What? "A writer is a person who turns inspiration into normality."?
? "? Writing is independent of reading. ”？
"The best state of writing is to strip yourself of darkness sentence by sentence, not to make it clear. You don't care where you write, you can write anywhere, because you don't know the purpose, so there are purposes everywhere, and there is no road, so there are roads everywhere. " ?
"? I have never written a name before writing. Every article is anonymous. After writing, I will pick a sentence from the article and put it in front, even if it is a name. ”？
As for readers, he even said, "How about it? Writers don't need to think too much about readers. The only way to respect readers is the character of your work. " ?
I think who is this? I feel confident. I haven't read what he wrote. What did I miss?
His name is Liu Liangcheng, and he is a cutting-edge local writer. One Man's Village is his masterpiece. To be honest, I don't know whether it is prose or novel, because I only know that there is such an author and a title, and they will pass by or be mentioned at some point, and then they will be silent.
I pay more attention to Li Juan, and when I read her prose, I will be attracted unconsciously. Those words are simple and ingenious, and they are natural treasures bred by the mysterious Xinjiang customs. In order to know her famous history, I came across the name Liu Liangcheng. He first discovered that Li Juan and her works, such as the discerning Bole, found a rough jade in the gravel. I think Li Juan is lucky to meet a teacher like Liu Liangcheng on the lonely and unknown road, and enthusiastically encourage and push him.
I am ashamed to say that this is my initial understanding of the writer Liu Liangcheng. The simple title "One Man's Village" doesn't appeal to me. "Village" or "one person's"? It must be a rural theme, and it may be ruined. What kind of world can one's village become? I can't imagine how monotonous it is. There are so many good books to read that the author and this book are not listed on the book list once.
I happened to see this short article this time, just to find that the treasure was awakened and touched. Those habits and understandings about creation are very similar to my own feelings and habits, just like walking in the night and accidentally bumping into a similar person, which is a sense of surprise. There is more comfort in confusion.
Because, I have my own writing habit. I write by feeling. When I finished writing, I finally decided on a topic. The same is true of poetry. Sometimes I can't think of any good topics, but they are simply untitled, so there are more and more untitled.
Also, no one's life is confused, and there is really no clear theme when they are at a loss, contradictory, anxious and at a loss. Like the author, they only have the first sentence, and then they follow their feelings.
Prose is easy to write, but a wonderful essay is not necessarily easy to write. It can best reflect the happiness and malice of the creator. If the novel attracts readers by portraying characters, and the story promotes the viewpoint through the development of the plot, then the prose is true and unique, and there is a personal style in the prose that does not need to be imitated, which makes people feel refreshed.
I know that when I look up Du Niang, I will find many profiles about the author, as well as many praises and awards.
However, I still want to read his prose collection One Man's Village without any interference.
Coincidentally, when I noticed him, Liu Liangcheng's name appeared in front of my eyes. This time, I read "Xinjiang Rice on the Long Road" in one breath in the WeChat group. Sure enough, it is full of unique Xinjiang flavor, and the ending is meaningful and intriguing.
"A large plate of chicken steaming, occupied more than half a table. Chili peppers, white onions, celery and yellow potatoes, Piazi (onion petals) piled up like hills "? This is Xinjiang saute spicy chicken, which makes people who have been waiting for a long time have an appetite and adds to the heroism of eating and drinking. "
Makes me want to eat oily noodles.
"How many years later, I still like to eat in a small restaurant on the side of the road, watching the traffic, trying to find the sadness when I was young. When I was in my twenties, I wanted to see myself in my forties and fifties on the dusty roadside. For example, I am nearly 60 years old this year, and I know that I have walked on a long road of life. Looking back at this time, I am still 20 years old. I am not lost, nor am I lost in his distant gaze. "
This ending will touch your heart at once.
As for the collection of essays about One Man's Village, I first read Cold Wind Blowing and Evidence of this life and this life, and selected them as the Chinese textbooks for senior high schools in Jiangsu Education Edition.
I was shocked when I read the first sentence. The author's writing language is too unique, simple and spiritual. Every paragraph can chew out poetry and philosophy, and the whole narrative has a poetic feeling. The repetition of the word "snow" in the first sentence means emphasis. Snowflakes falling in nature seem to have a deeper meaning than snow itself.
I guess he must be a poet. Sure enough, it took the author many years to write poetry before writing prose.
In his eyes, the shabby, dirty and backward countryside is another scene. The flowers and trees, animals, livestock, insects, ants and even everything in nature here have their own characteristics. The feeling of philosophy keeps flashing in the text, and he talks with it, or just talks to himself, which makes his whole text present extraordinary significance.
After reading it, you will find that loneliness makes his words grow into special functions. This is really his village. In the eyes of others, the village is dull, desolate, backward and boring, but in his eyes, it is an infinitely rich and vibrant world.
I have to admire the author's feelings and thoughts on life, all of which borrowed descriptions of wind, snow, dogs, horses, insects, flowers and grass. Perhaps, in all things, people can always find comfort in nature, but not in the crowd, because sometimes dealing with people is frightening.
