《One Hundred Years of Solitude》,说它有几分似南美的《红楼梦》大概也不过分吧。
写《百年孤独》的马尔克斯当年写这本小说的时候也是倾家荡产,负债累累。不过他比曹雪芹幸运,《百年孤独》的成功给他带来极大的荣誉。
真正的作家的文字是不得不写的冲动,用马尔克斯自己的话儿来说就是,“It was so ripe to me”。
马尔克斯像是一位双手布满了老茧的巨匠,用自己脚下的泥土捏出朴实而奇异的作品,它的色彩,它的气息,无不传达出他所处的地理,历史的特点,浓烈得让人讶异。
引一段马尔克斯在1982年诺贝尔获奖时说的话儿吧:
“Face to face with reality that overwhelms us, one which over man's perception of time must have seemed a utopia, tellers of tales who, like me, are capable of believing anything, feel entitled to believe that it is not yet too late to undertake the creation of a minor utopia: a new and limitless utopia for life wherein no one can decide for others how they are to die, where love really can be true and happiness possible, where the lineal generations of one hundred years of solitude will have at last for ever a second chance on earth." |