I'm a storyteller. That's what I do in life -- telling stories, writing novels -- and today I would like to tell you a few stories about the art of storytelling and also some supernatural creatures called the djinni. But before I go there, please allow me to share with you glimpses of my personal story. I will do so with the help of words, of course, but also a geometrical shape, the circle, so throughout my talk, you will come across several circles.
我是名故事讲述者。 我在生活中所做的就是讲讲故事, 写写小说。 今天我想给大家讲几个故事, 这些故事是关于故事讲述的艺术 和一些被称作精灵的 超自然生物。 但在我讲述之前,请允许我分享 一些我个人的故事。 我不仅会借助一些词汇,当然, 还会借助一些几何图形,圆形。 因此在我的整个演讲中, 大家会看到一些圆形。
I was born in Strasbourg, France to Turkish parents. Shortly after, my parents got separated, and I came to Turkey with my mom. From then on, I was raised as a single child by a single mother. Now in the early 1970s, in Ankara, that was a bit unusual. Our neighborhood was full of large families, where fathers were the heads of households, so I grew up seeing my mother as a divorcee in a patriarchal environment. In fact, I grew up observing two different kinds of womanhood. On the one hand was my mother, a well-educated, secular, modern, westernized, Turkish woman. On the other hand was my grandmother, who also took care of me and was more spiritual, less educated and definitely less rational. This was a woman who read coffee grounds to see the future and melted lead into mysterious shapes to fend off the evil eye.
我出生在法国的斯特拉斯堡, 父母都是土耳其人。 不久后,我父母离异, 我与母亲来到土耳其。 从那儿以后,我作为 一名单身母亲的独身女被扶养长大。 二十世纪七十年代早期,在安卡拉 这不太寻常。 我们的邻居都是大家庭, 这些家庭中都是父亲当家。 因此,我在离异的母亲身旁, 在一个重男轻女的环境中长大。 事实上,我在对两种 不同的女性的观察中长大。 一种女性是我的母亲, 一名受过良好教育的,非宗教的,现代的,西方化的土耳其女性。 另一种女性是我的祖母, 她也照顾着我, 她更重视精神上的追求,没受过多少教育 并且肯定更少理性。 她是这样一位女性,通过观察咖啡渣来了解未来, 把铅溶解成神秘的形状 来抵御邪恶。
Many people visited my grandmother, people with severe acne on their faces or warts on their hands. Each time, my grandmother would utter some words in Arabic, take a red apple and stab it with as many rose thorns as the number of warts she wanted to remove. Then one by one, she would encircle these thorns with dark ink. A week later, the patient would come back for a follow-up examination. Now, I'm aware that I should not be saying such things in front of an audience of scholars and scientists, but the truth is, of all the people who visited my grandmother for their skin conditions, I did not see anyone go back unhappy or unhealed. I asked her how she did this. Was it the power of praying? In response she said, "Yes, praying is effective, but also beware of the power of circles."
许多人来拜访我的祖母, 他们在脸上有着严重的痤疮 或是手上长疣。 每次,我的祖母都会说出一些阿拉伯语的词, 拿出个红苹果,然后 她想要去掉多少个疣, 就用相同数量玫瑰刺刺入苹果。 接着她会一个一个地 把这些刺用黑墨水圈起来。 一周后,病人会再次回来 做后续检查。 现在,我意识到我不应该在 学者和科学家前讲述这类事情。 但事实是,在所有这些 因皮肤问题拜访了我祖母的人中, 我从未见过任何人回来时 是不开心或是未治愈的。 我问过她是如何做到这点的。这是祈祷的力量么? 她回答道,“是的,祈祷是有效的。 但也要了解圆圈的力量。”
From her, I learned, amongst many other things, one very precious lesson -- that if you want to destroy something in this life, be it an acne, a blemish or the human soul, all you need to do is to surround it with thick walls. It will dry up inside. Now we all live in some kind of a social and cultural circle. We all do. We're born into a certain family, nation, class. But if we have no connection whatsoever with the worlds beyond the one we take for granted, then we too run the risk of drying up inside. Our imagination might shrink; our hearts might dwindle, and our humanness might wither if we stay for too long inside our cultural cocoons. Our friends, neighbors, colleagues, family -- if all the people in our inner circle resemble us, it means we are surrounded with our mirror image.
