Me and Ditan, Missing in Autumn, My Distant Qingpingwan, The Story of Jumping in the Queue, Notes on Retreat, Law Professor and His Wife, Notes on My Old House, Grandma's Star, Coming to Earth, Albizia Albizia Tree, Broken Pen from Illness, Life as a String, etc.
Among them, Me and Ditan, My Distant Qingpingwan and Albizia Tree are especially famous.
Good Luck Design Chunfeng Literature and Art Publishing House (1first edition in March, 995)
Notes on Retreat, published by Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House (1996-2004)
My Distant Qingpingwan Guangzhou Publishing House (published in 200 1 year)
Past: Shi Tiesheng's Works, China Youth Publishing House (published in March, 20001year).
The Story of Jumping the Queue, Shandong Literature and Art Publishing House (published in March, 20001)
Albizia Albizia Tree Shandong Literature and Art Publishing House (published in March, 20001)
Writing of Fate, Shandong Literature and Art Publishing House (published in March, 20001)
Selected Essays of Shi Tiesheng People's Literature Publishing House (published in 2005 1 month)
Essays in Chinese Publishing House (published in 2005 1 month)
My Journey to Ding Yi People's Literature Publishing House (published in 20051February)
Reportage on Pastor Zhan: An Idea of a Drama with a Film as the Stage Background People's Literature Publishing House (published in 2006 1 month).
Broken Pen in Illness (Notes on Shi Tiesheng's Life) Shaanxi Normal University Press (published in March 2006)
Living Things Oriental Publishing Center (published in April 2006)
Once upon a time Oriental Publishing Center (published in April 2006)
Writing: Shi Tiesheng Oriental Publishing Center (published in April 2006)
Selected Works of Shi Tiesheng Hainan Publishing House (published in June 2006)
Notes on Retreat: Masterpieces of Contemporary Famous Novels in China People's Literature Publishing House (published in 2007 1 month).
Shi Tiesheng's Prose/Illustration Collector's Edition People's Literature Publishing House (published in March 2007)
Letters and Questions: Collection of Prefaces to Shi Tiesheng's Letters, Huacheng Publishing House, Guangdong Publishing Group (published in 2008 1 month)
I and Ditan People's Literature Publishing House (published in September 2008)
Life is like a String People's Literature Publishing House (published in September 2008)
Original Sin Destiny People's Literature Publishing House (published in September 2008)
People's Literature Publishing House (published in September 2008)
Selected Novels by Shi Tiesheng People's Literature Publishing House (published in July 2009)
People's Literature Publishing House (published in 20 10/month)
People's Literature Publishing House (published in 20 10/month)
Retreat notes > >
This book is one of the collections of short stories by Shi Tiesheng, a famous contemporary writer. The Story of Jumping in the Queue and My Distant Qingpingwan belong to the classic works of educated youth literature. The authors reproduce the living conditions and life conditions of some educated youth in the absurd specific political period by means of chronological or anti-chronological methods, and reflect on the happiness and misfortune of life, thus showing the customs of northern Shaanxi and the characters of northern Shaanxi people who are straightforward, tenacious and obedient to the road. The incorporation of pictures undoubtedly provides the most precious evidence for the classicality of the works, so it has attracted worldwide attention so far.
My trip to Ding Yi > >
This is a unique and intriguing modern love novel. Shi Tiesheng, a novelist and thinker, describes love, sex and * * * with clean, beautiful, poetic and rational words, traces the origin of love and explores the true meaning and significance of love. Those entanglements of spirit and flesh, rehearsals of sex and love, those lonely touches and warm comforts, those soft stories and hard philosophies all give people reasonable experiences and unexpected enlightenment.
Letter and question > >
This is the famous writer Shi Tiesheng's correspondence with friends and readers for many years and the preface and postscript for some writing. Never published an album. After the author personally screened and obtained the consent of the letter holder, * * * selected dozens of letters and nearly 20 prefaces. With the theme of literature, art and contemporary literature thinking, this book expresses Shi Tiesheng's thoughts on life and death, disability and love, suffering and faith, writing and art, and answers these universal spiritual problems: how to be present and how to live out the meaning. His writing, generate shows justice and strength, which also brings inspiration and encouragement to readers.
