"I'm confused about Britishness these days," begins Smith.
Hello, My Name is Paul Smith
另外一字為Englishness，參考Sir Nikolaus Pevsner 妙著The Englishness of English Art (1956) 。
還可以參考Three Essays on Style (1995) (Ed. Irving Lavin) by Erwin Panofsky
重溫錦坤兄2010年的一則筆記， 2010年3月16日 0314 2010
許達然《遠近三段》(《文學台灣》第6期,1993/April 頁106-07),其中第3篇"編籍" 可列入"官僚學(Bureaucratics，參考The complete Murphy's Law )的文學"----它還有對故鄉的情感。
素描許達然：許達然散文集 中南方朔說: 他第一次見許老師是1980年代初於芝加哥 (不是師母說的60年代).....
***** ***** 我們上次去北埔.謝謝Ken和KJ. 那次許老師在學校有課.....
翻讀RD 1990 AUG?
從大度山走下Published on Mar 3, 2012
Doris Lessing, writer, died on November 17th, aged 94
For 30 years, by her reckoning, people had expected that she would get the prize. She hated expectation: that burden that made you a prisoner of circumstances and dragged you along like a fish on a line. The expectation when a child that she would behave, and not try to pull down her itchy stockings or burst into tears. The expectation that she would be a good wife (as she tried twice), pushing prams all day long, instead of leaving her two small children behind to start a new life. The expectation that the Communist revolution would usher in Utopia, when it was all “a load of old socks”. Why did people expect such things? Who had promised them? When?
Most frustrating was the public’s expectation that she, as a writer, would keep to one path. After the success of her first novel, “The Grass is Singing” (1950), packed in manuscript in her suitcase when she arrived, almost penniless, in Britain from Southern Rhodesia, she could have kept on writing about Africa. But in “The Golden Notebook” (1962) she plunged instead into the world of a woman’s dreams and mental disintegration, to wide dismay. In “The Good Terrorist” (1985) she expanded on her theory that acts of terror could be blundered into, rather than ruthlessly planned: again, alarums and confusion. Her five-book “Canopus in Argos” series (1979-83) ventured into science fiction, chronicling moral and ecological disaster on a planet, Shikasta, that was Earth in thin disguise. Many of her fans thought she had gone bonkers. She insisted that it was the best writing she had ever done.
Her name for that, for it wasn’t really science fiction, was “space fiction”: suddenly the old literary constraints were lifted, and she could write with breadth about universal themes. It was like sliding out of a stuffy room (she always noticed smells, whether of animal hide, lice, peas, unwashedness) to thrust her nose into cool fresh air, or running out into the bush of her Rhodesian childhood, with its miles of tawny grass shining in the sun. Or, in her London life, coming out of the flat where she had paced round and pecked at the typewriter all day to wander for hours through the night-time streets.
For too long she had played the game of being pleasant, fitting in. From childhood she was called “Tigger”, the bouncy beast, the jolly good sport. Good old Tigger, who underneath it all was in a rage of hatred against her mother and aching to run away as, at 15, she did. Another persona was “the Hostess”, so generous and talkative to the lefty and literary flotsam who crammed into her London flats, when inside she would be crushed from some unwise love affair or other, or just wanting to be alone. Everyone was a chameleon; hence “The Golden Notebook”, in which a woman’s life was narrated in discrete notebooks, emotional, political and everyday, which eventually tangled into one. Feminists seemed mostly to notice that it mentioned menstruation. They made it their handbook in the sex wars of the 1960s, which hadn’t been her aim at all.
She wrote “The Grass is Singing” to expose a truth: that white women could desire black men. It made a shocking scene when Moses, the cook-boy, was seen through the window buttoning up Mary Turner’s dress with “indulgent uxoriousness”. And she could spring the hard truth in dozens of smaller touches: describing a new mother as “a sack of bruised flesh”, or the “silky black beards” of underarm hair.
There was a true Doris, too, somewhere. This “aliveness” was where the stories came from, and it was buried deep. As she plumped herself wearily down on the doorstep to answer questions, that Nobel morning in 2007, she seemed to show an authentic, unbrushed side to the world’s press. But the real Doris was saying, as she had every day for decades, Run away, you silly woman, take control, write.
（中央社記者 楊淑閔台北 1日電）促修法落實 土地正義的 世新大學社發所助理教授、台灣農村陣線 發言人 蔡培慧昨傍晚車禍顱內出血，急救術後清醒，但腦壓大觀察中。
蔡培慧長年參與大埔農地等多件土地徵收爭議案，主張推動土地徵收條例修法，以落實土地正義； 許博任說，她發生車禍，引發許多人及媒體關注，希望大家為她祈禱，祝 她早日康復。