方法论比本体论重要
The Limit of Critique
韓国語が面白いほど身につく本
神保町书店发现的神奇的书。要是我一开始学韩语的时候有这本书就好了。
强调了很多日语和韩语的共同点，但是对于形变活用没有规律总结，语法的介绍也比较有限，总的来说还是很适合日本人来进行韩语入门的一本书。
其中用图片来加强图片记忆，还有结尾的卡片式词汇分类感觉也做得很好。
素食者
新鲜出炉的诺奖得主韩江。今年早些时候读了她的《植物妻子》，但是其实我不是很喜欢这个翻译，但是直译《我的女人的果实》又没办法体现出来意思。
我给那时候的老师的邮件里写：
I took my notes out and found some comments quite interesting. The Fruit of My Woman actually reminded me of Hana-haki disease, a fictional disease where the victim coughs out pedals until the feeling is returned. And all the figurative connections with vegetation with the human body. Botany and gynaecology use a lot of similar analogies in terms of reproduction.
The idea can also be connected to the Ancient Greek approach of describing ripening of females. In Pindar’s Ninth Pythian, Kyrene will bloom in childbirth and Telesikrates blooms at victory, The metaphor of vegetation links the bride and the groom.
《素食者》是从《植物妻子》拓展而来的，读完之后我觉得更像是后者的前传。神奇的魔幻现实下的家庭里的东亚女性的连接和挣扎。
近来他们之间似乎形成了一种仅靠孩子连接的、不存在其他任何牵绊的同志关系
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他觉得自己快要哭出来了。但不知道这是因为回忆还是友谊，抑或是对于自己即将跨越疆界的恐惧
没过多久，她便醒悟到自己迫切想要从疲惫中拯救出来的人不是别人，而是自己。难道说，她是通过疲惫的他看到了十九岁背井离乡、在没有任何人的帮助下独自闯荡首尔讨生活的自己吗？
“姐……世上所有的树都跟手足一样。”
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那绝不是温暖的言语，更不是安慰和鼓励人心的话。相反的，那是一句冷酷无情、令人恐惧的生命之语。不管她怎么环顾四周，都找寻不到那棵可以接纳自己生命的大树。没有一棵树愿意接受她，它们就像一群活生生的巨兽，顽强而森严地守在原地。
时间不会停止
“在梦里，我们以为那就是全部。但你知道的，醒来后才发现那并不是全部……所以，有一天，当我们醒来的时候……”
救护车行驶在开出祝圣山的最后一个弯道上。她抬起头，看到一只像黑鸢的黑鸟正朝着乌云飞去。夏日的阳光刺眼，她的视线未能跟上那只扇动翅膀的黑鸟。
她安静地吸了一口气，紧盯着路边“熊熊燃烧”的树木，它们就像无数头站立起的野兽，散发着绿光。她的眼神幽暗而执着，像是在等待着回答，不，更像是在表达抗议。
有人跳舞
看到某些章节的时候非常心痛。以前读的东西对于自己来说没有切身的体会，但是有的时候，又只能把自己当作必要的材料。
吮吸
平凡的绝望的母亲
育儿书上说人类的幼崽用这种方式获取母亲的关注，她想这不是获取，这是掠夺，是狂风掀走了房子的屋顶
爱是用来撒娇，用来抚摸，用来亲吻，唯独不是用来解决问题的。在苗苗之前，她对爱的理解就是这样，两情相悦，你来我往，一面索求，一面付出。她没想过母爱居然毫无回报，甚至恩将仇报。哪怕一个微笑也好。
做母亲理应感到喜悦，笼统的、普遍的、出乎天然人性的喜悦，她没有，觉得自己一定是哪里不对劲
莉莉拿着那条手链回忆他，打心底里叹着气，根本没有什么造物弄人，只是自己折腾自己。李远是个好人，好得全无棱角，只剩下一个模糊的柔和的轮廓
无能的父亲
她喜欢安静，李远也是，所以苗苗一哭，李远就躲到一边
永远不醒来。那样的话，整整三个小时，甚至整整一生，不知道该怎么挥霍
遇见李远之前，莉莉完全没想过自己会嫁给这样一个木讷的人。或许就是因为木讷，她才觉得这就是婚姻的样子。
绝望的母亲眼里的孩子的意义：
抱着苗苗，头一次觉得自己不仅是爱她，更是需要她
倾听
父母给她的叮咛不多，这是重复最多的一句。她努力地回想他们还说过哪些话，关于男人、关于爱、关于眼前的情景，她应该怎么办。如果第一次就没有反抗，后面的反抗还有意义吗？
那把刀并没有碰过她的身体，却长久地插在她的心上，结痂了，锈住了，拔不下来
想起来以前读过一篇鍂，如果是这样的开头，还能够谈爱的前提吗。好像以前我也不是很理解。
她说不出所以然。因为你强奸了我，这个清晰的觉悟过了很久才出现。当时她还以为这就叫恋爱，就算不开心，也不能不算爱。
她以为自己在闹情绪。“会过去的。”她对自己说，邱刚是个挺好的人，只是有一点性急。性急是缺点，不能算罪过。慢慢地，她宽宥了他，也放过了自己。
“也不是没有开心的时候。”童童说，“我们俩很谈得来，对事情的看法差不多，他喜欢吃的东西，我也喜欢，他看不惯的同事，渐渐地，我也看不惯。我被他渗透了，变成他的一部分，甚至是他的另一副身体，像两条正在交配的蛇，越来越合拍，”她停了下，“越来越扭曲。”
你说，爱情应该是这样的吗？一个比我年长的女人问我，我答不出来，我只能低下头，看着茶杯里漂浮的水果干，不去看她的脸、她的眼睛、她的嘴巴、她刻上细纹的皮肤、她那种衰老而天真的神情，好像我欠她一个答案
此时此刻无暇去想他，但是既然说到这里，就回答：“想。”恋爱有惯性，我想，恋爱使人变得糊里糊涂。当然，一切都归于爱情，解释就变得很容易了。
我来不及阻止她，告诉她我不感兴趣，不想听，她就说起来了，止不住的话语之河，好像有台古旧的打字机在我的脑袋里有规律地敲打。痛死了，我想，你能不能闭上嘴？我对你那些事毫无兴趣
暴雨内涝
无聊才是最可怕的敌人，掩盖一切幸福，湮没一切拥有，磨平所有的故事和遭遇，它把我变成了所有人，又把所有人归结成一个我。当我看向后视镜的时候，看见一个罪犯的上半张脸。就这还不足以让我回到现实。
雪球
神秘的猫和优等生初恋的故事
她就是有这样的力量，就像一年级开学的那天，我爸把我交给她，让她该打就打，那句话像咒语似的印在我心里，把我爸爸和我的老师连接起来，形成同盟，所有小孩子都属于他们的势力范围，圈在他们的掌心里。她摔死那只猫仿佛是顺理成章的，无论如何都会走到那一步。
我知道我不能怪我妈一辈子，永远恨一个人也是不可能。时间一长，我就发现原来的强烈的爱恨都是偏见，只有日复一日地相处。我长大了，她渐渐地老了，衰退了，时间就自作主张地替我原谅了她
周大夫出现了，让我意识到时间紧迫，说不定脑子一热，我就会恋爱、结婚、生子，永远在这个地方生活下去，像我妈诅咒的那样。她说我没出息、太笨，哪儿也不能去，到了别处，我会弄丢自己，会被人骗，找不到工作。在她的安排下，我进了县城的人民医院，得到一个铁饭碗，这就是我妈设想的最适合我的生活。自从她当着我们的面摔死了小猫，她的权威就变得牢不可破，之后的很多年，我都没办法对她说“不”。
