莫言飛赴瑞典領諾獎

莫言飛赴瑞典領諾獎 演講主題為文學、故事、家鄉	Mo Yan to Focus on Storytelling and Home in Speech
據CCTV的報導稱，諾貝爾文學獎得主莫言在凳上飛往瑞典斯德哥爾摩前接受記者採訪時，說道他演講的主題為文學、家鄉以及他的恩師。	Before boarding his flight to Stockholm on Wednesday, Nobel Laureate Mo Yan said his speeches in Sweden will focus on storytelling, homeland, and an ancient Chinese writer he calls his mentor, according to CCTV.
莫言此次飛往瑞典領獎激起國人極大的興趣。大家都急切的充滿期待的想知道這位中國諾貝爾文學獎得主會以怎樣的姿態站在領獎臺上面對全球的觀眾。	Mo Yan's visit to Sweden to collect his Nobel Prize is prompting wild speculation in China. People are eager, and nervous, to see how a Chinese writer will present himself on the Nobel stage to a global audience.
莫言談到，他的演講會以他一生中的所見所聞所寫為主。	Mo said part of his speech would focus on: "telling, hearing, and writing stories" throughout his whole life.
莫言的老家在山東省高密縣，在他的文學作品中有所描述，也是此次演講的一個主題。	His homeland Gaomi, in Shandong province, also the location depicted in his literary creations, will be another major topic.
他還說道，演講中也會談及自己的家人和朋友。	"I will also talk about family members and friends," Mo said.
莫言的演講風格幽默風趣，這也是他在一些國際性的演講中的一貫風格。他談到了清朝的一個文學家蒲松齡(1644-1910)，蒲松齡的成名作品是他的經典小說《聊齋志異》。這本書取自於一些《聊齋》中的怪異傳說，以描述一些神鬼傳說怪異故事為主。莫言對蒲松齡的作品都非常熟悉。	With a humorous tone, which he has frequently used in speeches to international audiences, he will also talk about Pu Songling, a Qing Dynasty (1644-1910) writer whose work he is vary familiar with. Pu is known for his classical novel Liaozhai Zhiyi, (Strange Tales from LiaoZhai), a collection of grotesque and magical stories on spirits and ghosts.
他在演講中說道：“我們倆都來自山東。家鄉也離得很近，雖然我們處於不同的時代，但我從他身上學到了不少東西。”	"Pu is Shangdong born like I am. Our hometowns are not far from each other. I learned much from him, though we're writers from different ages," Mo said.
莫言的出版商陳黎明相信，莫方的演講一定會留名歷史的。	Mo's publisher Chen Liming believes the writer's speech will be historic.
其中最具爭議的話題莫過於他演講時的服裝問題了。莫言領獎時穿唐裝還是西裝呢?莫言回應說，他的穿著會根據自己的喜好和頒獎宴會的著裝要求來選擇。	As to the highly controversial issue of what he will wear during Nobel week? Chinese style or Western style? Mo said he would dress according to his preference and the Nobel banquet's dress code.

莫言：講故事的人	Mo Yan: Storytellers
諾貝爾演講	Nobel Lecture
2012年12月7日	December 7, 2012
尊敬的瑞典學院各位院士，女士們、先生們：	Distinguished members of the Swedish Academy, Ladies and Gentlemen:
通過電視或網路，我想在座的各位，對遙遠的高密東北鄉，已經有了或多或少的瞭解。你們也許看到了我的九十歲的老父親，看到了我的哥哥姐姐我的妻子女兒和我的一歲零四個月的外孫子，但是有一個此刻我最想念的人，我的母親，你們永遠無法看到了。我獲獎後，很多人分享了我的光榮，但我的母親卻無法分享了。	Through the mediums of television and the Internet, I imagine that everyone here has at least a nodding acquaintance with far-off Northeast Gaomi Township. You may have seen my ninety-year-old father, as well as my brothers, my sister, my wife and my daughter, even my granddaughter, now a year and four months old. But the person who is most on my mind at this moment, my mother, is someone you will never see. Many people have shared in the honor of winning this prize, everyone but her.
我母親生於1922年，卒於1994年。她的骨灰，埋葬在村莊東邊的桃園裡。去年，一條鐵路要從那兒穿過，我們不得不將她的墳墓遷移到距離村子更遠的地方。掘開墳墓後，我們看到，棺木已經腐朽，母親的骨殖，已經與泥土混為一體。我們只好象徵性地挖起一些泥土，移到新的墓穴裡。也就是從那一時刻起，我感到，我的母親是大地的一部分，我站在大地上的訴說，就是對母親的訴說。	My mother was born in 1922 and died in 1994. We buried her in a peach orchard east of the village. Last year we were forced to move her grave farther away from the village in order to make room for a proposed rail line. When we dug up the grave, we saw that the coffin had rotted away and that her body had merged with the damp earth around it. So we dug up some of that soil, a symbolic act, and took it to the new gravesite. That was when I grasped the knowledge that my mother had become part of the earth, and that when I spoke to mother earth, I was really speaking to my mother.
我是我母親最小的孩子。	I was my mother’s youngest child.
我記憶中最早的一件事，是提著家裡唯一的一把熱水壺去公共食堂打開水。因為饑餓無力，失手將熱水瓶打碎，我嚇得要命，鑽進草垛，一天沒敢出來。傍晚的時候我聽到母親呼喚我的乳名，我從草垛裡鑽出來，以為會受到打罵，但母親沒有打我也沒有罵我，只是撫摸著我的頭，口中發出長長的歎息。	My earliest memory was of taking our only vacuum bottle to the public canteen for drinking water. Weakened by hunger, I dropped the bottle and broke it. Scared witless, I hid all that day in a haystack. Toward evening, I heard my mother calling my childhood name, so I crawled out of my hiding place, prepared to receive a beating or a scolding. But Mother didn’t hit me, didn’t even scold me. She just rubbed my head and heaved a sigh.
我記憶中最痛苦的一件事，就是跟著母親去集體的地理揀麥穗，看守麥田的人來了，揀麥穗的人紛紛逃跑，我母親是小腳，跑不快，被捉住，那個身材高大的看守人煽了她一個耳光，她搖晃著身體跌倒在地，看守人沒收了我們揀到的麥穗，吹著口哨揚長而去。我母親嘴角流血，坐在地上，臉上那種絕望的神情深我終生難忘。多年之後，當那個看守麥田的人成為一個白髮蒼蒼的老人，在集市上與我相逢，我沖上去想找他報仇，母親拉住了我，平靜的對我說：“兒子，那個打我的人，與這個老人，並不是一個人。”	My most painful memory involved going out in the collective’s field with Mother to glean ears of wheat. The gleaners scattered when they spotted the watchman. But Mother, who had bound feet, could not run; she was caught and slapped so hard by the watchman, a hulk of a man, that she fell to the ground. The watchman confiscated the wheat we’d gleaned and walked off whistling. As she sat on the ground, her lip bleeding, Mother wore a look of hopelessness I’ll never forget. Years later, when I encountered the watchman, now a gray-haired old man, in the marketplace, Mother had to stop me from going up to avenge her. “Son,” she said evenly, “the man who hit me and this man are not the same person.”
