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Thursday, 08 January 2009

  • Something profound I read today

    "The starting-point of critical elaboration is the consciousness of what one really is, and is 'knowing thyself' as a product of the historical process to date, which has deposited in you an infinity of traces, without leaving an inventory. Therefore it is imperative at the outset to compile such an inventory."

    -Gramsci, Prison Notebooks

Thursday, 06 November 2008

  • 被殺 // Killed

    今天，我被消滅了。

    我們的自傳課要求我們寫自己的自傳的第一章。自傳，顧名思義，是與作者的自我緊密結合的。在寫自傳的過程中，前所未有的作者的自覺令我寫每一字每一句時均加倍小心。事實上，這觀照自我／自我反思(self-reflexivity)是如此的強烈，令我彷彿無時無刻不被獨我論(solipsism)的恐怖所圍困。我很肯定我的自傳已明確完整的表現了我想表達的那個"我"。

    但今日在課室裡，種種解釋紛紛出籠：未知的線索，關聯及意義，實是我始料未及。我正坐在那裡，我有不同的屬意和想法，但這些都不重要。很明顯地，我的讀者有他們自己的解讀... 雖然他們解讀的是我，但我對自身的認識並不一定比他們的正確罷。

    第一次如此貼身地感受到所謂的"作者之死"！

    Today I had the most peculiar experience of being annihilated.

    In our autobiography class, we were asked to write the first chapter of our own autobiography. Autobiography, being what it is, seems more entwined with the writer's self. More conscious of my role as a writer than ever, I was careful of each word I put down, of the thematic structure of the text, of the meanings I was conveying. In fact,  I was so acutely aware of the self-reflexivity asked of me by the task at hand that the terror of solipsism was forever closing in. I was sure that the text adequately represented the self I wanted to present to the class.

    Yet when we sat down and discuss it, readings completely different from what I had in mind emerged. Clues, connections and significance unbeknownst to me were brought up, and my being there was of no importance. It didn't matter what I intended my text to mean-- it could mean entirely different things to my readers, even if these meanings were purportedly related to my very being. And perhaps these readings are closer to the truth than my own understanding of myself.

    The death of the author. Never had I felt it before as strongly as today.

Monday, 03 November 2008

  • 秘密 // Secret

    "這裡有一個秘密，但它並沒有隱藏起來。"  -雅克 德希達 （原文見下）

    大部分人在閱讀文學的時候，都認定字裡行間隱藏著一些深奧的意思，一個等待著被發掘的"秘密"。然而，"秘密"這詞就像寫著"此地無銀三百兩"的牌子一樣，矛盾地點出被隱藏的事，只待別人來揭露。因此，真正的秘密，如德希達所說，是"沒有隱藏起來"的-- 它永遠在逃，永遠難以觸摸，甚至是解釋不了的，說不出來的。

    在文學上，這理念就是說文字裡並無一定的意義。每讀一次，一個新的解釋自然會浮現。每次你自認為解開了迷題，自覺就是這樣，這就是正解，總有一點什麼會怪怪的，不符合整體的概念。新的漏洞就此豁開，真正的意思（一個能解釋一切的意思）也更新了。

    在滑溜的文字間，意思將一直無限期地被延遲，作為讀者的我們也只好一直跟這永恆的秘密玩著你跑我追的遊戲。

    這是今天上課時討論到的話題。感受著文學那雄偉華麗的無邊無際，不禁又重新愛上這學科了。

    "There is something secret. But it does not conceal itself."  - Jacques Derrida

    Most of us, when we read literature, assume there is a deeper meaning to be found behind the text, a "secret" to be uncovered. Paradoxically, by definition the word "secret" indicates the presence of something hidden, to be found eventually. Thus, a real secret "does not conceal itself", as Derrida states-- it cannot even be named, it must remain forever elusive.

    Applying that to literature, the implication is that there is no definite meaning to be discovered in a text. Upon each new reading, a new meaning would have surfaced. Every time you believe you've got to the bottom of it, that this is it, this is what this means, something wouldn't quite fit, and yet again new gaps open up, and the real meaning (one that explains everything) becomes something new.

    Meaning will always be infinitely deferred in the slippery text... and in here we engage in infinite play, digging one hole after another for the ever-burrowing secret.

    We came across this most excellent quote today in class. Feel the majesty of the inexhaustibleness of literature? It makes me fall in love all over again with what I do.

Friday, 31 October 2008

  • 我最喜歡的... // My Favorite...