直到那天，她让我搬走，我才意识到不光是我受不了她，她也受不了我，不想再跟我一起生活。我一直觉得是我妈束缚着我，没想到反过来也是一样。我搬走以后，她把房子租了出去，拿着租金和退休金，去南方旅居。在海边，她穿着长到脚踝的花裙子，戴着浅色草帽拍照，从小到大，我没见过她穿裙子，永远是一身深色衣服配一双老气的旧黑皮鞋，原来她还有别的模样，那个美丽女人的模样被一层严肃的坚冰包裹着，现在终于被晒化了——我就是包裹她的那一层冰。她去南方没多久，我就悄悄辞了职，到北京去找孙震。
那些神秘的梦境和感受全是假的，编造出来骗人的，而唯一真实的，就是我害怕平凡，害怕普通，害怕变成一个不值得好奇的人
理想的爱情只是一种想象，而想象这东西，无论如何完整坚实，最终总是通向失落的。
我背起背包，踏出他家的门口，一脚踏进沉甸甸的未知，眼前的世界一下子变得澄澈明净，黑暗中霎时雪亮，仿佛透过雪球的眼睛在看。等有一天，我把一切都看得清清楚楚，不再追求绝对完美的忠诚，也不再渴望被关注、被追逐、被狂热地爱慕，我就回来找他。假如孙震还住在这里，还在等我，那我们就可以坐下来，诚恳地谈一谈爱情
无处可往
回想起来，那些山不是山，是轻飘飘的船，晃晃悠悠的，一竿子荡开就离了岸，离了岸就再也回不了头。
前一片忽明忽暗，清醒地知道自己是醉了，又因为这点清醒感到欣喜，好像原来一直闷在屋子里，突然门窗洞开，天光大亮，风爽快地吹进来了。他
从车顶淌下来的清水像瀑布，也像眼泪，他还记得小时候在老家，见过丧仪上专门雇来替主家哭丧的人，事情一过，立刻喜笑颜开地坐在席面上吃酒，也是排场的一部分。现在那一套是不讲究了，他也不需要谁来替他哭。在干燥的、风和日丽的春天，踩着坚实的水泥地面，周围长满了一丛丛方方正正高高矮矮的楼房，到处明亮无碍，而所有弯曲流动的东西都像眼泪，柔软的眼泪能穿透一切质地，冲破一切表面，皱成一团的塑胶手套、拴狗的铁链、玻璃上待擦干的水渍、丢在水桶里伸展开来的深色毛巾，一切都暗暗地通向乐乐，通向他最后的形状。
虽然没有一个地方属于自己，却处处都去得。走着走着，他渐渐小跑起来，越跑越快，仿佛梦境是一条没有终点的跑道，只要不停地跑下去，就永远不必醒来。
张口结舌
关于死亡的描述她只在童话书里看过，坏人死了，魔鬼死了，巫婆死了，令人快慰的完满结局，她还没见过别样的死亡。那个傍晚，擎天柱之死让琳琳体会到另一种死亡。她站在邻居的窗外，听不清他到底说了些什么，她很想知道那些遗言，那些说出来却没听见的话，一定是真心话。即使现在很容易就能找到那一集，看一千遍，也补不回那一天的遗憾，种下一粒结结巴巴的种子。后来，又一枚红灯亮起来，这次是了，她随着家人一道，朝终点走去。
星期六
如何看待和理解，对于残疾的家人。其实对于年幼的孩子，对于年长的老人也是相似的课题。
他们只会用日复一日的活着告诉我，让我明白日子应该这样过，谁也不能放弃谁。那些早就流逝的时间和人影、发生过的事情，并不能一笔勾销。多年后，在一个平静到近乎幸福的时刻，我想到的是我哥哥。
我们未来的生活，阳光、草地、绿萌、欢快奔跑的孩子，而我哥哥远远地，用那双混浊的眼睛看着我们，就像看着我爸爸死在面前一样。全世界落进他的眼睛，如同落进黑洞，瞬间归于沉寂。他什么也不会说。
那承诺不算承诺，我想，只是一个美好的愿望。我没撒谎，当时我真的那么想。我妈妈的意志随火化，随风散了，我有了我自己的生活，不再觉得愧疚，不再介意一个完不成的诺言——它像根风筝线似的牵住我
娃娃
青春疼痛，但是真的痛到了。
十几岁的少女往往有种纯真而原始的敏感，风、云、日、月、星，好像都与她的心情有关，这些朦胧的诗情随着年龄增长，会渐渐地钝化，此时此刻，小蕙觉得这枚大月亮是属于她一个人
小蕙觉得，妈妈这辈子除了考上好大学值得夸耀，别的什么都没了，没完没了地说自己当年。才四十多岁，就只剩下“当年”。
女人像她，没了爱，就想起来追求尊严，好像尊严是个生活的备胎，顺心如意的时候，就想不到它。
前夜
机器人意识觉醒的故事，却又不一样。
爱和恨并不是人类最重要的情感。愧疚才是，愧疚比爱恨更坚实。”
乔粱望着她，像望着一张他看不懂的画，或者一件形义模糊的艺术装置。机器人是精致完善的工具。如今，他们的原始模型像古猿人的头骨一样陈列在博物馆里，如同人类是自然的荣耀，他们也是人类的荣耀。他想起大学课堂上的争论，争得面红耳赤，却没有一句话触及核心，使机器人成为人的，与让人成为人的，其实是同一种东西。从前人类制造人形的偶像，现在又制造出人形的工具，是人类自己主动模糊了界限，面对神像他们既崇拜又防备，自知经不起拷问——面对机器人也是一样，箭头最终还是掉转回来，指向自己。
后记 找到小说的房子
很喜欢这篇后记，写出了很多我喜欢文学的理由，不只是因为那些不切实际的幻想，而是对人性的窥探，对世界的理解，对社会的洞察。
我喜欢“生产”这个词胜过“创作”，生产有一种热气腾腾的现场感，充满杂音，有原料和出品，有启动和停止，有疲惫和休息。相比创作，生产是一种人人都能理解的、没有披上玄妙外衣的朴实描述，它能够驱散迷雾，确定秩序，而不会制造混乱与失序。在过去的几年里，我靠着写小说来建立一点秩序感和确定感。当生活本身变得难以理解、不可捉摸，文学反而成为一个稳定的锚点
故事不是逃避之地，而是一道长长的楼梯，通往更深处的现实。写作就像一个人擎着烛台，拾级而下，直到火光熄灭，你知道要结束了，不能再往下走了。在那个当下、那个时刻，能说的只有这么多，界限就在那里，除了返身而上没有别的选择。合上书本，人总要回到无处可逃的光明之中。这些故事其实比生活本身更灰暗，里面一些泥塑土捏的人，一些光滑的影子，一些曲折和一些巧合，从现实到虚构的生产过程使它们失去了真实的纹路和皱褶，成为一些标本，印在书本上，摆在展览柜里，没什么不同。如今文学不再是日常生活的必需品，甚至连装饰品也算不上，而是孤寂冷清的展品，偶尔有几双眼睛盯住它，试图透过虚构的故事去看见一些道理、得出一些结论，其实不会。读小说只会越读越迷失，它总是通向更偏僻更幽黑的地方，而我们永远可以用自己的烛火去照亮一点点。
假如有一天，什么都靠不住、什么都不作数了，我们的所学、所听、所信都被推倒了，被否定了，还有那么多读过的故事可以回顾，也是一种温暖。某种意义上，虚构是最坚实的，虚构无人可以推翻，比现实存活得更久，总是留在原地，带着彼时彼刻的一些印记，时代的、地理的、快乐的、悲伤的、闪闪发光或者黯淡无华的……故事会变老但是不会变旧，面对新的读者，它们永远是新鲜的样貌
Ancient Athens on Five Drachmas a day
an interesting book introducing the life in ancient Athens. Looks of inllustration and funny topics.
Drachmas = one of the units of currency in Athens
8 chalkoi = 1 obol
6 obols = 1 drachma
100 drachmas = 1 mina
60 minas = 1 talent
II THE PIRAEUS - PIRAEAN PEOPLE
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The demesioi are the upper echelon of slavery.
Ill ORIENTATION - WHERE TO STAY
Xenia is the Greek term hospitality which should be reciprocated for hospitality, and it embeds within it a when the host visits the guest’s city.