我記得最深刻的一件事是一個中秋節的中午，我們家難得的包了一頓餃子，每人只有一碗。正當我們吃餃子時，一個乞討的老人來到了我們家門口，我端起半碗紅薯乾打發他，他卻憤憤不平地說：“我是一個老人，你們吃餃子，卻讓我吃紅薯乾。你們的心是怎麼長的？”我氣急敗壞的說：“我們一年也吃不了幾次餃子，一人一小碗，連半飽都吃不了！給你紅薯乾就不錯了，你要就要，不要就滾！”母親訓斥了我，然後端起她那半碗餃子，倒進了老人碗裡。	My clearest memory is of a Moon Festival day, at noontime, one of those rare occasions when we ate jiaozi at home, one bowl apiece. An aging beggar came to our door while we were at the table, and when I tried to send him away with half a bowlful of dried sweet potatoes, he reacted angrily: “I’m an old man,” he said. “You people are eating jiaozi, but want to feed me sweet potatoes. How heartless can you be?” I reacted just as angrily: “We’re lucky if we eat jiaozi a couple of times a year, one small bowlful apiece, barely enough to get a taste! You should be thankful we’re giving you sweet potatoes, and if you don’t want them, you can get the hell out of here!” After (dressing me down) reprimanding me, Mother dumped her half bowlful of jiaozi into the old man’s bowl.
我最後悔的一件事，就是跟著母親去賣白菜，有意無意的多算了一位買白菜的老人一毛錢。算完錢我就去了學校。當我放學回家時，看到很少流淚的母親淚流滿面。母親並沒有罵我，只是輕輕的說：“兒子，你讓娘丟了臉。”	My most remorseful memory involves helping Mother sell cabbages at market, and me overcharging an old villager one jiao – intentionally or not, I can’t recall – before heading off to school. When I came home that afternoon, I saw that Mother was crying, something she rarely did. Instead of scolding me, she merely said softly, “Son, you embarrassed your mother today.”
我十幾歲時，母親患了嚴重的肺病，饑餓，病痛，勞累，使我們這個家庭陷入了困境，看不到光明和希望。我產生了一種強烈的不祥之兆，以為母親隨時都會自己尋短見。每當我勞動歸來，一進大門就高喊母親，聽到她的回應，心中才感到一塊石頭落了地。如果一時聽不到她的回應，我就心驚膽戰，跑到廚房和磨坊裡尋找。有一次找遍了所有的房間也沒有見到母親的身影，我便坐在了院子裡大哭。這時母親背著一捆柴草從外面走進來。她對我的哭很不滿，但我又不能對她說出我的擔憂。母親看到我的心思，她說：“孩子你放心，儘管我活著沒有一點樂趣，但只要閻王爺不叫我，我是不會去的。”	Mother contracted a serious lung disease when I was still in my teens. Hunger, disease, and too much work made things extremely hard on our family. The road ahead looked especially bleak, and I had a bad feeling about the future, worried that Mother might take her own life. Every day, the first thing I did when I walked in the door after a day of hard labor was call out for Mother. Hearing her voice was like giving my heart a new lease on life. But not hearing her threw me into a panic. I’d go looking for her in the side building and in the mill. One day, after searching everywhere and not finding her, I sat down in the yard and cried like a baby. That is how she found me when she walked into the yard carrying a bundle of firewood on her back. She was very unhappy with me, but I could not tell her what I was afraid of. She knew anyway. “Son,” she said, “don’t worry, there may be no joy in my life, but I won’t leave you till the God of the Underworld calls me.”
我生來相貌醜陋，村子裡很多人當面嘲笑我，學校裡有幾個性格霸蠻的同學甚至為此打我。我回家痛苦，母親對我說：“兒子，你不醜，你不缺鼻子不缺眼，四肢健全，醜在哪裡？而且只要你心存善良，多做好事，即便是醜也能變美。”後來我進入城市，有一些很有文化的人依然在背後甚至當面嘲弄我的相貌，我想起了母親的話，便心平氣和地向他們道歉。	I was born ugly. Villagers often laughed in my face, and school bullies sometimes beat me up because of it. I’d run home crying, where my mother would say, “You’re not ugly, Son. You’ve got a nose and two eyes, and there’s nothing wrong with your arms and legs, so how could you be ugly? If you have a good heart and always do the right thing, what is considered ugly becomes beautiful.” Later on, when I moved to the city, there were educated people who laughed at me behind my back, some even to my face; but when I recalled what Mother had said, I just calmly offered my apologies.
我母親不識字，但對識字的人十分敬重。我們家生活困難，經常吃了上頓沒下頓。但只要我對她提出買書買文具的要求，她總是會滿足我。她是個勤勞的人，討厭懶惰的孩子，但只要是我因為看書耽誤了幹活，她從來沒批評過我。	My illiterate mother held people who could read in high regard. We were so poor we often did not know where our next meal was coming from, yet she never denied my request to buy a book or something to write with. By nature hard working, she had no use for lazy children, yet I could skip my chores as long as I had my nose in a book.
有一段時間，集市上來了一個說書人。我偷偷地跑去聽書，忘記了她分配給我的活兒。為此，母親批評了我，晚上當她就著一盞小油燈為家人趕制棉衣時，我忍不住把白天從說書人聽來的故事複述給她聽，起初她有些不耐煩，因為在她心目中說書人都是油嘴滑舌，不務正業的人，從他們嘴裡冒不出好話來。但我複述的故事漸漸的吸引了她，以後每逢集日她便不再給我排活，默許我去集上聽書。為了報答母親的恩情，也為了向她炫耀我的記憶力，我會把白天聽到的故事，繪聲繪色地講給她聽。	A storyteller once came to the marketplace, and I sneaked off to listen to him. She was unhappy with me for forgetting my chores. But that night, while she was stitching padded clothes for us under the weak light of a kerosene lamp, I couldn’t keep from retelling stories I’d heard that day. She listened impatiently at first, since in her eyes professional storytellers were smooth-talking men in a dubious profession. Nothing good ever came out of their mouths. But slowly she was dragged into my retold stories, and from that day on, she never gave me chores on market day, unspoken permission to go to the marketplace and listen to new stories. As repayment for Mother’s kindness and a way to demonstrate my memory, I’d retell the stories for her in vivid detail.
很快的，我就不滿足複述說書人講的故事了，我在複述的過程中不斷的添油加醋，我會投我母親所好，編造一些情節，有時候甚至改變故事的結局。我的聽眾也不僅僅是我的母親，連我的姐姐，我的嬸嬸，我的奶奶都成為我的聽眾。我母親在聽完我的故事後，有時會憂心忡忡地，像是對我說，又像是自言自語：“兒啊，你長大後會成為一個什麼人呢？難道要靠耍貧嘴吃飯嗎？”	It did not take long to find retelling someone else’s stories unsatisfying, so I began embellishing my narration. I’d say things I knew would please Mother, even changed the ending once in a while. And she wasn’t the only member of my audience, which later included my older sisters, my aunts, even my maternal grandmother. Sometimes, after my mother had listened to one of my stories, she’d ask in a care-laden voice, almost as if to herself: “What will you be like when you grow up, son? Might you wind up prattling for a living one day?”
我理解母親的擔憂，因為在村子裡，一個貧嘴的孩子，是招人厭煩的，有時候還會給自己和家庭帶來麻煩。我在小說《牛》裡所寫的那個因為話多被村子裡厭惡的孩子，就有我童年時的影子。我母親經常提醒我少說話，她希望我能做一個沉默寡言、安穩大方的孩子。但在我身上，卻顯露出極強的說話能力和極大的說話欲望，這無疑是極大的危險，但我說的故事的能力，又帶給了她愉悅，這使他陷入深深的矛盾之中。	I knew why she was worried. Talkative kids are not well thought of in our village, for they can bring trouble to themselves and to their families. There is a bit of a young me in the talkative boy who falls afoul of villagers in my story “Bulls.” Mother habitually cautioned me not to talk so much, wanting me to be a taciturn, smooth and steady youngster. Instead I was possessed of a dangerous combination – remarkable speaking skills and the powerful desire that went with them. My ability to tell stories brought her joy, but that created a dilemma for her.