除了许多其他事情之外,我从她那儿 学到了这非常珍贵的一课。 那就是,如果在生命中你想毁掉某些事物, 比如痤疮、疤痕 或是人的灵魂, 你所需要做的就是,用厚厚的墙把它围起来。 它会在墙内干枯。 现在,我们都生活在某种社会和文化的圆圈内。 我们都是。 我们出生于特定的家庭、国家、阶级。 但如果我们只生活在这一想当然的圈子内, 而不和世界任何其他圈子交流, 那么,我们同样会面临 枯竭的危险。 我们的想象力可能会枯竭。 我们的心可能会逐渐萎缩。 而如果我们在自己的文化中 长期作茧自缚, 那我们的人性可能会枯萎。 我们的朋友、邻居、同事、家人-- 如果我们周围的人都与我们相似, 这意味着我们被 我们的镜像所包围了。
Now one other thing women like my grandma do in Turkey is to cover mirrors with velvet or to hang them on the walls with their backs facing out. It's an old Eastern tradition based on the knowledge that it's not healthy for a human being to spend too much time staring at his own reflection. Ironically, [living in] communities of the like-minded is one of the greatest dangers of today's globalized world. And it's happening everywhere, among liberals and conservatives, agnostics and believers, the rich and the poor, East and West alike. We tend to form clusters based on similarity, and then we produce stereotypes about other clusters of people. In my opinion, one way of transcending these cultural ghettos is through the art of storytelling. Stories cannot demolish frontiers, but they can punch holes in our mental walls. And through those holes, we can get a glimpse of the other, and sometimes even like what we see.
目前,在土耳其像我祖母这样的妇女会做的另一件事是, 用丝绒把镜子盖上 或是把镜子背面朝外挂在墙上。 这是古老的东方习俗, 它是基于这样的理解, 一个人盯着镜子中自己的影像 太久是不健康的。 有讽刺意味的是,[生活在]想法相似的团体中 是如今全球化的世界中 最大的危险之一。 而这中危险无处不在, 它存在于自由派和保守派中, 不可知论者和信徒之中,富人和穷人之中, 东方和西方之中。 我们倾向基于共同点 而聚集成一个个群体, 然后我们把其他群体的人 模式化。 依我看来,突破 这些文化壁垒的途径之一是, 通过故事讲述的艺术。 故事不能拆除这些障碍, 但它们能在我们精神围墙上开出孔洞。 而通过这些孔洞,我们能对他人有所了解, 并且有时所了解到的就正是你所见到的。
I started writing fiction at the age of eight. My mother came home one day with a turquoise notebook and asked me if I'd be interested in keeping a personal journal. In retrospect, I think she was slightly worried about my sanity. I was constantly telling stories at home, which was good, except I told this to imaginary friends around me, which was not so good. I was an introverted child, to the point of communicating with colored crayons and apologizing to objects when I bumped into them, so my mother thought it might do me good to write down my day-to-day experiences and emotions. What she didn't know was that I thought my life was terribly boring, and the last thing I wanted to do was to write about myself. Instead, I began to write about people other than me and things that never really happened. And thus began my life-long passion for writing fiction. So from the very beginning, fiction for me was less of an autobiographical manifestation than a transcendental journey into other lives, other possibilities. And please bear with me: I'll draw a circle and come back to this point.