IV ATHENIAN PASTIMES - COCK-FIGHTS AND TAVERNS
…ably won’t get a one- to-one exchange for your drachmas, not least because Athenian money¬ changers understand that ‘drachma’ comes from the Greek verb dratto - ‘to grasp’. Athenian drachmas (known as ‘owls’) are famously the hardest currency in the world.
V MEET THE ATHENIANS
It was Perikles who decided that those allied to Athens in the fight against the Persians should keep paying their con¬ tributions for the war, even though that war is now over.
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He is richest who is content with least. Contentment is nature’s wealth Every man should marry. A good wife will make him happy, a bad wife will make him a philosopher
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His family is writing not to excuse or glorify the past, related to Cimon, a noted Athenian but simply to say what happened, and as politician of the recent past, and the far as possible to explain it.
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The first thing to note about Athenian democracy is that it is controversial.
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Demos means ‘the people of the masses’, and kratos means ‘power’ in the most naked sense so ‘democracy’ is actually a rather negative term with connotations of‘mob rule’.
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Physically the Pnyx is not much to look at - it is a south-facing hillside with a slope which allows people to look towards the bema, the flat-stone speak¬ ers’ platform, at the base of the hill.
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Yet this dusty slope is the site of the world’s first regular democratic assembly, and as such is one of the most significant patches of land on the planet.
VI ACTIVITIES
They are skilfully crafted to produce an outpouring of suppressed emotion (katharsis) from the viewers, whilst the feeling of pity and sympathy evoked by a character (pathos) has given later ages the word ‘pathetic’.
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Satyrs are semi-human creatures with an uninhibited lust for sex and wine. They are natural companions to Dionysos, and the plays that feature these mythical beings are one of the oldest forms of Greek theatre.
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Although some of the most memor¬ able figures in Greek tragedy are women (for example Medea or Antigone), Athenian women do not appear on the public stage. Their parts are played by men, who easily carry off the imitation because the size of the theatre does not lend itself to subtle gestures or facial expressions. In fact facial expression is impossible, because the actors wear masks depicting the stock type of character they are playing…
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Having had their emotions wrung out by the dramatics of the morning, the audience retire for a fortifying lunch and a beaker or two of wine to prepare them selves for the afternoon’s event, the comedy.
there are five on offer during the festi¬ val, and the names to watch for are top playwrights Kratinus, Eupolis and (later) Aristophanes.