俗話說“江山易改、本性難移”，儘管我有父母親的諄諄教導，但我並沒有改掉我喜歡說話的天性，這使得我的名字“莫言”，很像對自己的諷刺。	A popular saying goes “It is easier to change the course of a river than a person’s nature.” Despite my parents’ tireless guidance, my natural desire to talk never went away, and that is what makes my name – Mo Yan, or “don’t speak” – an ironic expression of self-mockery.
我小學未畢業即輟學，因為年幼體弱，幹不了重活，只好到荒草灘上去放牧牛羊。當我牽著牛羊從學校門前路過，看到昔日的同學在校園裡打打鬧鬧，我心中充滿悲涼，深深地體會到一個人，哪怕是一個孩子，離開群體後的痛苦。	After dropping out of elementary school, I was too small for heavy labor, so I became a cattle- and sheep-herder on a nearby grassy riverbank. The sight of my former schoolmates playing in the schoolyard when I drove my animals past the gate always saddened me and made me aware of how tough it is for anyone – even a child – to leave the group.
到了荒灘上，我把牛羊放開，讓它們自己吃草。藍天如海，草地一望無際，周圍看不到一個人影，沒有人的聲音，只有鳥兒在天上鳴叫。我感到很孤獨，很寂寞，心裡空空蕩蕩。有時候，我躺在草地上，望著天上懶洋洋地飄動著的白雲，腦海裡便浮現出許多莫名其妙的幻象。我們那地方流傳著許多狐狸變成美女的故事，我幻想著能有一個狐狸變成美女與我來作伴放牛，但她始終沒有出現。但有一次，一隻火紅色的狐狸從我面前的草叢中跳出來時，我被嚇得一屁股蹲在地上。狐狸跑沒了蹤影，我還在那裡顫抖。有時候我會蹲在牛的身旁，看著湛藍的牛眼和牛眼中的我的倒影。有時候我會模仿著鳥兒的叫聲試圖與天上的鳥兒對話，有時候我會對一棵樹訴說心聲。但鳥兒不理我，樹也不理我。許多年後，當我成為一個小說家，當年的許多幻想，都被我寫進了小說。很多人誇我想像力豐富，有一些文學愛好者，希望我能告訴他們培養想像力的秘訣，對此，我只能報以苦笑。	I turned the animals loose on the riverbank to graze beneath a sky as blue as the ocean and grass-carpeted land as far as the eye could see – not another person in sight, no human sounds, nothing but bird calls above me. I was all by myself and terribly lonely; my heart felt empty. Sometimes I lay in the grass and watched clouds float lazily by, which gave rise to all sorts of fanciful images. That part of the country is known for its tales of foxes in the form of beautiful young women, and I would fantasize a fox-turned-beautiful girl coming to tend animals with me. She never did come. Once, however, a fiery red fox bounded out of the brush in front of me, scaring my legs right out from under me. I was still sitting there trembling long after the fox had vanished. Sometimes I’d crouch down beside the cows and gaze into their deep blue eyes, eyes that captured my reflection. At times I’d have a dialogue with birds in the sky, mimicking their cries, while at other times I’d divulge my hopes and desires to a tree. But the birds ignored me, and so did the trees. Years later, after I’d become a novelist, I wrote some of those fantasies into my novels and stories. People frequently bombard me with compliments on my vivid imagination, and lovers of literature often ask me to divulge my secret to developing a rich imagination. My only response is a wan smile.
就像中國的先賢老子所說的那樣：“福兮禍之所伏，福禍福所倚”，我童年輟學，飽受饑餓、孤獨、無書可讀之苦，但我因此也像我們的前輩作家沈從文那樣，及早地開始閱讀社會人生這本大書。前面所提到的到集市上去聽說數人說書，僅僅是這本大書中的一頁。	Our Taoist master Laozi said it best: “Fortune depends on misfortune. Misfortune is hidden in fortune.” I left school as a child, often went hungry, was constantly lonely, and had no books to read. But for those reasons, like the writer of a previous generation, Shen Congwen, I had an early start on reading the great book of life. My experience of going to the marketplace to listen to a storyteller was but one page of that book.
輟學之後，我混跡于成人之中，開始了“用耳朵閱讀”的漫長生涯。二百多年前，我的故鄉曾出了一個講故事的偉大天才——蒲松齡，我們村裡的許多人，包括我，都是他的傳人。我在集體勞動的田間地頭，在生產隊的牛棚馬廄，在我爺爺奶奶的熱炕頭上，甚至在搖搖晃晃地進行著的牛車社，聆聽了許許多多神鬼故事，歷史傳奇，逸聞趣事，這些故事都與當地的自然環境，家庭歷史緊密聯繫在一起，使我產生了強烈的現實感。	After leaving school, I was thrown uncomfortably into the world of adults, where I embarked on the long journey of learning through listening. Two hundred years ago, one of the great storytellers of all time – Pu Songling – lived near where I grew up, and where many people, me included, carried on the tradition he had perfected. Wherever I happened to be – working the fields with the collective, in production team cowsheds or stables, on my grandparents’ heated kang, even on oxcarts bouncing and swaying down the road, my ears filled with tales of the supernatural, historical romances, and strange and captivating stories, all tied to the natural environment and clan histories, and all of which created a powerful reality in my mind.
我做夢也想不到有朝一日這些東西會成為我的寫作素材，我當時只是一個迷戀故事的孩子，醉心地聆聽著人們的講述。那時我是一個絕對的有神論者，我相信萬物都有靈性，我見到一棵大樹會肅然起敬。我看到一隻鳥會感到它隨時會變化成人，我遇到一個陌生人，也會懷疑他是一個動物變化而成。每當夜晚我從生產隊的記工房回家時，無邊的恐懼便包圍了我，為了壯膽，我一邊奔跑一邊大聲歌唱。那時我正處在變聲期，嗓音嘶啞，聲調難聽，我的歌唱，是對我的鄉親們的一種折磨。	Even in my wildest dreams, I could not have envisioned a day when all this would be the stuff of my own fiction, for I was just a boy who loved stories, who was infatuated with the tales people around me were telling. Back then I was, without a doubt, a theist, believing that all living creatures were endowed with souls. I’d stop and pay my respects to a towering old tree; if I saw a bird, I was sure it could become human any time it wanted; and I suspected every stranger I met of being a transformed beast. At night, terrible fears accompanied me on my way home after my work points were tallied, so I’d sing at the top of my lungs as I ran to build up a bit of courage. My voice, which was changing at the time, produced scratchy, squeaky songs that grated on the ears of any villager who heard me.
我在故鄉生活了二十一年，期間離家最遠的是乘火車去了一次青島，還差點迷失在木材廠的巨大木材之間，以至於我母親問我去青島看到了什麼風景時，我沮喪地告訴她：什麼都沒看到，只看到了一堆堆的木頭。但也就是這次青島之行，使我產生了想離開故鄉到外邊去看世界的強烈願望。	I spent my first twenty-one years in that village, never traveling farther from home than to Qingdao, by train, where I nearly got lost amid the giant stacks of wood in a lumber mill. When my mother asked me what I’d seen in Qingdao, I reported sadly that all I’d seen were stacks of lumber. But that trip to Qingdao planted in me a powerful desire to leave my village and see the world.
