Mao II 7.5分
读书笔记 第54页


They’d shared a closeness that felt sorry and cheap the minute she walked out of the room. I’m a picture now, flat as birdshit on a Buick. …, and he stared at the white fluid drying and would not resume work until it faded into the page, which was both the punishment and the escape.


Like those people you talk about on the Great Wall, a man and woman walking toward each other across China. This isn’t a story about seeing the planet new. It’s about seeing people new. We see them from space, where gender and features don’t matter, where names don’t matter. We’ve learned to see ourselves as if from space, as if from satellite cameras, all the time, all the same. As if from the moon, even. We’re all Moonies, or should learn to be.


Home is a failed idea. People are no longer home or not home. I’m calling to describe the sunrise. A pale runny light spreading across the hills. There’s a partial cloud cover, which makes the light seem to hug the land, quiet light, soft, calm, pale, a landglow more than a light from the sky. … The cloud bank is long and slate-gray and altogether fine.


Everyone complains about the loneliness. The solitude is killing. The nights are sleepless. The days are taut with worry and pain. Bemoan, bemoan. The novelists are doing interviews. The interviewers are writing novels. The money is never enough. The acclaim is falling short. Come on, Bill, what else?


“We use acid-free paper,” Charlie said. “I’d just as soon have my books rot when I do. Why should they outlive me? They’re the reason I’m dying before my time.”


Stories have no point if they don’t absorb our terror.


What is the word, dispersed? The crowd dispersed by jogging troops who move into the great space. One crowd replaced by another. It is the preachment of history, whoever takes the great space and can hold it longest. The motley crowd against the crowd where everyone dresses alike.


He could have told George a writer creates a character as a way to reveal consciousness, increase the flow of meaning. This is how we reply to power and beat back our fear. By extending the pitch of consciousness and human possibility. This poet you’ve snatched. His detention drains the world of one more thimble of meaning.


they blat and cram, they champ and smash
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