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上海。秋天的某个午后。等待孙甘露的时候,一位邮递员忽然出现。他穿着制服,蹬着自行车,以比缓慢更缓慢的速度,晃悠出小说家居住的小区。这个片段令人恍惚。如果在20世纪80年代,将会使造访者激动不已,因为这就是隐喻,这就是风格,这就是前邮递员小说家创造的语言实验。但现在,却是新世纪的第四年,我已经很久没有读到小说家的新作,而他出生、成长的这座城市,却以远远超乎想象力的,比迅速更迅速的速度,蔓延、膨胀,吞噬一切曾经的边缘,将农田变成住宅,将阡陌化作公路,为所有置身其间的人,设计好了只争朝夕的还贷日程表。
Shanghai. An afternoon of autumn. While waiting for Sun dew, a postman suddenly appeared. He was wearing a uniform and riding a bicycle, swinging a cell where the novelist lived more slowly and at a slower pace. This fragment is a trance. If in the 1980s, visitors will be thrilled, because this is metaphor, this is the style, this is the language experiment created by the former postman novelist. Now, however, it is the fourth year of the new century. I have not read the novelist’s novel for a long time. The city where he was born and grew is far beyond imagination, faster and faster than any other. Spread, inflate, swallow everything once the edge, the farmland into a residential, will paddy turned into a road, for all the people who came in between, designed to fight for the overnight repayment schedule.