1976 年2月，我應徵入伍，背著我母親賣掉結婚時的首飾幫我購買的四本《中國通史簡編》，走出了高密東北鄉這個既讓我愛又讓我恨的地方，開始了我人生的重要時期。我必須承認，如果沒有30 多年來中國社會的巨大發展與進步，如果沒有改革開放，也不會有我這樣一個作家。	In February 1976 I was recruited into the army and walked out of the Northeast Gaomi Township village I both loved and hated, entering a critical phase of my life, carrying in my backpack the four-volume Brief History of China my mother had bought by selling her wedding jewelry. Thus began the most important period of my life. I must admit that were it not for the thirty-odd years of tremendous development and progress in Chinese society, and the subsequent national reform and opening of her doors to the outside, I would not be a writer today.
在軍營的枯燥生活中，我迎來了八十年代的思想解放和文學熱潮，我從一個用耳朵聆聽故事，用嘴巴講述故事的孩子，開始嘗試用筆來講述故事。起初的道路並不平坦，我那時並沒有意識到我二十多年的農村生活經驗是文學的富礦，那時我以為文學就是寫好人好事，就是寫英雄模範，所以，儘管也發表了幾篇作品，但文學價值很低。	In the midst of mind-numbing military life, I welcomed the ideological emancipation and literary fervor of the nineteen-eighties, and evolved from a boy who listened to stories and passed them on by word of mouth into someone who experimented with writing them down. It was a rocky road at first, a time when I had not yet discovered how rich a source of literary material my two decades of village life could be. I thought that literature was all about good people doing good things, stories of heroic deeds and model citizens, so that the few pieces of mine that were published had little literary value.
1984年秋，我考入解放軍藝術學院文學系。在我的恩師著名作家徐懷中的啟發指導下，我寫出了《秋水》、《枯河》、《透明的紅蘿蔔》、《紅高粱》等一批中短篇小說。在《秋水》這篇小說裡，第一次出現了“高密東北鄉”這個字眼，從此，就如同一個四處遊蕩的農民有了一片土地，我這樣一個文學的流浪漢，終於有了一個可以安身立命的場所。我必須承認，在創建我的文學領地“高密東北鄉”的過程中，美國的威廉·福克納和哥倫比亞的加西亞·瑪律克斯給了我重要啟發。我對他們的閱讀並不認真，但他們開天闢地的豪邁精神激勵了我，使我明白了一個作家必須要有一塊屬於自己的地方。一個人在日常生活中應該謙卑退讓，但在文學創作中，必須頤指氣使，獨斷專行。我追隨在這兩位大師身後兩年，即意識到，必須儘快地逃離他們，我在一篇文章中寫道：他們是兩座灼熱的火爐，而我是冰塊，如果離他們太近，會被他們蒸發掉。根據我的體會，一個作家之所以會受到某一位作家的影響，其根本是因為影響者和被影響者靈魂深處的相似之處。正所謂“心有靈犀一點通”。所以，儘管我沒有很好地去讀他們的書，但唯讀過幾頁，我就明白了他們幹了什麼，也明白了他們是怎樣幹的，隨即我也就明白了我該幹什麼和我該怎樣幹。	In the fall of 1984 I was accepted into the Literature Department of the PLA Art Academy, where, under the guidance of my revered mentor, the renowned writer Xu Huaizhong, I wrote a series of stories and novellas, including: Autumn Floods, Dry River, The Transparent Carrot, and Red Sorghum. Northeast Gaomi Township made its first appearance in Autumn Floods, and from that moment on, like a wandering peasant who finds his own piece of land, this literary vagabond found a place he could call his own. I must say that in the course of creating my literary domain, Northeast Gaomi Township, I was greatly inspired by the American novelist William Faulkner and the Columbian Gabriel García Márquez. I had not read either of them extensively, but was encouraged by the bold, unrestrained way they created new territory in writing, and learned from them that a writer must have a place that belongs to him alone. Humility and compromise are ideal in one’s daily life, but in literary creation, supreme self-confidence and the need to follow one’s own instincts are essential. For two years I followed in the footsteps of these two masters before realizing that I had to escape their influence; this is how I characterized that decision in an essay: They were a pair of blazing furnaces, I was a block of ice. If I got too close to them, I would dissolve into a cloud of steam. In my understanding, one writer influences another when they enjoy a profound spiritual kinship, what is often referred to as “hearts beating in unison.” That explains why, though I had read little of their work, a few pages were sufficient for me to comprehend what they were doing and how they were doing it, which led to my understanding of what I should do and how I should do it.
我該幹的事情其實很簡單，那就是用自己的方式，講自己的故事。我的方式，就是我所熟知的集市說書人的方式，就是我的爺爺奶奶、村裡的老人們講故事的方式。坦率地說，講述的時候，我沒有想到誰會是我的聽眾，也許我的聽眾就是那些如我母親一樣的人，也許我的聽眾就是我自己，我自己的故事，起初就是我的親身經歷，譬如《枯河》中那個遭受痛打的孩子，譬如《透明的紅蘿蔔》中那個自始至終一言不發的孩子。我的確曾因為幹過一件錯事而受到過父親的痛打，我也的確曾在橋樑工地上為鐵匠師傅拉過風箱。當然，個人的經歷無論多麼奇特也不可能原封不動地寫進小說，小說必須虛構，必須想像。很多朋友說《透明的紅蘿蔔》是我最好的小說，對此我不反駁，也不認同，但我認為《透明的紅蘿蔔》是我的作品中最有象徵性、最意味深長的一部。那個渾身漆黑、具有超人的忍受痛苦的能力和超人的感受能力的孩子，是我全部小說的靈魂，儘管在後來的小說裡，我寫了很多的人物，但沒有一個人物，比他更貼近我的靈魂。或者可以說，一個作家所塑造的若干人物中，總有一個領頭的，這個沉默的孩子就是一個領頭的，他一言不發，但卻有力地領導著形形色色的人物，在高密東北鄉這個舞臺上，盡情地表演。	What I should do was simplicity itself: Write my own stories in my own way. My way was that of the marketplace storyteller, with which I was so familiar, the way my grandfather and my grandmother and other village old-timers told stories. In all candor, I never gave a thought to audience when I was telling my stories; perhaps my audience was made up of people like my mother, and perhaps it was only me. The early stories were narrations of my personal experience: the boy who received a whipping in “Dry River,” for instance, or the boy who never spoke in “The Transparent Carrot.” I had actually done something bad enough to receive a whipping from my father, and I had actually worked the bellows for a blacksmith on a bridge site. Naturally, personal experience cannot be turned into fiction exactly as it happened, no matter how unique that might be. Fiction has to be fictional, has to be imaginative. To many of my friends, The Transparent Carrot is my very best story; I have no opinion one way or the other. What I can say is, The Transparent Carrot is more symbolic and more profoundly meaningful than any other story I’ve written. That dark-skinned boy with the superhuman ability to suffer and a superhuman degree of sensitivity represents the soul of my entire fictional output. Not one of all the fictional characters I’ve created since then is as close to my soul as he is. Or put a different way, among all the characters a writer creates, there is always one that stands above all the others. For me, that laconic boy is the one. Though he says nothing, he leads the way for all the others, in all their variety, performing freely on the Northeast Gaomi Township stage.
自己的故事總是有限的，講完了自己的故事，就必須講他人的故事。於是，我的親人們的故事，我的村人們的故事，以及我從老人們口中聽到過的祖先們的故事，就像聽到集合令的士兵一樣，從我的記憶深處湧出來。他們用期盼的目光看著我，等待著我去寫他們。我的爺爺、奶奶、父親、母親、哥哥、姐姐、姑姑、叔叔、妻子、女兒，都在我的作品裡出現過，還有很多的我們高密東北鄉的鄉親，也都在我的小說裡露過面。當然，我對他們，都進行了文學化的處理，使他們超越了他們自身，成為文學中的人物。	A person can experience only so much, and once you have exhausted your own stories, you must tell the stories of others. And so, out of the depths of my memories, like conscripted soldiers, rose stories of family members, of fellow villagers, and of long-dead ancestors I learned of from the mouths of old-timers. They waited expectantly for me to tell their stories. My grandfather and grandmother, my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, my aunts and uncles, my wife and my daughter have all appeared in my stories. Even unrelated residents of Northeast Gaomi Township have made cameo appearances. Of course they have undergone literary modification to transform them into larger-than-life fictional characters.