    很多人喜歡問我文學上的喜好：最喜歡的作家是誰？最喜歡的詩人是誰？最喜歡的作品？最喜歡的文學理論？（沒有那樣的東西啦... -_-''）

    雖然這類問題很難答，但我還是有特別喜歡的作者／作品的。其中最快聯想到的是莎士比亞的著名悲劇＜李爾王＞ 裡，第五幕第三場，李爾王說的一段話。說這話的時候，李爾王已被捉住，正準備進監獄，而他的身邊只剩下惟一孝順的女兒考狄莉婭。曾經高高在上的李爾王，現 在只不過是一個被打敗的老人，祈求著女兒的原諒，及在監牢裡好好渡過餘生。最悲慘的是他的祈盼必要落空；考狄莉婭即將死去，他也將被逼至瘋癲邊緣。

    不，不，不，不！來，讓我們到監牢里去。
    我們兩人將要像籠中之鳥一般唱歌；
    當你求我為你祝福的時候，我要跪下來
    求你饒恕；我們就這樣生活著，
    祈禱，唱歌， 說些古老的故事，嘲笑
    那班像金翅蝴蝶般的廷臣，听听那些可怜的人們
    講些宮廷里的消息；我們也要跟他們在一起談話，
    誰失敗，誰胜利，誰在朝，誰在野，
    用我們 的意見解釋各种事情的秘奧，
    就像我們是上帝的耳目一樣；在囚牢的四壁之內，
    我們將要冷眼看那些朋比為奸的党徒
    隨著月亮的圓缺而升沉。

    （原文見下）

    那濃縮的情感和真理表現了文字真實的力量。第一次讀到時感動得要流淚，是我認為接近完美的文學。

    It is common for people to ask me about my preferences in literature. Who is your favorite writer? Who is your favorite poet? What is your favorite work of literature? What is your favorite literary theory? (There's no such a thing...)

    While these questions are generally very hard to answer, there are of course works and writers I love greatly (more so than others). One such passage that readily comes to mind is from Act V, Scene III of King Lear, Shakespeare's great tragedy. The context of this quote is: Lear, caught and about to be sent into prison, reconciles with his only filial daughter, Cordelia. Realizing his previous mistakes, we now see a king once proud reduced to a defeated old man, content with Cordelia's company and forgiveness. The sad thing is we know the simple scene he describes is not to be; soon Cordelia will die and Lear will go insane. So much emotion! so much truth! all condensed into ten or so lines.

    No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison:
    We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:
    When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
    And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,
    And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
    At gilded butterfiles, and hear poor rogues
    Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,
    Who loses and who wins; wo's in, who's out;
    And take upon's the mystery of things,
    As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,
    In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
    That ebb and flow by the moon.

    The first time I read this I was literally moved to tears; I consider it (almost) perfection in literature.

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

  • 超保護的合作原則 // Hyper-protected cooperative prin

    昨日上課，老師提及到"超保護的合作原則"，很有意思。這原則是說，閱讀文學的時候，讀者會與作者"合作", 即使作品裡有懸而未決或難明的地方也會繼續讀下去。這是因為讀者慣例性的相信，最終作者一定會表明他的意思；只要他們相信作者，耐心地讀完作品，他們就能了解作品的意義。

    這個原則很有趣，因為它全然假定"意義"的存在。在這後結構時代裡，意義彷彿已不復存在了，而這合作的現象竟能存活下來，還受"超保護"，實在神奇。

    如果作者背叛這個原則，背叛讀者對他的信任，會如何？讀者又何時才會放棄作者，認定其作品無甚價值呢？有朝一日，真希望見識一本長長的，到最後卻完全無意義的書。我大概會很討厭寫那種書的作者罷。（笑）


    Yesterday in class, while on the topic of suspense, a most interesting concept was brought up. It is the "Hyper-protected cooperative principle." According to this principle, when reading literature, readers are coerced into cooperating with the author, living with the uncertainty and/or frustration (caused by, for example, the difficulty of the language) of the text for the moment. This is due to the conventional belief that in the end, the author will lead readers to meaning, and that if readers trust him and read on, they will discover this meaning for themselves. Their appetite for resolution and explanation, hung in the air for so long, will eventually be satisfied.

    This is interesting because it relies so heavily on the existence of meaning. It is hard to imagine such a principle still at work in this era, where meaning has largely been questioned and dismantled after post-structuralism, but there you have it.

    What happens when an author betrays this principle? At which point do readers abandon this principle, throw the book across the room, and say begone with it? I personally would like to read a book where the author takes his readers through a meandering narrative, only to say in the epilogue that it's all been for nothing, it's a joke, sorry for the trouble you've gone through. I don't think I'll be too amused, though.