the quality of attention paid to it. To read the book today is to recognize how shallow our conception of the heroic has become. Americans worship athletes and moguls and movie stars, those who possess the glittering gifts we equate with worth and happiness. The stories that flash across our screens tend to bepaeans to reckless ambition. We might be willing to watch a drama about a meek high-school science teacher, but only if he degenerates into a homicidal methtycoon. Heck, even our literary memoirs have to tell a “l(fā)arger than life” story to find a wide audience. As for William Stoner, he’s the archetypal literary Every mantaken to the 10th power — a timid medievalist who spends his life amid ancient texts. He looks upon the university with sincere reverence, as a sanctuary for those who still believe in the world of ideas. Long before his retirement, he is regardedas a relic around campus. He would qualify as something closer to a fossil today. It’s not just that we’re all toting around omniscient devices the size of candy bars. It’s the staggering acceleration ofour intellectual and emotional metabolisms: our hunger for sensation and narcissistic reward, our readiness to privilege action over contemplation. And,most of all, our desperate compulsion to be known by the world rather than seeking to know ourselves. Americans were not always this way. As the historian Warren Susman observed — and as Susan Cain reiterates in her recent book about introversion,“Quiet” — the 20th century ushered in a shift from a “culture of character,” which emphasized the importance ofour private behavior, to one of “personality” in which the exalted social role was that of a performer.
As Americans moved from smaller rural communities to the bustling anonymity of cities, as they were forced to compete for regard in ever more frantic workplaces and social settings, first impressions became more important than the subtle virtues one might cultivateover a lifetime. The emergence of a robust advertising culture reinforced the notion that Americans were more or less always on stage and thus in constant need of suitable costumes and props. If the ancient ideal had been to lead an examined life, the modern goal became to lead a life that was displayed. The results of this paradigm shift have never been more evident. Consider our nightly parade of prime-time talent shows and ginned-up documentaries in which chefs and pawn brokers and bored housewives reinvent their private lives as theater. And this is what the rest of us are up to,as well. Consider the growth industries in our tech sector: social-media companies like Facebook and Twitter, look-at-me apps like Instagram and Snapchat, content-sharing websites like YouTube and Pinterest that serve asfounts of personal marketing. If you want to be among those who count, and youdon’t happen tobe endowed with divine talents or a royal lineage, well then, make some noise.Put your wit — or your craft projects or your rants or your pranks — on public display.
Otherwise, you wind up like poor Stoner: a footnote in the great human story.
But aren’t nearly all of us footnotes in the end? Don’t the dreams we harbor eventually give way to the actuality of our lives?
As a fictional hero, William Stoner will have to dwell in obscurity forever. But that, too, is our destiny. Our most profound acts of virtue and vice, of heroism and villainy, will be known by only those closest to us and forgotten soon enough. Even our deepest feelings will, for the most part, lay concealed within the vault of our hearts. Much ofthe reason we construct garish fantasies of fame is to distract ourselves from these painful truths. We confess so much to so many, as if by these disclosures we might escape the terror of confronting our hidden selves. What makes “Stoner” such a radical work of art is that it portrays this confrontation not as a tragedy, but the essential source ofour redemption. And this redemption, by the way, does not come in the form of religious revelation. “Stoner” containsalmost no reference to God at all. Instead, revelation is triggered by literature. The novel is not able as art because it places such profound faithin art. (This is also what makes it so irresistible to writers.) Early in the book, a daunting instructor recites Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73 to his class: “This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong/To love that well which thou must leave ere long.” He trains his gaze upon Stoner — an agricultural student hoping only to fulfill a requirement — and demands to know what these lines mean. Stoner has no idea what to say. He knows only that the poem has triggered some strange upheaval within him. It is as if, after years of slumber, he suddenly awakens to the miracle of consciousness. The sky and treestake on an almost unbearable intensity. He senses his own blood flowing invisibly through his veins. His fellow students appear illuminated from within, and he feels “very distant from them and very close to them.” It is the moment when he become saware of his own soul. Or maybe it would be more precise to say that he simply begins paying attention to his life. Soon enough, fate confounds him. His marriage devolves into a domestic horror. His daughter falls into despair. A senseless feud undermines his career. He suffers no delusions about his place in the world. He recognizes that others find him absurd and that his intellectual contributions to his arcane field are at best minor. Over and over again, Stoner is forced to confront his own weakness, his limitations as a sonand father and husband and scholar. And yet he refuses to turn away.
As Stoner lies dying, his creator observes:“There was a softness around him, and a languor crept upon his limbs. A sense of his own identity came upon him with a sudden force, and he felt the power of it. He was himself, and he knew what he had been.”
How many of us can say the same of ourselves? 《斯通納》 作者 | 約翰·威廉斯 本文由世紀文景授權發(fā)布 編輯｜ideal 單讀出品，轉(zhuǎn)載請先至后臺詢問 無條件歡迎分享轉(zhuǎn)發(fā)朋友圈 長按識別圖中二維碼，或點擊【閱讀原文】下載單讀 App（如果曾經(jīng)下載過舊版單讀 App 的用戶，請卸載后重新下載）。 |
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