我最新的小說《蛙》中，就出現了我姑姑的形象。因為我獲得諾貝爾獎，許多記者到她家採訪，起初她還很耐心地回答提問，但很快便不勝其煩，跑到縣城裡她兒子家躲起來了。姑姑確實是我寫《蛙》時的模特，但小說中的姑姑，與現實生活中的姑姑有著天壤之別。小說中的姑姑專橫跋扈，有時簡直像個女匪，現實中的姑姑和善開朗，是一個標準的賢妻良母。現實中的姑姑晚年生活幸福美滿，小說中的姑姑到了晚年卻因為心靈的巨大痛苦患上了失眠症，身披黑袍，像個幽靈一樣在暗夜中遊蕩。我感謝姑姑的寬容，她沒有因為我在小說中把她寫成那樣而生氣；我也十分敬佩我姑姑的明智，她正確地理解了小說中人物與現實中人物的複雜關係。	An aunt of mine is the central character of my latest novel, Frogs. The announcement of the Nobel Prize sent journalists swarming to her home with interview requests. At first, she was patiently accommodating, but she soon had to escape their attentions by fleeing to her son’s home in the provincial capital. I don’t deny that she was my model in writing Frogs, but the differences between her and the fictional aunt are extensive. The fictional aunt is arrogant and domineering, in places virtually thuggish, while my real aunt is kind and gentle, the classic caring wife and loving mother. My real aunt’s golden years have been happy and fulfilling; her fictional counterpart suffers insomnia in her late years as a result of spiritual torment, and walks the nights like a specter, wearing a dark robe. I am grateful to my real aunt for not being angry with me for how I changed her in the novel. I also greatly respect her wisdom in comprehending the complex relationship between fictional characters and real people.
母親去世後，我悲痛萬分，決定寫一部書獻給她。這就是那本《豐乳肥臀》。因為胸有成竹，因為情感充盈，僅用了83天，我便寫出了這部長達50 萬字的小說的初稿。	After my mother died, in the midst of almost crippling grief, I decided to write a novel for her. Big Breasts and Wide Hips is that novel. Once my plan took shape, I was burning with such emotion that I completed a draft of half a million words in only eighty-three days.
在《豐乳肥臀》這本書裡，我肆無忌憚地使用了與我母親的親身經歷有關的素材，但書中的母親情感方面的經歷，則是虛構或取材于高密東北鄉諸多母親的經歷。在這本書的卷前語上，我寫下了“獻給母親在天之靈”的話，但這本書，實際上是獻給天下母親的，這是我狂妄的野心，就像我希望把小小的“高密東北鄉”寫成中國乃至世界的縮影一樣。	In Big Breasts and Wide Hips I shamelessly used material associated with my mother’s actual experience, but the fictional mother’s emotional state is either a total fabrication or a composite of many of Northeast Gaomi Township’s mothers. Though I wrote “To the spirit of my mother” on the dedication page, the novel was really written for all mothers everywhere, evidence, perhaps, of my overweening ambition, in much the same way as I hope to make tiny Northeast Gaomi Township a microcosm of China, even of the whole world.
作家的創作過程各有特色，我每本書的構思與靈感觸發也都不盡相同。有的小說起源於夢境，譬如《透明的紅蘿蔔》，有的小說則發端於現實生活中發生的事件——譬如《天堂蒜薹之歌》。但無論是起源於夢境還是發端於現實，最後都必須和個人的經驗相結合，才有可能變成一部具有鮮明個性的，用無數生動細節塑造出了典型人物的、語言豐富多彩、結構匠心獨運的文學作品。有必要特別提及的是，在《天堂蒜薹之歌》中，我讓一個真正的說書人登場，並在書中扮演了十分重要的角色。我十分抱歉地使用了這個說書人真實姓名，當然，他在書中的所有行為都是虛構。在我的寫作中，出現過多次這樣的現象，寫作之初，我使用他們的真實姓名，希望能借此獲得一種親近感，但作品完成之後，我想為他們改換姓名時卻感到已經不可能了，因此，也發生過與我小說中人物同名者找到我父親發洩不滿的事情，我父親替我向他們道歉，但同時又開導他們不要當真。我父親說：“他在《紅高粱》中，第一句就說‘我父親這個土匪種’，我都不在意你們還在意什麼？”	The process of creation is unique to every writer. Each of my novels differs from the others in terms of plot and guiding inspiration. Some, such as The Transparent Carrot, were born in dreams, while others, like The Garlic Ballads have their origin in actual events. Whether the source of a work is a dream or real life, only if it is integrated with individual experience can it be imbued with individuality, be populated with typical characters molded by lively detail, employ richly evocative language, and boast a well crafted structure. Here I must point out that in The Garlic Ballads I introduced a real-life storyteller and singer in one of the novel’s most important roles. I wish I hadn’t used his real name, though his words and actions were made up. This is a recurring phenomenon with me. I’ll start out using characters’ real names in order to achieve a sense of intimacy, and after the work is finished, it will seem too late to change those names. This has led to people who see their names in my novels going to my father to vent their displeasure. He always apologizes in my place, but then urges them not to take such things so seriously. He’ll say: “The first sentence in Red Sorghum, ‘My father, a bandit’s offspring,’ didn’t upset me, so why should you be unhappy?”
我在寫作《天堂蒜薹之歌》這類逼近社會現實的小說時，面對著的最大問題，其實不是我敢不敢對社會上的黑暗現象進行批評，而是這燃燒的激情和憤怒會讓政治壓倒文學，使這部小說變成一個社會事件的紀實報告。小說家是社會中人，他自然有自己的立場和觀點，但小說家在寫作時，必須站在人的立場上，把所有的人都當做人來寫。只有這樣，文學才能發端事件但超越事件，關心政治但大於政治。	My greatest challenges come with writing novels that deal with social realities, such as The Garlic Ballads, not because I’m afraid of being openly critical of the darker aspects of society, but because heated emotions and anger allow politics to suppress literature and transform a novel into reportage of a social event. As a member of society, a novelist is entitled to his own stance and viewpoint; but when he is writing he must take a humanistic stance, and write accordingly. Only then can literature not just originate in events, but transcend them, not just show concern for politics but be greater than politics.
可能是因為我經歷過長期的艱難生活，使我對人性有較為深刻的瞭解。我知道真正的勇敢是什麼，也明白真正的悲憫是什麼。我知道，每個人心中都有一片難用是非善惡準確定性的朦朧地帶，而這片地帶，正是文學家施展才華的廣闊天地。只要是準確地、生動地描寫了這個充滿矛盾的朦朧地帶的作品，也就必然地超越了政治並具備了優秀文學的品質。	Possibly because I’ve lived so much of my life in difficult circumstances, I think I have a more profound understanding of life. I know what real courage is, and I understand true compassion. I know that nebulous terrain exists in the hearts and minds of every person, terrain that cannot be adequately characterized in simple terms of right and wrong or good and bad, and this vast territory is where a writer gives free rein to his talent. So long as the work correctly and vividly describes this nebulous, massively contradictory terrain, it will inevitably transcend politics and be endowed with literary excellence
喋喋不休地講述自己的作品是令人厭煩的，但我的人生是與我的作品緊密相連的，不講作品，我感到無從下嘴，所以還得請各位原諒。	Prattling on and on about my own work must be annoying, but my life and works are inextricably linked, so if I don’t talk about my work, I don’t know what else to say. I hope you are in a forgiving mood.