He talks to stones and understands the language of the wind. Immersed in natural feelings and fantasies, he became detached, keen and profound. He told the story of suffering and cruelty in life quietly, which made people feel shocked and shed tears.
Prose, those seemingly simple words, after the author's strange arrangement, has become a language full of empathy and philosophical thinking, as if it can brush the apex of the heart and touch the soul, so that you can experience the cruelty and beauty of life and nature in the lonely precipitation.
What really makes an author shine is their thoughts, not those flashy words.
Some people say that they have read One Man's Village, which is another time after Shen Congwen and Wang Zengqi to see today's China writers are so energetic and talented.
From now on, if someone asks me whose prose you like best, I will not hesitate to answer Liu Liangcheng.
Because I haven't read all his essays, I have to feel limited in my heart. In my spare time, I will continue reading. A person's village, a person's land, always floats from the real land to the clouds, constantly looking for peace, loneliness and self in the noise.
2021-July? wind bell
About the author:
Writer, male, 1962 was born in a small village on the edge of Gurbantonggut desert in Xinjiang, and was born as a farmer.
After the first edition of One Man's Village, it caused great repercussions throughout the country. Tianya, Renren, Beijing Literature, Selected Essays and Southern Weekend all made grand introductions, and the author himself was a blockbuster, known as "the last essayist in China in the 20th century" and "country philosopher".
Attached is an excerpt from the evidence of this life.
After a few images, the feeling of the village suddenly came out. Include the following? Ash tree? "Mud Skin" and "Pit", when I first read them, I always felt that I had left my hometown and came back. Everyone in the village went to the city, and the village is no longer a village.
When a person who has spent his children's day, youth and youth in the moonlight in the countryside has found it difficult to find his village, who can find it?
Think about the changes in the countryside, and it's scary to think about it.
Why do you need to prove your past life? Prove to who? What to prove? )
What is the long wait in the pit? Are these trees? I don't think so. I feel sad when I read this.
The more you read, the more you can chew.
When a work comes out, it has nothing to do with the previous author. What you read and think is actually your own story.
Do you still remember those childhood days spent in the village? ? Do you think of ponds and flying tiles at the entrance of the village? Long-lost red walls and gray tiles, weeds and wildflowers covered with paths, and friends who can't be found again. ...
The terrible thing is, if everyone in the village is not in the village, is this still the old village?
If you can't prove that this is your village, where do you belong?
Therefore, the author says that this is evidence of his present life.
This is a text that will shock you after reading it.
"Where it snowed in those years, it snowed, and I didn't take it to heart. Something more important than snow began to appear. At the age of 30, I seem to be indifferent to the arrival of this winter, but I seem to have been listening to the sound of falling snow and looking forward to another snow quietly covering the village and fields. "
"I held the stove and warmed a moment of my long life. I know that beyond this moment, the rest of my years, the years of my loved ones, are all in the heavy snow outside the house and blown away by the cold wind. "
From here on, the author began to touch his life with cold hands. Thirty years old, just thirty years old, but can't wait to experience life.
"When a person's years are as empty as a wilderness, he can't take care of himself. Just like now, I'm sitting by the fire, trying to warm myself up. One of my bones is exposed to the cold wind outside the house, and it hurts faintly. That's my frozen bone years ago. I can't pick it up and bake it by the fire like an ox bone. It was frozen on the snowy road forever before dawn. "
The author hurried to the ox cart to load firewood, and his legs were frozen. But as soon as his father saw him, he asked, why did you pull this firewood? It won't last two days. I seem to feel where the author's thorn comes from. It's like a needle sticking to a bone, drilling into the bone marrow, one by one? It will last all the cold days in winter and summer. The cold wind blows from the deep heart that thinks it is warm and has never been immersed in the cold, and no matter how thick the cotton-padded clothes are, it is useless.
Be careful that part of it is cold, so it can't be warm any more. Is that so?
The author's father died when he was eight years old. When he was a teenager, he went out to pull firewood alone. The father in this article became a stepfather. )
I heard that a man in the West Village froze to death, but I can't believe he is dead. "There must be a little warmth hidden in his life, but we can't see it. We can't see all the snow that falls in a person's life. " ? So the author said? "Everyone spends the winter alone in his own life. We can't help anyone. "
"My little fire is obviously nine Niu Yi hairs for this poor man. He has a bad cold. "
The author describes the cold in his long speech, but he does not forget to describe the warmth, but this warmth is limited, sometimes even a drop in the bucket.
"From that night on, I learned to hide the warmth. In the cold wind, the warmth in my body is retreating step by step, and I stay in a secluded distance that I can't even find myself. I used this hidden warmth to save my love and life for many years. My relatives say that I am a very cold person. No, I gave you all the only warmth. "
"Everyone will eventually face the rest of loneliness and fear alone, whether in the crowd or in the wilderness. That belongs to him alone. Just like a bug and a grass alone in its powerful community, facing its share of joy and pain. Other insects and grasses don't know. "
"When a person is old, he is so eager for spring. Although spring has come, not a leaf has sprouted and not a flower has blossomed. In this way, spring came to the earth and entered other people's lives. But she still longs for spring, and she is afraid of cold. "
Dreams hold up the sky and make the earth wider.
2021-July wind chimes