我从八岁开始小说的写作。 一天,我母亲带着本绿松石色的笔记本回家, 并问我有没有兴趣写日记。 回想起来,我觉得她是有点担心 我的心智健康。 我在家会不时地讲些还不错的故事, 除了一点不太好, 我是对着我周围想象中的朋友讲故事。 我是个内向的孩子 用彩色蜡笔来画画表达自己, 向我不小心 碰到的东西道歉。 因此我母亲认为我把 我每天的经历和情感写下来 会对我有好处。 她所不知道的是,我觉得我的生活非常的无聊, 我唯一想做的事就是 写下与自己相关的事情。 相反,我开始写除我之外的其他人 和那些从未真正发生过的事。 就这样,我开始了终生充满激情的 小说创作。 因此从一开始小说对我来说 更像是关于其他生命、其他可能 的超自然的旅程,而不是 自传式的。 请多包涵。 我会画一个圆圈,再回到这一问题。
Now one other thing happened around this same time. My mother became a diplomat. So from this small, superstitious, middle-class neighborhood of my grandmother, I was zoomed into this posh, international school [in Madrid], where I was the only Turk. It was here that I had my first encounter with what I call the "representative foreigner." In our classroom, there were children from all nationalities, yet this diversity did not necessarily lead to a cosmopolitan, egalitarian classroom democracy. Instead, it generated an atmosphere in which each child was seen -- not as an individual on his own, but as the representative of something larger. We were like a miniature United Nations, which was fun, except whenever something negative, with regards to a nation or a religion, took place. The child who represented it was mocked, ridiculed and bullied endlessly. And I should know, because during the time I attended that school, a military takeover happened in my country, a gunman of my nationality nearly killed the Pope, and Turkey got zero points in [the] Eurovision Song Contest. (Laughter)
现在与此同时发生的另一件事。 我母亲成了一名外交官。 因此,我从我祖母附近这小小的、 迷信的、中产的街区搬走了, 我转入了这所 豪华的国际学校[在马德里], 在学校里我是唯一的土耳其人。 正是在这儿,我第一次被 称为“外国人的代表”。 我们的班上,有来着各国的孩子。 然而,这种多样性不一定能带来 一个世界性的、平等的 民主课堂。 相反,这形成了一种氛围, 在这种氛围下,每个孩子不是被 看作一个独立的个体, 而是被看作某些更大群体的代表。 这有点像迷你联合国,很有趣, 除了有某些关于国家或是宗教 相关的负面的 事情发生时。 代表负面消息中的国家或宗教的孩子会被无止境地嘲笑、 奚落和欺辱。 我应该知道,因为在我加入那所学校期间, 我的国家发生了军事接管, 一名我国的枪手几乎杀了教皇, 土耳其歌手在欧洲电视歌唱大赛上得了零分。 (笑声)
I skipped school often and dreamed of becoming a sailor during those days. I also had my first taste of cultural stereotypes there. The other children asked me about the movie "Midnight Express," which I had not seen; they inquired how many cigarettes a day I smoked, because they thought all Turks were heavy smokers, and they wondered at what age I would start covering my hair. I came to learn that these were the three main stereotypes about my country: politics, cigarettes and the veil. After Spain, we went to Jordan, Germany and Ankara again. Everywhere I went, I felt like my imagination was the only suitcase I could take with me. Stories gave me a sense of center, continuity and coherence, the three big Cs that I otherwise lacked.
在那些日子里,我经常转校并常梦想 成为一名水手。 在那儿我也第一次接触 到了文化刻板印象模式。 其他孩子与我谈论电影 “午夜快车”,可我没看过这部电影。 他们问我一天吸几支烟, 因为他们认为土耳其人都是大烟鬼。 他们想知道我是从几岁 开始盖住头发的。 我逐渐了解到,关于我的国家 有三种主要的模式, 政治,香烟 和面纱。 离开西班牙后,我们去了约旦,德国 而后又回到安卡拉。 我去的任何地方,我觉得 我的想象力是我唯一 能随身携带的行李。 故事给了我中心意识、 连续性意识和一致性的意识, 这三个大C是我在不同程度上所缺少的。
In my mid-twenties, I moved to Istanbul, the city I adore. I lived in a very vibrant, diverse neighborhood where I wrote several of my novels. I was in Istanbul when the earthquake hit in 1999. When I ran out of the building at three in the morning, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. There was the local grocer there -- a grumpy, old man who didn't sell alcohol and didn't speak to marginals. He was sitting next to a transvestite with a long black wig and mascara running down her cheeks. I watched the man open a pack of cigarettes with trembling hands and offer one to her, and that is the image of the night of the earthquake in my mind today -- a conservative grocer and a crying transvestite smoking together on the sidewalk. In the face of death and destruction, our mundane differences evaporated, and we all became one even if for a few hours. But I've always believed that stories, too, have a similar effect on us. I'm not saying that fiction has the magnitude of an earthquake, but when we are reading a good novel, we leave our small, cozy apartments behind, go out into the night alone and start getting to know people we had never met before and perhaps had even been biased against.