Broken pen in diseased space
As the most important achievement of China literature in 2002, Broken Pen from a Sick Gap, as always, ponders over major issues such as life and death, disability and love, suffering and faith, writing and art, and answers these universal spiritual problems: how to be present and how to live out the meaning. When most writers gave up facing the basic situation of human beings in the era of consumerism, Shi Tiesheng lived in his own heart, still struggling to pursue the value and glory of human beings, still firmly marching toward the desolate areas of existence and resolutely fighting against the unknown. This courage and persistence deeply aroused our vigilance and concern for our own situation.
Me and Ditan > >
I have mentioned an abandoned ancient garden in several novels, which is actually a Ditan. Many years ago, tourism had not been developed, and the garden was deserted like a wild field, which was rarely remembered. Ditan is close to my home. Or my home is close to the Ditan. In short, I have to think that this is fate. Ditan was located there more than 400 years before I was born; Since my grandmother came to Beijing with my father when she was young, she has been living not far from it-she has moved several times in more than 50 years, but she always shakes around it when she moves around, and she is getting closer and closer. I often feel that this question is fatalistic: it seems that this ancient garden has been waiting for me for more than 400 years.
Living things.
> Things that are alive > >
This is an essay collection of thoughts. Among the contemporary writers in China, I'm afraid it's hard to find another one who loves metaphysics and is good at it like Shi Tiesheng. The so-called good at it means that he can extract those fragments that shine with thoughts from the trivial things in reality, but he can express them beautifully, tactfully and attractively, which makes people unable to release them. This is the wisdom of life expressed by a writer, not a boring philosophical monograph. Of course, it is not superficial cheap literature.
About writing.
Most of what is included in this book is Shi Tiesheng's thoughts on literature. Writers often talk about literature better than scholars who specialize in literature, and sometimes even excite readers more than writers' own creations. A good writer is first of all a good reader, a good literary theorist and a literary historian. In this book, Shi Tiesheng shows us his rich literary knowledge and the unique sensitivity of the writer.
< < Before > >
Shi Tiesheng's life and major works, the meaning of my dance, Shi Tiesheng (195 1 year 1 month 4-—20 10/year1February 3 1 day), a China writer and essayist. 195 1 was born in Beijing. 1967 graduated from the middle school affiliated to Tsinghua University, 1969 went to Yan 'an to jump the queue. Returned to Beijing on 1972 due to paralysis of both legs. Later, he suffered from kidney disease and developed uremia. He maintained his life by dialysis three times a week. Later, he served as a member of the National Committee of the Chinese Writers Association, vice chairman of the Beijing Writers Association and vice chairman of the China Disabled Persons' Federation. Self-proclaimed occupation is illness, and amateur writing. 20 10/February 3/kloc-0 died of sudden cerebral hemorrhage at 3: 46 am, at the age of 59.
representative works
Me and Ditan, Notes on Retreat, Broken Pen in the Gap
"My Dance" is one of the "series of masterpieces of contemporary China", which is selected as the writer's growth background, such as the writer and hometown, the writer and his relatives, as well as the writer's childhood experience, educational experience and so on. These works we choose all have the writer's unique growth experience and strong subjective emotional projection, from which readers can see how the writer grew up, or how he became what he is now, that is, the source of heroes. Such a set of books can not only reflect the spiritual source of this group of contemporary writers, but also show the customs of different regions. With illustrations matching the writing style, it will surely present readers with a complete and wonderful archive of contemporary writers.
What are He Tongsheng's main works? He Tongsheng's main works are <; Three friends at the age of cold > Hong Mei Xian Rui, Huangshan Waterfall, Diamond Sutra Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Small Hand-written Seal
What works has Shi Tiesheng written? Today, Half an Hour at Noon, Broken Pen in the Gap, Notes on Retreat, Memories and Impressions
Our Corner, My Distant Qingpingwan, The Story of Jumping in Line, Life is like a String.