在我的早期作品中，我作為一個現代的說書人，是隱藏在文本背後的，但從《檀香刑》這部小說開始，我終於從後臺跳到了前臺。如果說我早期的作品是自言自語，目無讀者，從這本書開始，我感覺到自己是站在一個廣場上，面對著許多聽眾，繪聲繪色地講述。這是世界小說的傳統，更是中國小說的傳統。我也曾積極地向西方的現代派小說學習，也曾經玩弄過形形色色的敘事花樣，但我最終回歸了傳統。當然，這種回歸，不是一成不變的回歸，《檀香刑》和之後的小說，是繼承了中國古典小說傳統又借鑒了西方小說技術的混合文本。小說領域的所謂創新，基本上都是這種混合的產物。不僅僅是本國文學傳統與外國小說技巧的混合，也是小說與其他的藝術門類的混合，就像《檀香刑》是與民間戲曲的混合，就像我早期的一些小說從美術、音樂、甚至雜技中汲取了營養一樣。	I was a modern-day storyteller who hid in the background of his early work; but with the novel Sandalwood Death I jumped out of the shadows. My early work can be characterized as a series of soliloquies, with no reader in mind; starting with this novel, however, I visualized myself standing in a public square spiritedly telling my story to a crowd of listeners. This tradition is a worldwide phenomenon in fiction, but is especially so in China. At one time, I was a diligent student of Western modernist fiction, and I experimented with all sorts of narrative styles. But in the end I came back to my traditions. To be sure, this return was not without its modifications. Sandalwood Death and the novels that followed are inheritors of the Chinese classical novel tradition but enhanced by Western literary techniques. What is known as innovative fiction is, for the most part, a result of this mixture, which is not limited to domestic traditions with foreign techniques, but can include mixing fiction with art from other realms. Sandalwood Death, for instance, mixes fiction with local opera, while some of my early work was partly nurtured by fine art, music, even acrobatics.
最後，請允許我再講一下我的《生死疲勞》。這個書名來自佛教經典，據我所知，為翻譯這個書名，各國的翻譯家都很頭痛。我對佛教經典並沒有深入研究，對佛教的理解自然十分膚淺，之所以以此為題，是因為我覺得佛教的許多基本思想，是真正的宇宙意識，人世中許多紛爭，在佛家的眼裡，是毫無意義的。這樣一種至高眼界下的人世，顯得十分可悲。當然，我沒有把這本書寫成佈道詞，我寫的還是人的命運與人的情感，人的局限與人的寬容，以及人為追求幸福、堅持自己的信念所做出的努力與犧牲。小說中那位以一己之身與時代潮流對抗的藍臉，在我心目中是一位真正的英雄。這個人物的原型，是我們鄰村的一位農民，我童年時，經常看到他推著一輛吱吱作響的木輪車，從我家門前的道路上通過。給他拉車的，是一頭瘸腿的毛驢，為他牽驢的，是他小腳的妻子。這個奇怪的勞動組合，在當時的集體化社會裡，顯得那麼古怪和不合時宜，在我們這些孩子的眼裡，也把他們看成是逆歷史潮流而動的小丑，以至於當他們從街上經過時，我們會充滿義憤地朝他們投擲石塊。事過多年，當我拿起筆來寫作時，這個人物，這個畫面，便浮現在我的腦海中。我知道，我總有一天會為他寫一本書，我遲早要把他的故事講給天下人聽，但一直到了2005年，當我在一座廟宇裡看到“六道輪回”的壁畫時，才明白了講述這個故事的正確方法。	Finally, I ask your indulgence to talk about my novel Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out. The Chinese title comes from Buddhist scripture, and I’ve been told that my translators have had fits trying to render it into their languages. I am not especially well versed in Buddhist scripture and have but a superficial understanding of the religion. I chose this title because I believe that the basic tenets of the Buddhist faith represent universal knowledge, and that mankind’s many disputes are utterly without meaning in the Buddhist realm. In that lofty view of the universe, the world of man is to be pitied. My novel is not a religious tract; in it I wrote of man’s fate and human emotions, of man’s limitations and human generosity, and of people’s search for happiness and the lengths to which they will go, the sacrifices they will make, to uphold their beliefs. Lan Lian, a character who takes a stand against contemporary trends, is, in my view, a true hero. A peasant in a neighboring village was the model for this character. As a youngster I often saw him pass by our door pushing a creaky, wooden-wheeled cart, with a lame donkey up front, led by his bound-foot wife. Given the collective nature of society back then, this strange labor group presented a bizarre sight that kept them out of step with the times. In the eyes of us children, they were clowns marching against historical trends, provoking in us such indignation that we threw stones at them as they passed us on the street. Years later, after I had begun writing, that peasant and the tableau he presented floated into my mind, and I knew that one day I would write a novel about him, that sooner or later I would tell his story to the world. But it wasn’t until the year 2005, when I viewed the Buddhist mural “The Six Stages of Samsara” on a temple wall that I knew exactly how to go about telling his story.
我獲得諾貝爾文學獎後，引發了一些爭議。起初，我還以為大家爭議的物件是我，漸漸的，我感到這個被爭議的物件，是一個與我毫不相關的人。我如同一個看戲人，看著眾人的表演。我看到那個得獎人身上落滿了花朵，也被擲上了石塊、潑上了污水。我生怕他被打垮，但他微笑著從花朵和石塊中鑽出來，擦乾淨身上的髒水，坦然地站在一邊，對著眾人說：	The announcement of my Nobel Prize has led to controversy. At first I thought I was the target of the disputes, but over time I’ve come to realize that the real target was a person who had nothing to do with me. Like someone watching a play in a theater, I observed the performances around me. I saw the winner of the prize both garlanded with flowers and besieged by stone-throwers and mudslingers. I was afraid he would succumb to the assault, but he emerged from the garlands of flowers and the stones, a smile on his face; he wiped away mud and grime, stood calmly off to the side, and said to the crowd:
對一個作家來說，最好的說話方式是寫作。我該說的話都寫進了我的作品裡。用嘴說出的話隨風而散，用筆寫出的話永不磨滅。我希望你們能耐心地讀一下我的書，當然，我沒有資格強迫你們讀我的書。即便你們讀了我的書，我也不期望你們能改變對我的看法，世界上還沒有一個作家，能讓所有的讀者都喜歡他。在當今這樣的時代裡，更是如此。	For a writer, the best way to speak is by writing. You will find everything I need to say in my works. Speech is carried off by the wind; the written word can never be obliterated. I would like you to find the patience to read my books. I cannot force you to do that, and even if you do, I do not expect your opinion of me to change. No writer has yet appeared, anywhere in the world, who is liked by all his readers; that is especially true during times like these.
儘管我什麼都不想說，但在今天這樣的場合我必須說話，那我就簡單地再說幾句。	Even though I would prefer to say nothing, since it is something I must do on this occasion, let me just say this:
我是一個講故事的人，我還是要給你們講故事。	I am a storyteller, so I am going to tell you some stories.