在我二十几岁时,我搬到了伊斯坦布尔, 这是我非常热爱的城市。 我生活在一个充满生气的、非常多样化的街区, 在那儿我写了几部小说。 1999年伊斯坦布尔发生地震时 我在那儿。 当我在凌晨3点跑出房子时, 我看到些东西,并停下了脚步。 那儿有个当地杂货店-- 店主是一个坏脾气的老人,他不卖酒精 说话不着边际。 他坐在一名易装癖者的旁边, 她头上带着黑色的长长的假发, 睫毛膏一直抹到脸颊上。 我看到店主用颤抖的手打开 一包香烟 给了她一支。 这就是如今那个地震的夜晚 留在我的脑海中的画面-- 一名保守的杂货店主和一名哭泣的易装癖者 在人行道边一起吸烟。 面对着死亡和破坏, 我们世俗的分歧消失了, 我们成了一家人 即使只有几个小时。 但我始终相信,这样的故事对我们也有同样的效果。 我不是说小说和地震有同样的震级。 但当我们读一篇好小说时, 这就好比我们会离开我们温馨舒适的小公寓, 晚上独自出门 去认识之前我们从未遇到的人们 或许那些我们心存偏见的人。
Shortly after, I went to a women's college in Boston, then Michigan. I experienced this, not so much as a geographical shift, as a linguistic one. I started writing fiction in English. I'm not an immigrant, refugee or exile -- they ask me why I do this -- but the commute between languages gives me the chance to recreate myself. I love writing in Turkish, which to me is very poetic and very emotional, and I love writing in English, which to me is very mathematical and cerebral. So I feel connected to each language in a different way. For me, like millions of other people around the world today, English is an acquired language. When you're a latecomer to a language, what happens is you live there with a continuous and perpetual frustration. As latecomers, we always want to say more, you know, crack better jokes, say better things, but we end up saying less because there's a gap between the mind and the tongue. And that gap is very intimidating. But if we manage not to be frightened by it, it's also stimulating. And this is what I discovered in Boston -- that frustration was very stimulating.
不久后,我去了 波士顿的一所女子大学,然后去了密歇根州。 我经历这些,不是把它看做一个地理上的改变, 而是语言上的改变。 我开始用英文写小说。 我不是移民、难民或是流亡者。 人们问我为什么要这么做。 但在各种语言中转换 给了我重新创造的机会。 我爱用土耳其语写作, 它对我来说很有诗意和感觉。 并且我也爱用英语写作,它对我来说 很精确很理性。 因此,我与各种语言之间以不同的方式连接起来。 对我来说,正如今天世界上 其他千百万其他的人们, 英语是种必备的语言。 如果你是一个语言的后学者, 那你会面对 持续的 和持久的挫折。 作为后学者,我们总是想多说些,你知道, 讲点更好笑的笑话,说点更有趣的事。 但最终我们说的更少, 因为在思想和语言交流之间直接有道鸿沟。 这道鸿沟非常有威胁。 但如果我们设法不被它吓倒, 它也会很刺激。 这就是我在波士顿所认识到的-- 这种挫折非常刺激。
At this stage, my grandmother, who had been watching the course of my life with increasing anxiety, started to include in her daily prayers that I urgently get married so that I could settle down once and for all. And because God loves her, I did get married. (Laughter) But instead of settling down, I went to Arizona. And since my husband is in Istanbul, I started commuting between Arizona and Istanbul -- the two places on the surface of earth that couldn't be more different. I guess one part of me has always been a nomad, physically and spiritually. Stories accompany me, keeping my pieces and memories together, like an existential glue.