Once upon a time, on a winter night, the legend on the top of the mountain and grandma's star.
< Me and Ditan > > < < Memories about the temple > > < < Answer yourself > > < < Miss in autumn > >
< < Ideal contemporary literary criticism >: > < < Four Talks on Writing > > < < Marriage > > < < Phantom of the Dead Country > >
What works of Shi Tiesheng are suitable for reading autumn nostalgia?
Shi Tiesheng
My temper became furious after my legs were paralyzed. Looking at yan zhen, I will suddenly smash the glass in front of me; Listening to Li Guyi's sweet singing, I will slam what I have at hand against the surrounding walls. My mother hid out quietly and listened to my movements secretly where I couldn't see them. When everything was quiet again, she came in quietly, her eyes red and she looked at me. "I heard that the flowers in Beihai are all in bloom, so I'll push you for a walk." She always said that. Mother likes flowers, but since my leg was paralyzed, the flowers she helped died. "No, I'm not going!" I beat these two hateful legs hard and shouted, "What's the point of my being alive!" " My mother pounced on me and grabbed my hand, holding back her tears and said, "Let's live together, let's live well …" But I never knew that her illness had reached that stage. Later, my sister told me that her liver often hurts and she can't sleep all night.
That day I sat alone in the house again, watching the leaves falling outside the window. Mother came in and stood in front of the window: "The chrysanthemums in Beihai are in bloom. I'll push you to have a look." There was a pleading look on her gaunt face. "When?" "Tomorrow, if you like?" She said. My answer has made her overjoyed. "Well, tomorrow." I said. She was so happy that she sat down for a while and stood up for a while: "Then get ready quickly." "Oh, don't bother? A few steps, what is there to prepare! " She smiled, too, and sat down beside me, saying, "After watching the chrysanthemums, let's go to Imitation Meal. When you were a child, you loved pea yellow there. Remember that time I took you to Beihai? You say that Yang Shuhua is a caterpillar, running and squashing one foot ... "She suddenly stopped talking. For words like "run" and "step". She is more sensitive than me. She went out quietly again.
She's out. Never came back.
She was still spitting blood when the neighbors carried her to the car. I didn't expect that she was so ill. Watching the tricycle go away, I never thought it would be a farewell forever.
When the neighbor's boy went to see her behind my back, she was breathing hard, like her hard life. I was told that her last words before she passed out were: "My sick son and my underage daughter ..."
It was autumn again, and my sister pushed me to Beihai to see chrysanthemums. The yellow flowers are elegant, the white flowers are noble, and the purple flowers are warm and deep, splashing, and the autumn wind is blooming brilliantly. I know what my mother left unfinished. So does my sister. We are together, we should live well ...
four
Now let me see, who are the people who have been coming to this garden for fifteen years? It seems that it's just me and an old couple.
Fifteen years ago, the old couple was only a middle-aged couple, while I was a real young man. They always come for a walk in the garden at dusk. I'm not sure which gate they came in from. Generally speaking, they walk around the garden counterclockwise. The man is very tall, with wide shoulders and long legs, and walks with eyes open, above his hips until his neck is straight; His wife climbed his arm and walked, but it didn't make his upper body relax a little. A woman is short and not beautiful. I believe for no reason that she must come from a wealthy family whose family is declining. She clings to her husband's arm like a delicate child. She always looks around with fear. She talks to her husband softly and stops timidly when someone comes near. I sometimes think of Jean Valjean and Cosette because of them, but this idea is not consolidated. They know at a glance that they are an old couple. Both of them are well dressed, but due to the evolution of the times, their costumes can be called simple. Like me, they come to this garden almost rain or shine, but they are more punctual than me. I may come at any time, but they must be at the dawn. When it is windy, they wear beige trench coats, when it rains, they wear black umbrellas. In summer, their shirts are white, their trousers are black or beige, and in winter, their woolen coats are all black. Presumably, they only like these three colors. They circled the garden counterclockwise and then left. When they passed me, only men's footsteps rang, and women seemed to stick to tall husbands and drift with them. I'm sure they must have an impression on me, but we didn't talk, and neither of us wanted to get close to each other. In fifteen years, they may have noticed that a young man has entered middle age, while I watched an enviable middle-aged couple unconsciously become two old people.