上世紀六十年代，我上小學三年級的時候，學校裡組織我們去參觀一個苦難展覽，我們在老師的引領下放聲大哭。為了能讓老師看到我的表現，我捨不得擦去臉上的淚水。我看到有幾位同學悄悄地將唾沫抹到臉上冒充淚水。我還看到在一片真哭假哭的同學之間，有一位同學，臉上沒有一滴淚，嘴巴裡沒有一點聲音，也沒有用手掩面。他睜著大眼看著我們，眼睛裡流露出驚訝或者是困惑的神情。事後，我向老師報告了這位同學的行為。為此，學校給了這位同學一個警告處分。多年之後，當我因自己的告密向老師懺悔時，老師說，那天來找他說這件事的，有十幾個同學。這位同學十幾年前就已去世，每當想起他，我就深感歉疚。這件事讓我悟到一個道理，那就是：當眾人都哭時，應該允許有的人不哭。當哭成為一種表演時，更應該允許有的人不哭。	When I was a third-grade student in the 1960s, my school organized a field trip to an exhibit of suffering, where, under the direction of our teacher, we cried bitter tears. I let my tears stay on my cheeks for the benefit of our teacher, and watched as some of my classmates spat in their hands and rubbed it on their faces as pretend tears. I saw one student among all those wailing children – some real, some phony – whose face was dry and who remained silent without covering his face with his hands. He just looked at us, eyes wide open in an expression of surprise or confusion. After the visit I reported him to the teacher, and he was given a disciplinary warning. Years later, when I expressed my remorse over informing on the boy, the teacher said that at least ten students had done what I did. The boy himself had died a decade or more earlier, and my conscience was deeply troubled when I thought of him. But I learned something important from this incident, and that is: When everyone around you is crying, you deserve to be allowed not to cry, and when the tears are all for show, your right not to cry is greater still.
我再講一個故事：三十多年前，我還在部隊工作。有一天晚上，我在辦公室看書，有一位老長官推門進來，看了一眼我對面的位置，自言自語道：“噢，沒有人？”我隨即站起來，高聲說：“難道我不是人嗎？”那位老長官被我頂得面紅耳赤，尷尬而退。為此事，我洋洋得意了許久，以為自己是個英勇的鬥士，但事過多年後，我卻為此深感內疚。	Here is another story: More than thirty years ago, when I was in the army, I was in my office reading one evening when an elderly officer opened the door and came in. He glanced down at the seat in front of me and muttered, “Hm, where is everyone?” I stood up and said in a loud voice, “Are you saying I’m no one?” The old fellow’s ears turned red from embarrassment, and he walked out. For a long time after that I was proud about what I consider a gutsy performance. Years later, that pride turned to intense qualms of conscience.
請允許我講最後一個故事，這是許多年前我爺爺講給我聽過的：有八個外出打工的泥瓦匠，為避一場暴風雨，躲進了一座破廟。外邊的雷聲一陣緊似一陣，一個個的火球，在廟門外滾來滾去，空中似乎還有吱吱的龍叫聲。眾人都膽戰心驚，面如土色。有一個人說：“我們八個人中，必定一個人幹過傷天害理的壞事，誰幹過壞事，就自己走出廟接受懲罰吧，免得讓好人受到牽連。”自然沒有人願意出去。又有人提議道：“既然大家都不想出去，那我們就將自己的草帽往外拋吧，誰的草帽被刮出廟門，就說明誰幹了壞事，那就請他出去接受懲罰。”於是大家就將自己的草帽往廟門外拋，七個人的草帽被刮回了廟內，只有一個人的草帽被卷了出去。大家就催這個人出去受罰，他自然不願出去，眾人便將他抬起來扔出了廟門。故事的結局我估計大家都猜到了——那個人剛被扔出廟門，那座破廟轟然坍塌。	Bear with me, please, for one last story, one my grandfather told me many years ago: A group of eight out-of-town bricklayers took refuge from a storm in a rundown temple. Thunder rumbled outside, sending fireballs their way. They even heard what sounded like dragon shrieks. The men were terrified, their faces ashen. “Among the eight of us,” one of them said, “is someone who must have offended the heavens with a terrible deed. The guilty person ought to volunteer to step outside to accept his punishment and spare the innocent from suffering. Naturally, there were no volunteers. So one of the others came up with a proposal: Since no one is willing to go outside, let’s all fling our straw hats toward the door. Whoever’s hat flies out through the temple door is the guilty party, and we’ll ask him to go out and accept his punishment.” So they flung their hats toward the door. Seven hats were blown back inside; one went out the door. They pressured the eighth man to go out and accept his punishment, and when he balked, they picked him up and flung him out the door. I’ll bet you all know how the story ends: They had no sooner flung him out the door than the temple collapsed around them.
我是一個講故事的人。	I am a storyteller.
因為講故事我獲得了諾貝爾文學獎。	Telling stories earned me the Nobel Prize for Literature.
我獲獎後發生了很多精彩的故事，這些故事，讓我堅信真理和正義是存在的。	Many interesting things have happened to me in the wake of winning the prize, and they have convinced me that truth and justice are alive and well.
今後的歲月裡，我將繼續講我的故事。	So I will continue telling my stories in the days to come.
謝謝大家！	Thank you all.

國外媒體對莫言獲諾獎的報導	Foreign Media Reports
巴黎-瑞典文學院在週四宣佈諾貝爾文學獎的獲得者為莫言。當這個中國作家在諾貝爾獎組織者聯繫告知他獲得文學獎時，顯得既興奮又震驚。	PARIS — The Swedish Academy announced on Thursday that it had awarded the 2012 Nobel Prize in Literature to Mo Yan, a Chinese author who was said to be “overjoyed and scared” when the Nobel organizers contacted him to say he had won the coveted award.
“通過魔幻與現實的融合，歷史和社會的透視，莫言創造了一個世界其複雜性讓人聯想到威廉·福克納和加西亞 ·瑪律克斯的寫作方式，同時也找到了在中國傳統文學和口頭傳統的一個出發點，”該獎的頒獎這樣報導，引人注目的是在小心的平衡之後可能會中傷其他諾貝爾獎得主。	“Through a mixture of fantasy and reality, historical and social perspectives, Mo Yan has created a world reminiscent in its complexity of those in the writings of William Faulkner and Gabriel García Márquez, at the same time finding a departure point in old Chinese literature and in oral tradition,” the citation for the award declared, striking what seemed a careful balance after campaigns of vilification against other Chinese Nobel laureates.
儘管他的美國讀者是有限的，但是一部依照其小說改編，由張藝謀導演的電影“紅高粱”，是中國最有國際影響力的電影之一，被數以百萬計的人看過。	While his American audience has been limited, a film based on his novel “Red Sorghum” and directed by Zhang Yimou, was one of the most internationally acclaimed Chinese films, seen by millions.
除了小說，莫言也出版過各種題材的短信小說和文章，“作為當代最重要的作家之一他的社會批判主要集中於他的家鄉，”引文說道。	In addition to novels, Mo Yan has published short stories, essays on various topics, and “despite his social criticism is seen in his homeland as one of the foremost contemporary authors,” the citation said.
瑞典皇家科學院的秘書Peter Englaund說道，組織者聯繫他時他表示既興奮又震驚。美聯社報導中補充說道中國嚴格控制國家電臺，同時採取極不尋常的舉措在新聞媒體中及時播出。	When the organizers contacted him, said Peter Englund, the secretary of the Swedish Academy, “he said he was overjoyed and scared,” The Associated Press reported, adding that China’s tightly controlled national television took the highly unusual step of breaking into a newscast to announce the award.
莫言，於1955年出生在中國高密。引文稱他是一個作家，是魔幻現實主義融合了民間故事，歷史和現代。	Mr. Mo was born in 1955 in Gaomi, China. The citation described him as a writer “who with hallucinatory realism merges folk tales, history and the contemporary.”
莫言，是管謨業的筆名。他是農民的兒子，在文化大革命期間離開學校去工作，最開始是在農田，之後是在工廠工作，這都是根據諾貝爾獎的個人介紹。	The name Mo Yan is a pseudonym for Guan Moye. He is the son of farmers who left school during the Cultural Revolution to work, first in agriculture and later in a factory, according to his Nobel biography.