在这一时期,我的祖母, 那名在不断增长的担忧中 看着我长大的老人, 开始在她每日的祈祷中加入新的内容, 祈祷我能尽快结婚, 这样就能一劳永逸的安顿下来了。 而且因为上帝爱她,我的确结婚了。 (笑声) 但并没有安定下来, 我去了亚利桑那州。 由于我的丈夫在伊斯坦布尔, 我开始在亚利桑那州和伊斯坦布尔之间奔波。 地球上的这两个地方 非常的不同。 我想我的一部分一直是游牧民族, 包括身体上和精神上。 故事陪伴着我, 让我的作品和回忆保持在一起, 像是胶水一样。
Yet as much as I love stories, recently, I've also begun to think that they lose their magic if and when a story is seen as more than a story. And this is a subject that I would love to think about together. When my first novel written in English came out in America, I heard an interesting remark from a literary critic. "I liked your book," he said, "but I wish you had written it differently." (Laughter) I asked him what he meant by that. He said, "Well, look at it. There's so many Spanish, American, Hispanic characters in it, but there's only one Turkish character and it's a man." Now the novel took place on a university campus in Boston, so to me, it was normal that there be more international characters in it than Turkish characters, but I understood what my critic was looking for. And I also understood that I would keep disappointing him. He wanted to see the manifestation of my identity. He was looking for a Turkish woman in the book because I happened to be one.
虽然我爱故事, 最近我也开始认为 如果当故事不仅被看作故事时, 故事就失去了魔力。 而这是一个我很想 在一起考虑的主题。 当我第一部英文小说在美国出版时, 我听到了一位文学评论家有趣的评论。 “我喜欢你的书,”他说道,“但我希望你能用不同的方式写出来。” (笑声) 我问他这是什么意思。 他说,“嗯,看看它,里面有那么多的 西班牙人、美国人、拉美人人物角色。 但只有一个土耳其人物,还是一个男人。” 小说取材于波士顿的一个大学校园内, 对我来说,其中有 国际背景人物角色比土耳其人物要多, 这很正常。 但我理解评论员希望看到的是什么。 并且,我也明白 我会一直让他失望。 他想看到我身份认同的体现。 他想在书中看到一名土耳其妇女, 因为我恰巧就是一名土耳其妇女。
We often talk about how stories change the world, but we should also see how the world of identity politics affects the way stories are being circulated, read and reviewed. Many authors feel this pressure, but non-Western authors feel it more heavily. If you're a woman writer from the Muslim world, like me, then you are expected to write the stories of Muslim women and, preferably, the unhappy stories of unhappy Muslim women. You're expected to write informative, poignant and characteristic stories and leave the experimental and avant-garde to your Western colleagues. What I experienced as a child in that school in Madrid is happening in the literary world today. Writers are not seen as creative individuals on their own, but as the representatives of their respective cultures: a few authors from China, a few from Turkey, a few from Nigeria. We're all thought to have something very distinctive, if not peculiar.