VII A CITY OF GODS
Let us consider Hephaestos, god of pair in a golden bed and brought the craftsmen and the forge.
The starts blossoming with a high priest and priestess of blood of sacrificial pigs new season, full of fragrant Demeter reveal the cont¬ mixed with seed grain flowers, flowers of every ents of the hiera, objects leads to abundant crops.) sort, then is the…
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they deal with the return of life from the dark, of death and rebirth, and reunion with loved ones - but those who know do not tell.
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For them, a priest is a religious technician, a man who can instruct on the proper forms of sacrifice, and tell you the appropriate time of the month for rituals.
Those wanting special favours from the gods, or from lesser powers and spirits, need to consult a witch.
Redouté
ルドゥーテとバラの物語
A beautiful collection found in book fair.
The Pleasure of the Text
巴特的文字还是那么性感又理性。
It is not the reader’s “person” that is necessary to me, it is this site: the possibility of a dialectics of desire, of an unpredictabil ity of bliss
You address yourself to me so that I may read you, but I am nothing to you except this address; in your eyes, I am the substitute for nothing, for no figure (hardly that of the mother); for you I am neither a body nor even an object (and I couldn’t care less: I am not the one whose soul demands recognition), but merely a field, a vessel for expansion.
Thus every writer’s motto reads: mad I cannot be, sane / do not deign to be, neurotic I am.
Neither culture nor its destruction is erotic; it is the seam between them, the fault, the flaw, which becomes so. The pleasure of the text is like that untenable, impossible, purely novelistic instant so relished by Sade’s libertine when he manages to be hanged and then to cut the rope at the very moment of his orgasm, his bliss…
this is a far more intellectual pleasure than the other: an Oedipal pleasure (to denude, to know, to learn the origin and the end), if it is true that every narrative (every unveiling of the truth) is a staging of the (absent, hidden, or hypostatized) father—which would explain the solidarity of narrative forms, of family struc tures, and of prohibitions of nudity, all collected in our culture in the myth of Noah’s sons covering his nakedness.
Read slowly, read all of a novel by Zola, and the book will drop from your hands; read fast, in snatches, some modern text, and it becomes opaque, inaccessible to your pleasure: you want something to happen and nothing
for what happens to the language does not happen to the discourse: what “happens,” what “goes away,” the seam of the two edges, the interstice of bliss, occurs in the volume of the languages, in the uttering, not in the sequence of utterances: not to devour, to gobble, but to graze, to browse scrupulously, to rediscover—in order to read today’s writers—the leisure of bygone readings: to be aristocratic readers.
Text of pleasure: the text that contents, fills, grants euphoria; the text that comes from culture and does not break with it, is linked to a comfortable practice of reading.
Text of bliss: the text that imposes a state of loss, the text that discomforts (perhaps to the point of a certain I boredom), unsettles the reader’s historical, cultural, psy chological assumptions, the consistency of his tastes, values, memories, brings to a crisis his relation with language.
…he enjoys the consistency of his selfhood (that is his pleasure) and seeks its loss (that is his bliss). He is a subject splitJwice over, doubly perverse.conflict is always coded, aggression is merely the most worn-out of languages…
But if I believe on the contrary that pleasure and bliss are parallel forces, that they cannot meet, and that between them there is more than a struggle: an incommunication, then I must certainly believe that history, our history, is not peaceable and perhaps not even intelligent, that the text of bliss always rises out of it like a scandal (an irregularity), that it is always the trace of a cut, of an assertion (and not of a flowering), and that the subject of this history (this historical subject that I am among others), far from being possibly pacified by combining …
And even so, modernity can do nothing: the exchange recuperates everything, acclimating what appears to deny it: it seizes upon the text, puts it in the circuit of useless but legal expenditures: and behold, the text is back in a collective economy (even if only psychological): it is the text’s very uselessness that is useful, as a potlatch…
emotion is even, perhaps, the slyest of losses, for it contradicts the general rule that would assign bliss a fixed form: strong, violent, crude
It can’t be helped: boredom is not simple. We do not escape boredom (with a work, a text) with a gesture of impatience or rejection.The only survivors are the systems (fictions, jargons) inventive enough to produce a final figure, the one which brands the adversary with a half-scientific, half-ethical name, a kind of turnstile that permits us simultaneously to describe, to explain, to condemn, to reject, to recuperate the enemy, in a word: to make him pay…
How can a text, which consists of language, be outside languages?
The writer is always on the blind spot of systems, adrift; he is the joker in the pack, a mana, a zero degree, the dummy in the bridge game: necessary to the meaning (the battle), but himself deprived of fixed mean ing; his place, his (exchange) value, varies according to the movements of history, the tactical blows of the struggle: he is asked all and/or nothing…
I savor the sway of formulas, the reversal of origins, the ease which brings the anterior text out of the subsequent one. I recognize that Proust’s work, for myself at least, is the reference work, the general mathesis, the mandala of the entire literary cos mogony
every old language is immediately compromised, and every language becomes old once it is repeated. Now, encratic language (the language produced and spread under the protection of power) is statutorily a language of repetition; all official institutions of language are repeating machines
humiliated repetition: content, ideological schema, the blurring of contradictions—these are repeated, but the superficial forms are varied: always new books, new programs, new films, news items, but always the same meaning.
