I still remember that about a year ago, Professor Wu Qi, vice president of the Wenxin Academy, gave a literary lecture for the Caiwei Literary Society, and in addition to the Wenxin Academy, all the students who love literature in the school came, and I was also listed, and I benefited a lot.
When it comes to literature, it is inevitable to mention the word "writer"; these two words are quite controversial at present, at least in the eyes of most people, the "writer" recognized only belongs to the names of Lu Xun, Mo Yan, Yu Qiuyu, Shen Congwen, Jia Pingwa and other old predecessors. These two words represent an honor and an influence.
What ordinary people create can be called authors, but they are not necessarily "writers". In recent years, the new "writers" have only been accepted by the minority, since the beginning of The Baby Anne's style in the 70s, people have indeed praised it, and after a while of fire, they found that they were also confused.
In the 80s, the new concept of composition was first fired, and Han Han, Guo Jingming, Zhang Yueran and others were successively recognized by the public.
It is not denied that the literary works presented are the epitome of an era, even if the two have also had plagiarism, ghostwriting and other storms circulating, there may be some people still waiting for the birth of literary everyone, do not know that after so many years they have survived in that era has also become a special mark. This group of people did have an influence at that time, as Professor Wu Qi said, whether it was commercial operation or Jiang Lang's talent, they were very clever to do the transformation, planning, and choreography; in short, they were no longer a pure literary figure. In fact, there is always a commercial nature of doing literature, which is understandable. It is a truth that the poor only care about eating or not eating enough.
Jia Pingwa mentioned in "Lonely Toward the Future" that "the sages are mediocre, and the adults are careful", and the more the literary road goes forward, the more lonely it is. And only under the endless loneliness can we finally have the attention of everyone.
Isn't this the humble sweeping monk in the martial forest may also be a master of the world, and the final result of literature is just like this to return to calm and calm, because it is the mentality that is tempered under endless loneliness.
In contrast, in today's literary world, this is an era of obvious polarization trends, and the official and the non-governmental sector do not look at each other. Many literati do not live up to their name... There is no criterion for judging the best and the worst. And I had to look at it, and I didn't dare to say anything else.
I once read an article about literature, which is more or less like a blind man touching an elephant, touching one end of it, and borrowing the whole picture. With one-sided things, construct a self-speculative view of literature. Everyone is blind and everyone is exploring.
Maybe the nose is the eye, but it is as close as possible to the truth, and that's it. The birth of literary works only represents the writer's exposition of this corner of the world. We use the collision of self-ideals and reality to decipher in literature, and to piece together literary self-portraits in darkness. If you feel an elephant's legs, even if it is a fleas on an elephant, that is a corner of the exposition.
Countless predecessors have given us the experience of moving forward, and we must also realize that when blind people realize that they are blind, it is no longer important whether the "elephant" can find out the whole body; but for literary researchers, studying elephant legs and elephant trunks is work, so for writers, why should the "three thousand east flowing water" drink it all?
The times are moving forward, many predecessors have quietly retreated in the long river of history, and the elephant they deciphered may make us deconstruct it. Who knows, it must be the thighs or nose that can be touched. I could see the stars flickering in the open wilderness, and the fog stirring in the dream slowly dissipated in the bells of the Year of Gengzi.
—— The eighth book of the first month of the first month of the year of Gengzi in Yongning, Shudi