我为何写作奥威尔

1、一直觉得文字是灵动而有温度的，有时虽只言片语却会让人产生良久共鸣。于是，对于 那些“怀抱着耐心、固执和喜悦将对内心的凝视转化成语言，进而用文字创造出一个个新世 界”的作家们很是崇敬和钦佩！关于写作，国内著名作家格非曾说“写作是为了反抗遗忘！ ”，听后很受启发。细细品读 了土耳其作家奥尔罕 ?帕慕克在 My Father 's Suitcase (父亲的手提箱 )一文中对于写作 的阐述之后，我对其又有了更深的体悟和理解，也因而更着迷于文字的非凡魅力。My Father ' s Suitcase 是帕慕克在 2006 年诺贝尔文学奖颁奖典礼上发表的长篇演说。 演讲中，帕慕克提到，父

2、亲担心因写作而丢失了真实的自我，因而放弃了写作，最后变成了 一个普通的市民。但他在繁忙的生活间隙里还是写下了不少东西，并把那些手稿放在一只手 提箱里留给了儿子，希望儿子能明白其中深沉的含义演讲的最后，当帕慕克深情地说 道一一“我深切地希望此刻他就在我们中间！”时，在场的很多人留下了眼泪一一帕慕克的父亲于 2002 年 12月去世了。限于版面，这里只节选了这篇演说中关于写作的精彩阐述，有心的读者不妨找来全文细 读一番。 MaisieA writer is someone who spends years patiently trying to discover the second being

3、inside him, and the world that makes him who he is. WhenI speak of writing, the image that comes first to my mind is not a novel, a poem, or a literary tradition; it is the person who shuts himself up in a room, sits down at a table, and, alone, turnsin ward. Amid his shadows, he builds a new world

4、with words. This man or this womanmay use a typewriter, or 1)profit from the ease of a computer, or write with a pen on paper, as I do. As he writes, he may drink tea or coffee, or smoke cigarettes.From time to time, he may rise from his table to look outthe window at the childrenplaying in the stre

5、et, or, if he is lucky, at trees and a view, or even at a black wall. He may write poems, or plays, or novels, as I do. But all these differences arise only after the crucial task is complete- after he has sat down at the tableand patiently turned inward. To write is to transform that inward gaze in

6、to words, to study the worlds into which we pass when we 2)retire into ourselves, and to do so with patience, 3)obstinacy, and joy.As I sit at my table, for days, months, years, slowly adding words to empty pages, I feel as if I were bringing into being thatother person inside me, in the same waytha

7、t one might build a bridge or a 4)dome, stone by stone. As we hold words in our hands, like stones, sensing the ways in which each is connected to the others, looking at them sometimes from afar, sometimes from very close, 5)caressing them with our fingers and the tips of our pens, weighing them, mo

8、ving them around, year in and year out, patiently and hopefully, we create new worlds.The writer ' s secret is not inspiration - for it is never clear where that comesfrom but stubbor nn ess, en dura nee. The lovely Turkish expressi on “ to dig a well with a needle ” seems to meto have been inve

9、nted with writers in mind. In the old stories, I love the patienee of 6)Ferhat, who digs through mountains for his loveand Iunderstand it, too. When I wrote, in my novel My Name Is Red, about the old Persian 7)miniaturists who drew the same horse with the same passion for years and years, memorizing

10、 eaeh 8)stroke,until they eould re-ereate that beautiful horse even with their eyes elosed, I knew that I was talkingabout the writing profession,and aboutmy own life. If a writer is to tell his own storyto tell it slowly, and as if itwere a story about other people if he is to feel the power of the

11、 story rise up inside him, if he is to sit down at a table and give himself over to this art, this eraft, he must first be given some hope. The angel of inspiration (who pays regular visits to some and rarely ealls on others) favors the hopeful and the eonfident, and it is when a writer feels most l

12、onely, when he feels most doubtful about his efforts, his dreams, and the value of his writing, when he thinks that his story is only his story it is at sueh moments that the angel ehooses to reveal to him the images and dreams that will draw out the world he wishes to build. If I think baek on the

13、books to whieh I have devoted my life, I am most surprised by those moments when I felt as if the sentenees and pages that made me eestatieallyhappy eame not from my own imaginationbut from another power, whieh had found them and generously presented them to me.本文为全文原貌未安装PDF浏览器用户请先下载安装原版全文I believe