There was once a young man who loved singing. He also came to this garden every day to sing and sang for many years, and then he disappeared. His age is similar to mine. He usually comes in the morning and sings for half an hour or a whole morning. It is estimated that he will have to go to work at another time. We often meet in the path on the east side of the altar. I know he is singing under the high wall in the southeast corner. He must guess what I am doing in the Woods in the northeast corner. I found my place, smoked a few cigarettes, and heard him carefully tidy up his voice. He sang so many songs over and over again. Before the Cultural Revolution, he sang "White clouds floating in the blue sky, horses running under the white clouds ..." I can never remember the name of this song. After the Cultural Revolution, he sang the most popular aria in "Salesman and Miss". "Selling cloth-selling cloth, selling cloth-selling cloth!" I remember the first sentence that he sang very loudly. In the clear air in the morning, the peddler ran around the garden to compliment the young lady. "I'm lucky, I'm lucky, I sing songs for happiness ..." Then he sang over and over again, not letting the peddler's * * * decrease slightly. As far as I'm concerned, his technique is not perfect, and he often makes mistakes in key places, but his voice is not bad, and he can't hear any fatigue after singing all morning. The sun is not tired, so it shrinks the shadow of the tree into a ball and dries the neglected earthworms on the path. Near noon, we meet again on the east side of the altar. He takes a look at me and I take a look at him. He goes north and I go south. After a long time, I feel that we all have the desire to get to know each other, but it seems that we all don't know how to speak, so we look at each other and then look away and pass by; More times like this, I don't know how to speak. Finally, one day-a day with no characteristics at all-we nodded to each other. He said: Hello. "I said," Hello. " He said, "Go back?" I said, "Yes, and you?" He said, "I should go back, too." We all slowed down (actually, I slowed down) and wanted to say a few more words, but we still didn't know where to start, so that we all passed each other and turned around to face each other. He said, "Goodbye then." I said, "OK, bye." They smiled at each other and went their separate ways. But we didn't see each other again. After that, there was no more singing in the garden. It occurred to me that he might have meant to say goodbye to me that day. Maybe he was admitted to a professional art troupe or song and dance troupe. I really hope he has made good luck, as he sang in his song.
There are others, and I can think of some people who often come to this garden. There is an old man who is a real drinker; He hangs a flat porcelain bottle around his waist. Of course, the bottle is full of wine, and he often comes to this garden to spend the afternoon. He wandered around the garden. If you don't pay attention, you will think that there are several such old men in the garden. When you have seen his outstanding drinking situation, you will believe that this is a unique old man. His clothes are too casual, and his walking posture is not careful. After walking 50 or 60 meters, he chooses a place, puts one foot on a stone bench or a ridge or a stump, takes off the bottle at his waist, and when he takes off the bottle, he fans his eyes to look at the scenery from a 180-degree perspective carefully, then takes a swig of wine into his stomach in lightning speed, shakes the bottle and hangs it to his waist, and calmly thinks about something for a while. There is also a man who catches birds. In those days, there were few people in the garden, but there were many birds. He pulled a net in the bushes in the northwest corner, and the birds hit it, and his feathers were trapped in the mesh, so he couldn't extricate himself. He only waited for a bird that used to be very rare in many aspects, and then he took off other birds and let them go when they hit the Internet. He said that he had not waited for that rare bird for many years, and he said that he would wait another year to see if there was such a bird, and as a result, he waited for many years. In the morning and evening, a middle-aged female engineer can be seen in this garden; In the morning, she goes to work through the garden from north to south, and in the evening, she goes home through the garden from south to north. In fact, I don't know her occupation or education, but I think she must be an intellectual studying science and engineering. It is difficult for other people to be as simple and elegant as her. When she walks through the garden, the surrounding Woods are more quiet, and there seems to be a distant piano sound in the light sunlight, such as the song "For Alice". I haven't seen her husband, I haven't seen what that lucky man looks like. I imagined it, but I couldn't imagine it. Later, I suddenly realized that it was better not