我们经常谈论,故事是如何改变世界的。 但我们也该看到身份政治的世界 是如何影响故事的 传播, 阅读和评论的方式的。 许多作者感到了这种压力, 但非西方作者所感受到的压力更重。 如果你是名来自穆斯林世界的女性作家,像我一样, 因此你被期望写出 关于穆斯林妇女的故事 并且,如果写出些关于悲惨的穆斯林妇女的 悲惨的故事就更好了。 你被期望写出 富有信息的、打动人心的和独特的故事 并把实验性和前卫的写作 留给西方的作家。 我在马德里的那所学校作为一个孩子所经历的 如今也发生在文学世界中。 作家不被看作 有创造力的个人, 而是被看作他们各自文化 的代表。 一些来自中国的、土耳其的 尼日利亚的作家。 我们被认为有些非常独特的东西, 如果不是怪异的话。
The writer and commuter James Baldwin gave an interview in 1984 in which he was repeatedly asked about his homosexuality. When the interviewer tried to pigeonhole him as a gay writer, Baldwin stopped and said, "But don't you see? There's nothing in me that is not in everybody else, and nothing in everybody else that is not in me." When identity politics tries to put labels on us, it is our freedom of imagination that is in danger. There's a fuzzy category called multicultural literature in which all authors from outside the Western world are lumped together. I never forget my first multicultural reading, in Harvard Square about 10 years ago. We were three writers, one from the Philippines, one Turkish and one Indonesian -- like a joke, you know. (Laughter) And the reason why we were brought together was not because we shared an artistic style or a literary taste. It was only because of our passports. Multicultural writers are expected to tell real stories, not so much the imaginary. A function is attributed to fiction. In this way, not only the writers themselves, but also their fictional characters become the representatives of something larger.
詹姆斯·鲍德温,一名经常往返于巴黎和纽约的作家, 在1984年的一个访谈中 被不断的询问他的同性恋问题。 当主持人试图把他归类为 一名同性恋作家时, 鲍德温停下来说到, “但你不明白么?我没什么与众不同 而其他人也没什么不同, 那么大家都没什么不同, 我也一样。” 当身份政治试图把标签加在我们身上时, 我们想象力的自由就处于危险的境地了。 有个叫做多元文化文学的 模糊分类, 其中所有来自西方世界外的作家 被混为一谈。 我从未忘记大约10年前在哈佛广场, 我经历的第一次多元文化的阅读。 我们三位作家,一位来自菲律宾, 一个土耳其人,一个印度尼西亚人-- 像一个笑话,你知道。 (笑声) 我们被一起提及的原因 不是因为我们有同样的艺术风格 或文学品味, 仅仅是因为我们的护照。 多元文化作家被期望讲述真实的故事, 而不是想象中的故事。 这恰是小说之所以称为小说的一个原因。 如此,不仅作者本身, 而且他们小说中的人物 都变成了某些更大的事物的代表。
But I must quickly add that this tendency to see a story as more than a story does not solely come from the West. It comes from everywhere. And I experienced this firsthand when I was put on trial in 2005 for the words my fictional characters uttered in a novel. I had intended to write a constructive, multi-layered novel about an Armenian and a Turkish family through the eyes of women. My micro story became a macro issue when I was prosecuted. Some people criticized, others praised me for writing about the Turkish-Armenian conflict. But there were times when I wanted to remind both sides that this was fiction. It was just a story. And when I say, "just a story," I'm not trying to belittle my work. I want to love and celebrate fiction for what it is, not as a means to an end.
但我必须尽快补充说明的是, 这种把故事不仅仅 作为故事看待的趋势 并不仅仅发生在西方。 它到处都存在。 并且我有第一手的经验, 2005年我为我一部小说中 的人物所说的话经受了考验。 我本打算写 一部关于通过女性的眼睛看 一个亚美尼亚家庭和一个土耳其家庭的 有文学结构的、多层次的小说, 当我被起诉后, 我的小故事变成了大问题。 由于写了关于土耳其人和亚美尼亚人之间冲突, 一些人批评我,一些人称赞我。 但很多次我想提醒这两种人, 这是小说。 它仅仅是一个故事。 而当我说“仅仅是个故事”时, 我不是想贬低我的工作。 我希望因小说本身而 热爱并赞美它, 而不是作为达到某种目的的手段。
Writers are entitled to their political opinions, and there are good political novels out there, but the language of fiction is not the language of daily politics. Chekhov said, "The solution to a problem and the correct way of posing the question are two completely separate things. And only the latter is an artist's responsibility." Identity politics divides us. Fiction connects. One is interested in sweeping generalizations. The other, in nuances. One draws boundaries. The other recognizes no frontiers. Identity politics is made of solid bricks. Fiction is flowing water.