14、literature to be the most valuable tool that humanity has found in its quest to understand itself. Soeieties, tribes, and peoples grow more intelligent, rieher, and more advaneed as they pay attention to the troubled words of their authors and, as we all know, the burning of books and the 9)denigrat

15、ion of writers are both signs that dark and 10)improvident times are upon us. But literature is never just a nationaleoneern. The writer who shuts himself up in a room and goes on a journeyinside himself will, over the years, diseover literature's eternal rule: he musthave the artistry to tell h

16、is own stories as if they were other people's stories,and to tell other people ' s stories as if they were his own, for that is what literature is.The question we writers are asked most often, the favorite question, is:Why doyou write? I write beeause I have an 11)innate need to write. I wri

17、te beeause I ean' t do normal work as other people do. I write beeause I want to read books like the ones I write. I write beeause I am angry at everyone. I write beeause I love sitting in a room all day writing. I write beeause I ean12)partake of real life only by ehanging it. I write beeause I

18、 want others, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and eontinue to live, in 13)Istanbul, in Turkey. I write beeause I love the smell of paper, pen, and ink. I write beeauseI believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else. I writebecause it is a h

19、abit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings. I write to be alone. Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry ateveryone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I hav

20、e beguna novel, anessay, a 14)page I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects meto write.I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf. I write because it is exciting to turn all life ' s beauties and riches into wor

21、ds. I write not to tell a story but to compose a story.I write because I wish to escape from the 15)foreboding that there is a place I must go but as in a dream can' t quite get to. I write because I have n ever man aged to be happy. I write to be happy.作家，是会耐心地花费数年去发掘内心的第二生命，并探究周遭世界如何塑造自我的那 种人。

22、提到写作，首先浮现在我脑海的并不是一部小说、一首诗歌、或者一种文学传统；而 是那个将自己关入房内，坐在桌边，独自一人，向内探寻的人。他埋头于自己的身影中，用 言语建造出一个新世界。这个男人或女人，也许使用一台打字机，也许享受着电脑带来 的便利，也许只是用笔和纸，像我那样。写作时，他可能会喝茶，喝咖啡，或者抽烟。不时 地，他会站起来，透过窗户看着街上玩耍的孩子，或者幸运的话，能看到树林和其他风景， 亦可能只看到一堵黑墙。他可能在写诗，写剧本，或者写小说，像我那样。但这些不同只会 在那个至关重要的工作完成之后才出现在他坐在桌前，耐心地探寻内心之后。写作是把 对内心的凝视转化成语言，是探究我们离群独

23、处时所走进的世界，是怀抱着耐心、固执和喜 悦去完成这一切的。当我经年累月地坐在桌旁，慢慢用词语填补纸上的空白时，我感到内心的另一个体仿佛 渐渐成型，如同以一砖一石建起大桥殿宇那样。如同审视手中的石头，我们掂量着手中的词 语，感受其相连互动的方式，对其时而远观时而近看，用手指和笔尖去轻触爱抚它们，权衡 它们，移动它们，年复一年，满怀耐心与希望，我们创造着一个个新世界。作家的秘诀并不是灵感因为灵感的来源从不清晰而是执著不舍、坚持到底的精 神。土耳其语中有个有趣的表述 “以针掘井” ，在我看来， 这好像是针对 “作家” 而言的。 古老传说中有费尔哈特这一人物， 我欣赏他为爱凿穿大山的那份坚韧耐力，

24、我理解这种举动。 在我的小说我的名字叫红里，我写过一群波斯的细密画老画家，他们年复一年以同样的 激情画着同样的一匹马，牢记着每笔每划，到最后，即使闭着眼他们也能画出同样俊美的马 匹。我知道那时我其实是在说写作这一行，在说我自己的人生。当一个作家讲述他自己的故 事慢慢地诉说，宛如在说别人的故事当他感到故事的力量在其体内浮现，当他决定 坐下来并全心投入到这门艺术、这种技艺时，他必须先获赐希望。灵感的天使(常常会定期 造访一些人而对某些人却从不赏光) 偏爱那些满怀希望和自信的作家。 当作家感到极度孤独， 当他对自己的努力、梦想、作品的价值疑惑至深时，当他认为自己的作品不过是他一己的故 事时一一天使会选择此时降临，向作家展现他梦想构建的境界影像。回想起自己倾注心血写 成的作品，令我惊奇的是，那些让我心醉愉悦的句子和篇章似乎并非出于自己的想象，而是 来自另一种力量寻获佳作并慷慨赠与