to imagine it. That man had better not appear. She walked out of the north gate and went home. I was a little worried that she would fall into the kitchen, but maybe the scene of her working in the kitchen has another beauty. Of course, it can't be "Dedicated to Alice". What is it? There is another person who is my friend. He is the most talented long-distance runner, but he is buried. He spent several years in prison because of his careless remarks during the Cultural Revolution. After he came out, he finally found a job of pulling carts, and everything was not equal to others. He was so depressed that he practiced long-distance running. At that time, he always came to run in this garden, and I timed him with my watch. Every time he runs around and beckons me, I write down a time. Every time he runs around the garden twenty times, about twenty thousand meters. He hopes to achieve real political liberation with his long-distance running achievements, and he thinks that the reporter's lens and words can help him do this. In the first year, he ran 15th in the Spring Festival Tournament. He saw that the photos of the top ten were hung in the news window of Chang 'an Avenue, so he had confidence. In the second year, he ran fourth, but only the photos of the top three were hung in the news window, and he was not discouraged. In the third year, he ran the seventh place and hung the photos of the top six in the window. He was a little sorry for himself. In the fourth year, he ran third, but only the photo of the first place was hung in the window. In the fifth year, he ran the first place-he was almost desperate, and there was only a photo of the crowd around the city in the window. In those years, the two of us used to stay in this garden until it was dark together, having a good scolding, going home in silence after scolding, and then telling each other when we parted: Don't die first, then try to live. Now he doesn't run. He is too old to run so fast. The last time he participated in the city race, he won the first place at the age of 38 and broke the record. A coach of a professional team said to him, "I wish I had found you ten years ago." He gave a wry smile and said nothing. He only came to this garden in the evening and told me the story calmly. I haven't seen him for several years, and now he lives far away with his wife and son.
These people don't come to the garden now, and the garden has almost completely changed-a batch of new people. Fifteen years ago, it's just me and the old couple. For a while, one of the old wives suddenly didn't come. At dusk, only men came for a walk alone, and their gait was obviously much slower. I was worried for a long time, afraid that something had happened to that woman. Fortunately, after a winter, the woman came again, and the two men still set around the garden counterclockwise. One long figure and one short figure are like two indicators of a clock; A woman's hair is much whiter, but she still climbs her husband's arm and walks like a child. The word "climbing" is not used properly. Maybe we can use "mixing". I wonder if there is a word with both meanings.
five
I haven't forgotten a child-a beautiful and unfortunate little girl. I saw her when I first came to this garden that afternoon fifteen years ago. At that time, she was about three years old, squatting on the path to the west of Jaime Palace to pick up the "little lanterns" falling from the trees. There are several big pear trees there. In spring, clusters of tiny and dense yellow flowers bloom. When the flowers fall, countless small lanterns are produced, which are like three leaves folded together. The small lanterns first turn green, then turn white, then yellow, and fall all over the ground when they are mature. Small lanterns are exquisite and precious, and adults can't help but pick up one and then another. The little girl babbled to herself, picking up small lanterns; Her voice is very good, not as shrill as usual at her age, but very round or even thick, perhaps because the garden was too quiet that afternoon. I wonder why such a small child came to this garden alone. I asked her where she lived. She pointed at it casually and called to her brother. A seven-or eight-year-old boy stood up in the grass along the wall. He looked at me and saw that I didn't look like a bad person. He said to his sister, "I'm here" and bent down again. He was catching some bugs. He caught mantis, grasshopper, cicada and dragonfly to please his sister. For two or three years, I often saw them under those big pear trees, and my brother and sister always played together, playing in harmony and gradually growing up. I haven't seen them for many years since. I think they are all at school, and the little girl is old enough to go to school. She must have bid farewell to her childhood and won't have many opportunities to play here. This is normal, there is no reason to take it too seriously. If I hadn't seen them in the garden one year, I would have forgotten them slowly.