作家有权拥有自己的政治观点, 并且有不少好的政治小说, 但是小说的语言 不是日常政治的语言。 契诃夫说过, “一个问题的解决方案 及提问的正确方式 是两件完全不同的事。 而只有后者才是一名艺术家的责任。” 身份政治立场把我们分隔开。小说却把我们连结起来。 一个是概而言之。 另一个则关乎细节。 一个画出界限。 另一个则没有边界。 身份政治由实心砖组成。 小说是流水。
In the Ottoman times, there were itinerant storytellers called "meddah." They would go to coffee houses, where they would tell a story in front of an audience, often improvising. With each new person in the story, the meddah would change his voice, impersonating that character. Everybody could go and listen, you know -- ordinary people, even the sultan, Muslims and non-Muslims. Stories cut across all boundaries, like "The Tales of Nasreddin Hodja," which were very popular throughout the Middle East, North Africa, the Balkans and Asia. Today, stories continue to transcend borders. When Palestinian and Israeli politicians talk, they usually don't listen to each other, but a Palestinian reader still reads a novel by a Jewish author, and vice versa, connecting and empathizing with the narrator. Literature has to take us beyond. If it cannot take us there, it is not good literature.
在奥斯曼帝国时代,有被称为“麦达赫”的流动故事讲述者。 他们会去咖啡馆, 在那儿,他们会在听众前讲故事, 通常是即兴创作的故事。 麦达赫会为故事中的 每个新人物改变他的声音, 模仿人物的特征。 每个人都可以去听,你知道-- 普通人,甚至是苏丹人,穆斯林人和非穆斯林人都听这些故事。 故事跨越了所有界限。 如“阿凡提的故事/纳斯列丁·霍加的故事” 这个故事在中东地区、北非、巴尔干和亚洲 都非常受欢迎。 今天,故事继续 越过国界。 当巴基斯坦和以色列的政客交谈时, 他们通常不听对方所说的。 但巴基斯坦的读者 仍然会读犹太人作者所写的小说, 反之亦然,与讲述者 产生共鸣。 文学带领着我们走向远方。 如果它不能做到, 那就不是好的文学。
Books have saved the introverted, timid child that I was -- that I once was. But I'm also aware of the danger of fetishizing them. When the poet and mystic, Rumi, met his spiritual companion, Shams of Tabriz, one of the first things the latter did was to toss Rumi's books into water and watch the letters dissolve. The Sufis say, "Knowledge that takes you not beyond yourself is far worse than ignorance." The problem with today's cultural ghettos is not lack of knowledge -- we know a lot about each other, or so we think -- but knowledge that takes us not beyond ourselves: it makes us elitist, distant and disconnected. There's a metaphor which I love: living like a drawing compass. As you know, one leg of the compass is static, rooted in a place. Meanwhile, the other leg draws a wide circle, constantly moving. Like that, my fiction as well. One part of it is rooted in Istanbul, with strong Turkish roots, but the other part travels the world, connecting to different cultures. In that sense, I like to think of my fiction as both local and universal, both from here and everywhere.