在1976年，他加入了人民解放軍，之後開始學習文學和寫作。他的第一部短篇小說於1981年出版在一個文學期刊之上，根據諾貝爾官網的個人介紹。	In 1976 he joined the People’s Liberation Army and began to study literature and write. His first short story was published in a literary journal in 1981, the biography on the Nobel Web site said.
”在莫言的寫作中充滿著他年輕時的體驗，同時場景設定在出生的地方，“個人簡介中說道，提到了他1987年的小說”紅高粱“于1993年翻譯成英文。	“In his writing Mo Yan draws on his youthful experiences and on settings in the province of his birth,” the biography said, referring to his 1987 novel published in English as “Red Sorghum” in 1993.
他的小說”天堂蒜薹之歌“在1995年被呼籲後在英國出版，同時其他作品被判定為具有顛覆性的，因為他們對當代中國社會的尖銳批判。”	His novel “The Garlic Ballads,” as it was called on its publication in English in 1995, and other works “have been judged subversive because of their sharp criticism of contemporary Chinese society.”
其他作品包括“豐乳肥臀”(1996)，“生死疲勞”(2006)和“檀香刑，”將要於2013年在英國出版。他最新出版的作品“蛙”(2009)闡述了中國實行獨生子女政策的後果。	Other works include “Big Breasts and Wide Hips” (1996), “Life and Death are Wearing Me Out” (2006) and “Sandalwood Death,” to be published in English in 2013. His most recent published work, called “Wa” in Chinese (2009) “illuminates the consequences of China’s imposition of a single-child policy.”
莫言，是被博彩公司認為打破過去十年廣受爭議的歐洲作家的諾貝爾獎壟斷現狀的三個作家之一。	Mr. Mo was one of three writers tipped by bookmakers to break what critics had seen as a preponderance of European winners over the past decade.
獎金獎金800萬瑞典克朗，將近120萬美元。	The prize is worth 8 million Swedish kronor, about $1.2 million.
從1901年起，共產生104位諾貝爾文學獎獲得者，最近的一位是tomas transtromer，一個瑞典詩人，有超過15本詩集，去年稱其“濃縮，透明的圖像，給我們提供接觸現實的全新途徑。”	Since 1901, 104 Nobel literature prizes have been awarded, the most recent to Tomas Transtromer, a Swedish poet, whose more than 15 collections of poetry, the academy said last year, offered “condensed, translucent images” through which “he gives us fresh access to reality.”
日本作家村上春樹被博彩家認為最有可能的獲獎者，但是但是評議小組選擇的獲獎者卻是大家意想之外的，保持了其50年秘密審議的傳統。	The Japanese author Haruki Murakami had been tipped by bookmakers as the most likely winner, but the panel selecting the winner prides itself on its inscrutability, keeping its deliberations secret for 50 years.
1993年，是最近一次美國作家獲諾貝爾文學獎的時間，獲獎者是托妮·莫里森。菲力浦·羅斯一直是熱門的人選但始終沒能獲獎。	The last American writer to win a Nobel in literature was Toni Morrison in 1993. Philip Roth has been a perennial favorite but has not been selected.
諾貝爾委員會在這周已經宣佈了物理、化學和醫學方面的獲得者。挪威諾貝爾委員會將於本週五宣佈2012年諾貝爾和平獎的獲得者，瑞典皇家科學院將於週一宣佈本年度諾貝爾經濟學獎的獲得者。	Nobel committees have announced prizes so far this week in physics, chemistry and medicine. The 2012 Nobel Peace laureate is to be named on Friday by the Norwegian Nobel Committee, and the prize in economics is to be announced on Monday by the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.
BBC：	英國廣播公司
莫言是一位多產的作家，曾發表過許多短篇小說，他的第一部作品於1981年出版。	A prolific author, Mo has published dozens of short stories, with his first work published in 1981.
瑞典皇家科學院稱讚他的作品是“魔幻主義與民俗小說，歷史與現代的完美融合”。	The Swedish Academy praised his work which "with hallucinatory realism merges folk tales, history and the contemporary".
今年57歲的莫言是第一個獲得諾貝爾獎的中國人。2000年,中國出生的高行健曾經獲得諾貝爾文學獎，但是獲獎時，他已經加入法國國籍。	The 57-year-old is the first Chinese resident to win the prize. Chinese-born Gao Xingjian was honoured in 2000, but is a French citizen.
莫言是久負盛名的諾貝爾文學獎第109位獲獎者，去年的諾貝爾文學獎獲獎者是瑞典詩人湯瑪斯·特蘭斯特勒(Tomas Transtroemer)。	Mo is the 109th recipient of the prestigious prize, won last year by Swedish poet Tomas Transtroemer.
諾貝爾獎由諾貝爾基金會主辦，只授予職業作家，該獎項價值800萬瑞典克朗(741，000英鎊)。	Presented by the Nobel Foundation, the award - only given to living writers - is worth 8 million kronor (￡741,000).
莫言原名管謨業，筆名“莫言”，中文是“不說話”的意思。	Born Guan Moye, the author writes under the pen name Mo Yan, which means "don't speak" in Chinese.
莫言在人民解放軍(PLA)當兵時開始寫作，1987年他因一部中國農村題材的作品《紅高粱》而開始受到國際關注。	He began writing while a soldier in the People's Liberation Army (PLA) and received international fame in 1987 for Red Sorghum: A Novel of China.
中國導演張藝謀將莫言的這部作品拍成電影，這是一部講述20世紀20年代和30年代中國東部農村野蠻暴力的中篇小說，莫言本人就成長於中國東部農村。	Made into a film by Chinese director Zhang Yimou, the novella was a tale of the brutal violence in the eastern China countryside where he grew up during the 1920s and 1930s.
瑞典皇家科學院秘書彼得·英葛籣宣佈頒獎典禮將於星期四在斯德哥爾摩舉行。	Secretary of the Swedish Academy, Peter Englund, announced the award in Stockholm on Thursday.
莫言擅長描寫中國舊社會的生活，而不是中國的當代現狀，莫言作品的時間段大多為1911年的革命時期，日本侵略戰爭時期和毛澤東當政的文化大革命時期。	Favouring to write about China's past rather than contemporary issues, the settings for Mo's works range from the 1911 revolution, Japan's wartime invasion and Mao Zedong's Cultural Revolution.
莫言的著名作品包括《酒國》、《生死疲勞》、《豐乳肥臀》。	His other acclaimed works include Republic of Wine, Life And Death Are Wearing Me Out and Big Breasts and Wide Hips.
1995年《豐乳肥臀》發表時，作品中對於情色的描寫以及與中國共產黨的路線相反的階級鬥爭的描寫曾引起很大爭議。	The latter book caused controversy when it was published in 1995 for its sexual content and depicting a class struggle contrary to the Chinese Communist Party line.
在解放軍的干預下，這部作品未獲得出版，雖然它曾多次被盜版。	The author was forced by the PLA to withdraw it from publication although it was pirated many times.
10年之後，這部作品被翻譯成英文，並為他贏得了英仕曼亞洲文學獎的提名。	After it was translated into English a decade later, the book won him a nomination for the Man Asian Literary Prize.
他的最新小說《蛙》描寫中國為進行人口控制而實行的“獨生子女”政策，於去年獲得了茅盾文學獎 - 茅盾文學獎是中國最負盛名的文學獎之一 。	His latest novel, Frog, about China's "one child" population control policy, won the Mao Dun Literature Prize - one of China's most prestigious literature prizes - last year.

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