青海,本身就是遥远的词。我没去过,一直是在她的笔下感应到。一个作家使用一种词,像箩筐里的摆件,某种习惯与某种宿命在其中。她将那片土地的自然物产,那些名字的美丽,似乎都放在这只箩筐里筛选过,归类过,以色彩,以轻重,以远近,以时节。待我看熟了,不由得赞美,这些词优雅、干净,连尘埃也沾上了纯粹。这便是互助小县,我心中的青藏高原本应如此,离天空近而透彻,不像内地,执迷于云雾迷蒙,逃脱不了大地的浑浊。看她的字,而进入青海。因为寥廓,而走到细碎。自然流露的文字,没有对文本的精心结构,很多像断片,有些就是闪念,所以大多短促,而断片中的字词也在神思中跳跃出来。行文如祭祀,典 Qinghai itself is a distant word. I have not been to, has been sensed in her pen. A writer uses a word, like a basket of ornaments, some kind of habit and some fate in it. She would like the natural properties of the land, the beauty of the names, all seemed to have been screened in this basket, classified, colored, in order of importance, by distance, by season. When I look familiar, can not help but praise, these words elegant, clean, even the dust is also stained with pure. This is a small and mutual-aid small town. In my heart, the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau should have been so close to the sky, not like the Mainland, obsessed with clouds and mist, and could not escape the muddyness of the earth. Look at her word, and enter Qinghai. Because of the bounds, and go fine. Naturally revealing text, there is no careful structure of the text, like a lot of fragments, some are flash, so most of the short, and fragments of the words are also leap in the mind. Wording such as sacrifice, Code