the word can be erotic on two opposing conditions, both excessive: if it is extravagantly repeated, or on the contrary, if it is unexpected, succulent in its newness
Book Review - Fox and Hedgehog
梦幻联动，全校最喜欢的古典学老师给我最喜欢的古典学作家写的长书评！
The myths of Anne Carson
Much of her work is classified by booksellers and publishers as poetry because they have to put it somewhere, although her work usually has deeper ties to the essay
The experience of being a woman … is almost entirely absent in Carson’s work
The experience of painful desire, she contends in Eros, has been the same for all people in all times and places—and it also always had something essential to do with writing and with art in general
主要的批判是，没有充足的历史背景和理论发展跟进。
In addition to ignoring literary history, Carson is uninterested in contemporary thinkers who might appear to have some insight into the nature of human desire
还有就是对她的“同人创作”行为的批判。
In her numerous translations and “translations” of ancient Greek tragedy, Carson frequently inserts anachronistic references and creative ri s on the original. Often, these variations and departures will be invisible or inaudible to someone who has not read the original;
Where the crafted persona of the younger Carson was often too much inside her own head to worry about politics, this late-era Carson knows that there is a price for everything, including her own devotion to beauty and the self
然后就是对于内容质量本身的批判：
Carson uses writing to find out what she thinks; but the means of production do not always need to be preserved in the finished product. You can throw the ladder away after you make the climb
挺有意思的对谈：Writer Anne Carson: Life is Not Fair | Louisiana Channel
发现了一个叫作情感研究的豆瓣书单，收集了很多偏学院派的相关著作，有基本读过的，也有许多非常感兴趣的，浏览了一下，了解到了情感理论这个课题，也往自己的书单里加入了好几本书。也认识了一些新名字，比如Byung-Chul Han / 韩炳哲。
看到Massbaud我就恨自己读不下去。
Água Viva
读这本书的感觉有点像在读This Is How You Lose the Time War，抛开剧情，多了一些意识流和哲理，关于爱，关于生命，关于生活。又有点想起Anthropology of Water，想起许多个因为流体力学辗转反侧的夜晚（没有，其实学完会很累很好睡），思考流动的人生思考未来的时刻。
Água Viva means“living water,”
I’m still afraid to move away from logic because I fall into instinct and directness, and into the future: the invention of today is the only way to usher in the future
Life and death
A new era, this my own, and it announces me right away. Am I brave enough? For now I am: because I come from the suffering afar, I come from the hell of love but now I am free of you. I come from afar—from a weighty ancestry. I who come from the pain of living. And I no longer want it. I want the vibration of happiness. I want the impartiality of Mozart. But I also want inconsistency. Freedom? it’s my final refuge, I forced myself to freedom and I bear it not like a talent but with heroism: I’m heroically free. And I want the flow.
Ah living is so uncomfortable. Everything pinches: the body demands, the spirit doesn’t stop, living is like being tired and not being able to sleep—living is bothersome. You can’t walk naked either in body or in spirit.
woe is me, who dies so much.
We—faced with the scandal of death.
Do I not have a plot to my life? for I am unexpectedly fragmentary. I am piecemeal. My story is living. And I have no fear of failure. Let failure annihilate me, I want the glory of falling. My crippled angel who contorts all elusive, my angel who fell from the heavens to the hell where he lives savoring evil.
Is my fresh desire to live me and to live you the very tessitura of life?
I am rudely alive. I am leaving—says death without adding that he’s taking me along. And I shiver in panting breath because I must go with him. I am death. Death takes place in my very being—how can I explain to you? It’s a sensual death. Like a dead person I walk through the high grass in the greenish light of its blades
I live from an underlying layer of feelings: I am barely alive.
I’ll tell you a secret: life is deadly. I’ll have to interrupt everything to tell you this: death is the impossible and intangible. Death is just future to such an extent that there are those who cannot bear it and commit suicide. It’s as if life said the following: and there simply was no following. Only the waiting colon. We keep this secret mutely to conceal that every instant is deadly.
“X”—I bathe in that this. It’s unpronounceable. All I do not know is in “X.” Death? death is “X.” But much life too for life is unpronounceable. “X” that shakes within me and I fear its pitch: it vibrates like the string of a cello, a tense string that when plucked emits pure electricity, without melody. The unpronounceable instant. An other sensibility is what becomes aware of “X.”
Order
I want the inconclusive. I want the profound organic disorder that nevertheless hints at an underlying order. The great potency of potentiality
But now I think things are happening. That is: I’m going in. I mean: into the mystery. I myself mysterious and inside the core in which I move swimming, protozoan
It suddenly occurred to me that you don’t need order to live. There is no pattern to follow and the pattern itself doesn’t even exist: I am born.
Freedom
I’m a little frightened. For I don’t know where my freedom will lead me. It is neither arbitrary nor libertine. But I am unbound.
I’m alive. But I feel that I have yet to reach my limits, borders with what? without borders, the adventure of dangerous freedom. But I take risks, I live taking risks. I’m full of acacias swaying yellow, and I who have barely started my journey, I start it with a sense of tragedy, guessing toward which lost ocean my steps of life are leading. And madly I take control of the recesses of myself, my ravings suffocate me with so much beauty. I am before, I am almost, I am never. And all of this I won when I stopped loving you.
I am giving freedom to you. First I rip the sack of fluid. Then I cut the umbilical cord. And you are alive on your own account.
And when I am born, I become free. That is the foundation of my tragedy.
I hear the hollow boom of time. It’s the world deafly forming. If I can hear that is because I exist before the formation of time. “I am” is the world. World without time. My consciousness now is light and it is air. Air has neither place nor time. Air is the non-place where everything will exist
And I plan nothing in my intuitive work of living: I work with the indirect, the informal and the unforeseen.
I want to have the freedom to say unconnected things as a deep way of touching you. Only the erring attracts me, and I love the sin, the flower of the sin.
The act of seeing is ineffable. And sometimes what is seen is also ineffable. And that’s how it is with a certain kind of thinking-feeling that I’ll call “freedom,” just to give it a name. Real freedom—as an act of perception—has no form
Truth
I feel that I know some truths. Which I already foresee. But truths have no words. Truths or truth? I’m not going to speak of the God, He is my secret
卡森也提到过的问题：如何翻译沉默
How to translate the silence of the real encounter between the two of us? So hard to explain: I looked straight at you for a few instants. Such moments are my secret. There was what’s called perfect communion. I call it an acute state of happiness. I’m terribly lucid and it seems I’m reaching a higher plane of humanity. Or of unhumanity—the it.
My frightened truth is that I was always yours alone and didn’t know it. Now I know: I’m alone. I and my freedom that I don’t know how to use. Great responsibility of solitude. Whoever isn’t lost doesn’t know freedom and love it. As for me, I own up to my solitude that sometimes falls into ecstasy as before fireworks. I am alone and must live a certain intimate glory that in solitude can become pain. And the pain, silence. I keep its name secret. I need secrets in order to live.
Writing
这句话太太太深入人心了。
What am I doing in writing to you? trying to photograph perfume.