It was a Sunday morning. It was a sunny and heartbreaking morning, and after many years, I found that beautiful little girl turned out to be a retarded child. I rocked my car to those big Luan trees, just in the season when little lanterns were everywhere; At that time, I was suffering from the ending of a novel. I didn't know why I gave it such an ending, and I didn't know why I suddenly didn't want it to have such an ending. So I ran out of the house and wanted to rely on the calmness in the garden to see if I should give up the novel. As soon as I stopped the car, I saw a few people playing with a girl not far ahead, making strange gestures to scare her, shouting and laughing to chase her and intercept her. The girl ran around and hid from several big trees in horror, but she didn't let go of her skirt, and her legs were bare, which seemed to be unaware. I can see that the girl has some defects in intelligence, but I haven't seen who she is yet. I was about to drive forward to clear the way for the girl when I saw a young man riding a bike in the distance quickly, so those guys who were playing with the girl ran away. The young man put his bicycle near the girl, glared at the scattered guys, panting without saying a word. His face is as pale as the sky before the rainstorm. At this time, I recognized them. The young man and the young girl were the little brothers and sisters. I almost exclaimed in my mind, or wailed. Things in the world often make God's intentions suspicious. The young man walked to his sister. The girl let go of her hand, and the skirt hung down, and many little lanterns she picked up spilled all over the floor and spread at her feet. She is still beautiful, but her eyes are dull and dull. She just looked at the scattered guys and looked at the emptiness in the farthest place. It is impossible for her intelligence to understand the world, right? Under the big tree, the broken sunshine is dotted, and the wind blows the small lanterns everywhere, as if there were countless small bells ringing silently. My brother helped my sister to the back seat of the bicycle and took her home without saying anything.
Silence is right. If God gave the little girl both beauty and mental retardation, it would be right to be speechless and go home.
Who can figure out the world? Many things in the world are unspeakable. You can complain about why God sent so much suffering to this world, and you can also fight for the elimination of all kinds of suffering, and enjoy loftiness and pride for it, but if you think one more step, you will be deeply confused: if there is no suffering in the world, can the world still exist? If there is no stupidity, what is the glory of wit? If you don't have ugliness and beauty, how can you maintain your luck? Without meanness and meanness, how will kindness and nobility define themselves and become virtues? If there is no disability, will sound become bored and boring because of its commonplace? I often dream of completely eliminating disability in the world, but I believe that at that time, the sick will take the place of the disabled to bear the same suffering. If the disease can be completely eliminated, then the suffering will be borne by, for example, ugly people. Even if we can eliminate ugliness, ignorance and meanness, and all things and behaviors we don't like, all people are equally healthy, beautiful, intelligent and noble. What will happen? I'm afraid all the plays on earth will come to an end, and a world without difference will be a stagnant water, a desert without feeling and fertility.
It seems that there will always be differences. It seems that we have to accept suffering-all human dramas need it, and existence itself needs it. Looks like God was right again.
So there is a most desperate conclusion waiting here: who will play the role of those suffering? Who will embody the happiness, pride and happiness in this world? There is no reason to leave it to chance.
As far as fate is concerned, don't talk about justice.
So, where is the road to redemption of all unfortunate fate?
If wisdom and understanding can lead us to find the way to salvation, can all people get such wisdom and understanding?
I often think that ugly women make beautiful women. I often think that fools cite wise men. I often think that cowards set off heroes. I often think that all beings have transformed the Buddha.
six
If there is a garden god, he must have noticed it. I have been sitting in this garden for so many years, sometimes I am relaxed and happy, sometimes I am depressed, sometimes I am leisurely and sometimes I am embarrassed.