书籍拯救了如我这样的内向的、 胆怯的孩子--我曾经是这样的孩子。 但我也注意到了 盲目迷信它们的危险。 当诗人和神秘主义者,鲁米, 遇到了他的精神伴侣,大不里士的沙姆士, 后者做的头几件事之一是, 把鲁米的书扔到水里 并看着这些书消融在水中。 苏非书上说,“知其然不知其所以然 要比无知更可怕。” 今天文化壁垒的问题 不是缺少知识。 我们相互非常了解,或者说我们这么认为。 但对知识只是知其然不知其所以然, 这会让我们变得杰出, 却冷漠而与他人疏远。 有个我喜爱的隐喻: 生活像一个绘制中的罗盘。 如你所知,罗盘的一个指针是静止的,指向一个地方。 同时,另一个指针 画一个大圆圈,不断的移动。 我的小说也是如此。 其中的一部分是扎根于伊斯坦布尔的 强大土耳其文化。 但另一部分在这个世界上旅行, 连接不同的文化。 从这个意义上说,我希望我的小说 不仅是本地的也是全球的, 不仅来自当地这里也来自世界各地。
Now those of you who have been to Istanbul have probably seen Topkapi Palace, which was the residence of Ottoman sultans for more than 400 years. In the palace, just outside the quarters of the favorite concubines, there's an area called The Gathering Place of the Djinn. It's between buildings. I'm intrigued by this concept. We usually distrust those areas that fall in between things. We see them as the domain of supernatural creatures like the djinn, who are made of smokeless fire and are the symbol of elusiveness. But my point is perhaps that elusive space is what writers and artists need most. When I write fiction I cherish elusiveness and changeability. I like not knowing what will happen 10 pages later. I like it when my characters surprise me. I might write about a Muslim woman in one novel, and perhaps it will be a very happy story, and in my next book, I might write about a handsome, gay professor in Norway. As long as it comes from our hearts, we can write about anything and everything.
你们中有些人还没去过伊斯坦布尔, 但可能见过托普卡帕宫, 它作为奥斯曼帝国苏丹的住所 超过400年。 在皇宫中,就在皇帝爱妃 的住所之外, 有一个名为精灵聚居地的地方。 它就位于宏伟的建筑之间。 我被这一概念所吸引。 我们通常不信任 这类处于中间的区域。 我们把它们看作是超自然生物 的领域,比如:精灵。 它们由无烟的火焰组成 并且是难以捉摸的事物的象征。 但我想说的是 也许这种难以捉摸的空间 正是作家和艺术家们最需要的。 在我写小说时, 我珍惜这种不可捉摸性和多变性。 我希望不能预知十页后会发生什么。 我希望我小说中的角色能带给我惊喜。 我也许会在一部小说里 写些关于穆斯林妇女的故事, 并且也许会是个非常开心的故事。 而在我的下部小说中,我也许会 写关于一名挪威的英俊的同性恋教授的故事。 只要是发自肺腑, 我们能写任何事情,一切事物都行。
Audre Lorde once said, "The white fathers taught us to say, 'I think, therefore I am.'" She suggested, "I feel, therefore I am free." I think it was a wonderful paradigm shift. And yet, why is it that, in creative writing courses today, the very first thing we teach students is "write what you know"? Perhaps that's not the right way to start at all. Imaginative literature is not necessarily about writing who we are or what we know or what our identity is about. We should teach young people and ourselves to expand our hearts and write what we can feel. We should get out of our cultural ghetto and go visit the next one and the next.
奥德·洛德曾说过, “白人神父教导我们说, ‘我思故我在。’” 她建议改为,“我感觉,故我自由。” 我认为这是个美妙的改变。 然而,为什么这么说, 在如今的创新写作课程中, 最初交给学生的事情就是 写下你所知道的? 也许这根本不是开始写作之路正确的方式。 富有想象力的文学作品并不一定要写 我们自己或我们所了解的 或我们的身份认同。 我们应该教导年轻人和我们自己 打开心扉 并写下我们所感觉到的。 我们应该跨越我们的文化壁垒, 去了解其他更多的文化。
In the end, stories move like whirling dervishes, drawing circles beyond circles. They connect all humanity, regardless of identity politics, and that is the good news. And I would like to finish with an old Sufi poem: "Come, let us be friends for once; let us make life easy on us; let us be lovers and loved ones; the earth shall be left to no one."
最后,故事的传播像是苦行僧的旋转舞, 画出一个又一个圆圈, 它们把所有人连接起来, 而不考虑身份政治。 这是好消息。 我想以一首古老的苏非派的诗结束。 “来吧,让我们成为朋友; 让我们生活更轻松; 让我们相亲相爱; 地球上的人们亲如一家。”
Thank you.
谢谢
(Applause)
(掌声)