The words are lacking. But I refuse to invent new ones: those that already exist must say what can be said and what is forbidden. And I can sense whatever is forbidden. If I have the strength. Beyond thought there are no words: it is itself. My painting has no words: it is beyond thought. In this land of the is-itself I am pure crystalline ecstasy. It is itself. I am myself. You are yourself.
I write to you because I don’t understand myself
The dense jungle of words thickly envelops what I feel and live, and transforms everything I am into some thing of mine that remains outside me. Nature is enveloping: it entangles me entirely and is sexually alive, just that: alive. I too am ferociously alive—and I lick my snout like a tiger who has just devoured a deer.
profound joy: the secret ecstasy. I know how to invent a thought. I feel the commotion of novelty. But I am well aware that what I write is only a tone.
We will meet this afternoon. And I won’t even talk to you about this that I’m writing and which contains what I am and which I give to you as a present though you won’t read it. You will never read what I’m writing. And when I’ve noted down my secret of being—I shall throw it away as if into the sea. I’m writing you because you can’t accept what I am. When I destroy my notes on the instants, will I return to my nothing from which I extracted an everything? I must pay the price. The price of someone who has a past that is only renewed with passion in the strange present. When I think of what I already lived through it seems to me I was shedding my bodies along the paths
Look at me and love me. No: you look at yourself and love yourself. That’s right.
What I’m writing to you goes on and I am bewitched.
Everything comes to an end but what I’m writing to you goes on. Which is good, very good. The best is not yet written. The best is between the lines.
Miscellaneous
Waiting is feeling voracious about the future. One day you said you loved me. I pretend to believe it and live, from day to day, in joyful love. But remembering with longing is like saying farewell once again.
What is a mirror? It’s the only invented material that is natural. Whoever looks at a mirror, whoever manages to see it without seeing himself, whoever understands that its depth consists of being empty, whoever walks inside its transparent space without leaving the trace of his own image upon it—that somebody has understood its mystery of thing. For that to happen one must surprise it when it’s alone, when it’s hanging in an empty room, without forgetting that the finest needle before it can transform it into the simple image of a needle, so sensitive is the mirror in its quality of lightest reflection, only image and not the body. Body of the thing.
Nature: that of the inviolability of things. Relation to people: we look at ourselves in the mirror on the inside of the door, we always look at ourselves in an inconvenient light because the wardrobe is never in the right place: awkward, it stands wherever it fits, always huge, hunchbacked, shy and clumsy, unaware how to be more discreet, for it has too much presence. A wardrobe is enormous, intrusive, sad, kind.
what can I do if you are not touched by my defects, whereas I loved yours
I was alone. Yours alone. I write to no one and a riff is being made that doesn’t exist. I unglued myself from me.
Thursday is a day transparent as an insect’s wing in the light. Just as Monday is a compact day.
But I denounce. I denounce our weakness, I denounce the maddening horror of dying—and I respond to all this infamy with—exactly this that now will be written—and I respond to all this infamy with joy
Song of Achilles
补课一下先（请上AI）：
Briseis and Achilles
- Captive and Prize: Briseis is a captive woman awarded to Achilles as a prize of honor during the Trojan War.
- Conflict: When Agamemnon takes Briseis from Achilles, it causes Achilles to feel deeply insulted and leads him to withdraw from the battle, which has severe implications for the Greek forces.
- Emotional Bond: Their relationship represents more than just a prize; it develops into a bond that reflects Achilles’ vulnerability and humanity.
Achilles and Patroclus
- Close Companionship: Patroclus is Achilles’ closest companion and friend. Their relationship is often interpreted as one of deep friendship or possibly romantic love.
- Impact of Briseis: Patroclus encourages Achilles to return to battle after Briseis is taken, emphasizing the importance of honor and pride in their warrior culture.
- Tragic Consequence: When Patroclus goes into battle wearing Achilles’ armor, he is killed by Hector. This event propels Achilles back into the fight, driven by rage and a desire for revenge.
Process of the Trojan War
- The Judgment of Paris:
- The war’s origins lie in a beauty contest among the goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite. Paris, a Trojan prince, is chosen to judge the contest. Each goddess offers him a bribe, and he ultimately chooses Aphrodite, who promises him the love of Helen, the most beautiful mortal woman.
- Abduction of Helen:
- Helen, married to Menelaus, the king of Sparta, runs away with Paris to Troy. This act prompts Menelaus to seek revenge, leading to the formation of a Greek alliance.
- Gathering the Greek Forces:
- Agamemnon, Menelaus’ brother and king of Mycenae, calls upon the Greek heroes to join him in retrieving Helen. This includes notable warriors like Achilles, Odysseus, and Ajax.
- Siege of Troy:
- The Greeks lay siege to Troy, which is well-fortified. The war consists of numerous battles, heroic feats, and significant losses on both sides.
- Key Events:
- Achilles’ Withdrawal: After a dispute with Agamemnon over Briseis, Achilles withdraws from battle, significantly impacting the Greek efforts.
- Patroclus’ Death: Achilles’ close companion, Patroclus, dons Achilles’ armor and enters battle. He is killed by Hector, which drives Achilles back into the fight seeking revenge.
- Hector’s Death: Achilles kills Hector in a climactic duel, symbolizing the turning point of the war.
- The Fall of Troy:
- The war concludes with the Greeks using the famous ruse of the Trojan Horse, a large wooden structure hiding soldiers. The Trojans bring it into the city, leading to their downfall.
Important Characters
- Achilles:
- The greatest Greek warrior, known for his strength and rage. His conflict with Agamemnon is central to the story.
- Agamemnon:
- Role: Agamemnon is the king of Mycenae and the leader of the Greek forces during the Trojan War.
- Character: He is portrayed as a powerful but often arrogant leader, whose decisions are driven by a sense of honor and authority. His conflict with Achilles is central to the plot.
- Actions: Agamemnon’s decision to seize Briseis from Achilles leads to significant tension and conflict within the Greek camp, showcasing his flaws and the consequences of pride.
- Fate: Agamemnon’s character arc continues beyond the “Iliad,” with his eventual return home marked by tragedy, as he is murdered by his wife, Clytemnestra.
- Hector:
- Role: Hector is a Trojan prince and the greatest warrior of Troy in Homer’s “Iliad.”
- Character: He is known for his nobility, bravery, and sense of duty, fighting to defend his city and family against the Greek invaders.
- Family: Hector is the son of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy. He is married to Andromache and has a young son, Astyanax.
- Fate: Hector’s story is marked by his valiant efforts in battle, but he ultimately faces Achilles, leading to his tragic death. His death is a pivotal moment in the epic, symbolizing the fall of Troy.
- Helen:
- The catalyst for the war, her abduction by Paris leads to the Greek coalition against Troy.
- Paris:
- The Trojan prince who abducts Helen, leading to the conflict.
- Odysseus:
- A cunning Greek hero known for his intellect. He plays a crucial role in devising the Trojan Horse strategy.
- Patroclus:
- Achilles’ closest companion, whose death prompts Achilles to rejoin the battle.
- Andromache:
- Hector’s wife, representing the personal losses endured during the war.
- Priam:
- The king of Troy, father of Hector and Paris, who embodies the tragedy of war.
Summary
The Trojan War is a tale of love, honor, and tragedy, featuring a rich tapestry of characters whose stories intertwine in a conflict that has captivated audiences for centuries. The themes of heroism, fate, and the consequences of pride resonate throughout the narrative.
Achilles’ death is not depicted in detail in Homer’s “Iliad,” but later sources provide accounts of how he meets his end. Here’s a summary of the key points regarding his death:
The Cause of Achilles’ Death
- Prophecy: It is foretold that Achilles will die young, and various myths suggest he will fall in battle.
- Paris: Achilles is ultimately killed by Paris, the Trojan prince. While Paris is not known for his combat skills, he is aided by the god Apollo.
- The Vulnerability: Achilles is famously invulnerable except for his heel, where his mother, Thetis, held him when she dipped him in the River Styx. This tender spot becomes known as “Achilles’ heel.”
- The Fatal Shot: According to later traditions, Paris shoots an arrow guided by Apollo, striking Achilles in his heel, leading to his death.
Aftermath
- Legacy: Achilles’ death marks a significant moment in the Trojan War, symbolizing the fall of a great hero and the inevitability of fate.
- Impact on the Greeks: His death prompts further chaos among the Greek forces and contributes to the eventual fall of Troy.
Achilles remains a central figure in discussions of heroism and mortality in Greek mythology, with his story serving as a cautionary tale about pride and vulnerability.
Apollo’s assistance to Paris in the death of Achilles is rooted in several key factors in Greek mythology:
1. Divine Favor:
- Apollo is one of the Olympian gods who supports the Trojans in the war. His allegiance is partly due to his anger at the Greeks and their actions during the war, particularly Agamemnon’s disrespect towards his priest, Chryses.
2. Retribution:
- Achilles had killed many Trojans, including Apollo’s favorite warrior, Hector. By helping Paris kill Achilles, Apollo seeks to avenge Hector’s death and punish Achilles for his brutality.
3. Paris’ Role:
- Paris is often portrayed as less honorable and capable than other warriors, making Apollo’s intervention crucial. The god’s support helps balance the scales against the formidable Achilles.
4. Fate and Destiny:
- In Greek mythology, the gods often intervene in human affairs to fulfill prophecies or destinies. Achilles’ death was foretold, and Apollo’s guidance of Paris’s arrow helps fulfill that prophecy.
Summary
Apollo’s involvement in Achilles’ death highlights the complex relationships between gods and mortals in mythology, showcasing themes of divine intervention, vengeance, and the inexorable nature of fate.
从同人文的角度，其实还是可圈可点的，尤其最后的情感起伏，即使早已知道了结局，但是还是会被悲剧的结尾打动。Patroclus, Achilles和Breidis之间的关系尤为感动，Breidis并不是单纯被物化和象征化的，而是有声音有自己想法的。
The voices of the dead were said to have the power to make the living mad
It was almost like tears, in how swiftly it came. But it was neither of those, buoyant where they were heavy, bright where they were dull
It’s you,” I said, grinning foolishly.
He looked up, and there was bright pleasure in his eyes.
“I know,” he said.
Mycenae, from the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus
Time folded in on itself, closed over me, buried me. Outside my window, the moon moved through her shapes and came up full again.
For the first time in all his life, he is not fast enough. The god catches the blow, and throws it violently aside. Achilles stumbles. It is so slight, just the smallest lurch off-balance, that I almost do not see it. But the god does. He lunges forward, vicious and victorious, in the pause, the small hitch of time that the stumble has made. The wood swings down in a killing arc.
He should have known better; I should have known. Those feet never stumbled, not once, in all the time I knew them. If a mistake had come, it would not be there, from the delicate bones and curving arches. Achilles has baited his hook with human failure, and the god has leapt for it.
看完就特别想读Iliad，但是感觉又想要先做好功课。看着书单里那些一直“读不完”的书——追忆似水年华、奥德赛、伊利亚特，但是也不会去删掉，因为感觉自己一定是会读的，但是还没有到时候。之前读不下去《荷马史诗中的生与死》就是因为读得不够。要读的东西太多了。
IN THE DARKNESS, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.
手头上还有一本古典学的 Robert Graves的I, Claudius，还有一本语言学相关的Language Myths，都很干，看完没有什么情感波澜的，读起来就平平无奇。
十亿美元分子
讲福泰的创业历程，比想象得有趣。
另外一本《仿制药的真相》翻译比这本差远了。
第一部分 故事
FK－506属 于日本的藤泽制药公司（FujisawaPharmaceuticalsCompany），最近刚刚开始临床 试验。FK－506是一种强力的免疫抑制剂，能使机体暂时失去部分免疫力。免 疫抑制在移植中至关重要，因为患者过分活跃的免疫细胞会摧毁供体器官，而 FK-506似乎能很好地阻止排异反应。但这也许仅是FK－506的部分功能。
小型研究性药企一般无力承担药物开发的全部费用，因此基因研究所在1985 年将EPO的专利出让给日本的中外制药（Chugai Pharmaceutical Company）。中外制药是一家新兴的日本药企，他们雄心勃勃，希望登上世界舞台。
笑死了老朋友中外。
奥德里奇在百健就与日本公司打过交道。他认为这是一次很有价值的会 面一—不是因为说了些什么，而是得看谁在说。跟日本公司打交道，一般总是 要从初级员工开始，然后经由他们逐级上报。但是永山能直接向董事会汇报。 永山深得中外制药董事长上野公夫（KimioUyeno）的信任。上野是中外制药创 始人的儿子，这位创始人将中外制药从一个卖解酒药的作坊发展为崛起的商业 帝国。奥德里奇觉得如果最后要和中外制药合作，单这次会面就让他们节约了 一年到一年半的时间。
故事不能太学术，投资者从中最想得到的是信心。
变的。但现在，他的工作就是销售。在他看来，销售是一门极难掌握、充满矛 盾、精进之路永无止尽的艺术。 “跟别人，尤其是跟一群人说话时，你就要制造一种幻觉，”他几个月之后 说，“你要让每个人都觉得你在单独跟他说话。你要在脑海中想象你只在跟一 个人说话。你要让他们每个人都觉得他好像舒服地坐在包厢中看一场戏，而每 句戏文都是专门为他精心准备的。”
葛兰素有钱有经验，是个强有力的伙伴，更可能推动一款新药上市。但他们跟 默沙东一样，觉得基于结构设计药物不过是筛选十亿美元分子这件大事中的点 缀。不管福泰做什么，他们都会指手画脚；而福泰的任何成果，他们都会毫不犹 豫地夺走。他们还可能将福泰当作一个生物技术服务公司，等拿到想要的信息 后，就可能把福泰丢开。葛兰素会主导合作，最终，“设计药物”的概念或许仅会 出现在年报中，而不能真正产出新药。 而中外制药很看重基于结构设计药物的理念，视为未来发现新药的关键， 他们想趁福泰做大前赶快下注。他们不只想要数据和药物，还要技术和概念。 他们会像传统日本公司一样整个儿买下福泰，然后让博格放手去做，去攀登科 学的巅峰。这也是中外制药确保自己成功最好的办法。
纳维亚担心艾滋病可能会消灭整个人类。这不是疯人吃语，但对制药界来 说，艾滋病要么是无关紧要的，要么就是天方夜谭。在制药界看来，疾病首先不 是被当作一种种疾病，而是被视为一个个市场。制药界在1990年冬天一致认 为，抗艾滋病药物难有进展，大部分进人该领域的公司都会失败
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如果青霉素和链霉素是奇迹，可的松就是玄学，从没有一种药物能像可的 松般治疗各种可怕的慢性绝症，而且这一神迹有影像记录。
虽然可的松依然是有史以来合成路线最复杂的商业化化合物，但至少可 以批量生产了。
博格从见闻中衡量着日本的现实与自己的期望之间的距离。1990年的日本 药企仿佛是1941年美国药企的缩影：整体属于二流，但几家公司正在努力赶超。 他们就像蒂什勒和默沙东在20世纪30年代合成维生素时那样，一边进口高新技 术，一边吃透现有的工艺。FK－506这个潜在的重磅炸弹就是完全由日本公司筛 选出来的。日本政府也在1980年宣布重点支持药物研发。
日清（日本最大的制面公司）的研究中心时，他们被吓到了。三个穿着白衬衫、黄 裤子、白鞋子的科学家陪着他们走进黑色大理石坟墓般的大厅，匆匆穿过一尘 不染的化学实验室，里面只有一个技术员在摆弄装着黄色和粉色液体的烧瓶。
第二部分 竞赛
“生物化学家，”根据传统定义，“就是对着生物学家谈化学，对着化学家谈生物，互相之间则讨论女人的人。”
笑晕
就像伍德沃德一样，他也在寻找可以同时促进科学与事业的分子。当时最受瞩 目的分子是一种蟑螂的信息素：美洲酮B（Periplanone-B）。亿万年来，雌 性蟑螂都依靠这种催情的信息素使雄性蟑螂为爱癫狂。科学家猜想可以利用 这种信息素将蟑螂引入有杀虫剂的陷阱中，于是他们花了数十年来提取这种信 息素。在一次著名的尝试中，一位荷兰教授在7年时间内饲养了75000只未受 孕的雌性蟑螂，一共获得了仅仅200微克的活性信息素。显然，只有依靠合成，于，在1983年的平安夜，合成完成了。这个分子是如此的强效，几飞克（1克的 千万亿分之一）就足以让半打雄性蟑螂陷人自我毁灭的性高潮：蟑螂们用后足 立了起来，疯狂地扑打着它们的翅膀。15秒之后，它们的触须断了，腿了，翅 膀破了，性欲明显消退了。“显然，它们经历了数次性疲惫。”施瑞伯冷静地记 录道。
嗯……
‘更开阔、更动态的科学。他也曾认为生物学“太模糊”（“我是说，生物学的基本概 念是什么，我们对它们又有多少把握？”他还会说，“事实上几乎什么都没有。
生态学嗯……
他们每个人都坚持说是他们先注意到这个分子的，就像大学室友在同一天 同时喜欢上一个女生。
明明是我先
博格说：“我知道我不想看到什么，我不想看到三元环、 杂环或者扁平的带五个氮的分子，它们太丑了。但FK-506是一个符合我所有 期望的漂亮分子。”
阿米斯特德三年前看见FK-506的结构时就想合成它，那是个“庞大、性 感、有雄性气息的分子”，能让有机化学家们血脉债张。
哈丁为此心烦意乱，他在福泰的工作正是要寻找新的结合蛋白，结果施瑞 伯居然宣布他一下发现了四种新的免疫亲和蛋白。是他教会施瑞伯如何发现 蛋白的，是他应该和布拉科夫与比勒合作的，明明是他先来的。
什么白学
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当时，默沙东在美国商业界同时扮演了施瓦辛格和特蕾莎 修女（MotherTeresa）的角色。默沙东乘着历史上最大的牛市，股价在五年间涨 了四倍以上，比道琼斯指数增长快了一倍。
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瓦格洛斯是一位好斗的医学博士。他在杂志上的形象要么是在划皮划艇，要 么是穿着网球服，然后宣称对公司的未来“很他妈地乐观”。他试图打破科研界