The Memory Box
The rain had turned into a drizzle by nine o’clock. The puddles of water glistened on the sidewalk pavement, reflecting the pale light from the street lamps. Jim pulled up the collar of his old coat against the damp November wind and hastened his steps. He was in his mid-forties, medium height, wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He was not particularly fat, not more so than any middle-aged man with a bulging belly, but the skin and flesh on every part of his body sagged under gravity like a day-old balloon.
The residual warmth from the greasy burger, soggy fries, and cheap beer in his stomach was quickly dissipating. He turned around the street corner into a narrow back street, almost tripping over an empty soda can. A pawnshop and a pizza parlor he passed were both dark inside with the “Closed” sign facing out. The rows of dirty brick houses that lined the street seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Jim stopped in front of a store with a flickering neon sign, “Ray’s Memory Box,” which was missing a couple of letters. He pressed the icy door handle with the familiarity of a blind man in his own home, and entered through the wooden door with peeling paint.
The inside of the store was almost darker than the streets outside. A lamp with a dirty orange shade huddled in a corner of the wobbly reception desk. Behind the desk, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf barely held together against the wall. Piles of papers, binders, boxes, and CDs spilled out of the shelf and onto the floor. A scrawny little man with spiky gray hair looked up at Jim. His skin was covered with wrinkles upon wrinkles. Despite the shriveled face and stature, his agile movement and shifty eyes suggested that he was not as old as he looked. Joey had run the store for as long as Jim had been coming here. His voice was hoarse from chain smoking:
“Hey, Jimbo! What’s up?”
Jim took off his spectacles and wiped them with a corner of his shirt, then put them back on. He reached into his pant pocket and placed a fistful of crumbled dirty bills on the counter. “Hey, Joey. Got any new inventory?” He asked.
Joey’s eyes behind the small cracks of lids glanced at the money and returned to Jim’s face. “Sure,” he swirled his chair around and fished out a few disks from the piles on the floor behind him.
“Payday, isn’t it?” Joey said, “Take it easy, Jim. You’ve been here almost every day this month. Don’t forget to put some dough aside for the child-support check.”
“That blood-sucking bitch has already got her check this month.” Jim slammed his fist on the counter and spit. “Half of my paycheck every month and it can’t even buy a Thanksgiving holiday with my own boy.”
Joey shook his head with pity. “Tough break, buddy.” In the past three years, Jim had only let slip a few one-liners about his bitter divorce despite Joey’s frequent prying. Joey had never heard him referring to his ex-wife by any name other than “the bitch.” From the toys he had seen Jim buy for his son, he figured the kid was about eleven or twelve years old. Jim never talked about his life beyond two sentences. Tonight, he again waved away any further discussion on the topic of his ex-wife and fingered the collection on the counter, his eyes burning with hunger.
“What’s this one?” He picked up one disk and held it close to his nose, straining to read the label. “The Caribbean Fling,” then another, “Naughty Friday. Hmm… Sounds racy.”
“Here’s a great one --- A Victorian Proposal. It’s underground, made by Mnemosyne. Remember Mnemosyne?” Joey handed him a disk with a photocopied cover on which one could barely discern the shape of a woman in 19th century costumes.
“I thought she retired.” Jim examined the pirated “blip” copy with curiosity. Blip was short for “brain clip.” The original intention for the technology was to copy and save, and possibly transfer, a small amount of knowledge stored in a person’s brain for potential medical uses in people with Alzheimer’s disease and mental retardation. Soon it became a tool for accelerating children’s learning and schooling. When the price of the technology came down, it was computer gamers who first began to make blips for recreation and exchange them on black markets. The big companies were too slow to catch the trend. The deep-rooted culture of underground production and distribution had not been purged so far by corporations and their copyright big sticks.
Mnemosyne was one of the gurus with a large cult following. The sources of her blips were the subject of much speculation. When early blip-creators paid anyone off the street for raw memory recordings of cheap thrills or basic bodily pleasures, Mnemosyne hand-picked both the “runners”
[原创] The Memory Box
[原创] The Memory Box
Last edited by Jun on 2005-12-05 7:32, edited 3 times in total.
haven't quite finished reading yet. The beginning part is so vivid, and your way of writing this piece somehow makes me think of Brokeback Moutain.
He was in his mid-forties, medium height, wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He was not particularly fat, not more so than any middle-aged man with a bulging belly, but the skin and flesh on every part of his body sagged under gravity like a day-old balloon.
-
helenClaire
- Posts: 3159
- Joined: 2003-11-22 20:12
粗看好象是主人公借看电影排毒。细想，我其实没看懂A Victorian Proposal有什么独特之处。是其人工制作暗藏了悬机？还是看似平凡的人物情节有隐寓？如果JIM是因为故事和他过去的经历暗合所以产生强烈反应，那么JOEY说每个看过的人都是这个反应，似乎又推翻了假设。能解释一下么？
我们现在能接触到的，不过是“四维”电影，virtual reality/simulation一类的东西，没有小说里的高级。而且刺激的目标多是最基本的感官如嗅觉，和最原始的感情，比如恐惧，用黑暗、阴风、巨声和强光的组合，绝对吓人。
我们现在能接触到的，不过是“四维”电影，virtual reality/simulation一类的东西，没有小说里的高级。而且刺激的目标多是最基本的感官如嗅觉，和最原始的感情，比如恐惧，用黑暗、阴风、巨声和强光的组合，绝对吓人。
Last edited by helenClaire on 2005-12-02 15:00, edited 1 time in total.
Jun写小说的风格一贯classic，我喜欢。虽然故事开始在一个比较冷酷的场景，但是这种风格的叙述让人有种很温暖的安全感。至少让我感觉所有细节都被作者照顾好了的安全感。
故事开始，我对Jim很好奇：他为什么会对memory blip上瘾？他是干什么的？他是什么样的一个人？说穿了blip里都是别人的记忆，他为什么会对读别人的记忆上瘾？对比色彩鲜艳的blip，他的生活是怎样的不如意？
然后两个blip里充分的细节让我忘记了Jim。Helen说的问题的确是这个小说最重要的问题。还有Mnemosyne到底了不起在什么地方？她做些什么signature在blip里面让Joey说道All her signatures were there，这些都让我好奇。
看到最后，我想Jun这个小说的主题是无意义的生活对人天真美好的愿望和理想的毫不留情的摧毁，和被命运打倒的人被迫产生的宿命感。Jim大概就是因为这个原因而对blip上瘾。但是Jim的现实活动和两个blip里丰富的细节让读者很容易产生代入，而第二个blip里的半求婚为什么这样powerful，让Jim产生巨大的关于宿命的共鸣读者却很难代入。不过这样大的主题在短篇中是很难表达。另外我的意见是这种宿命感并不是所有人都会有，这个道理和小说前段说"since no two persons felt exactly the same way about one experience" 是一个意思，所以不太应该所有人看完这个blip都是这同一个感想。
我很喜欢这个小说，这里面很多东西让我很好奇。
故事开始，我对Jim很好奇：他为什么会对memory blip上瘾？他是干什么的？他是什么样的一个人？说穿了blip里都是别人的记忆，他为什么会对读别人的记忆上瘾？对比色彩鲜艳的blip，他的生活是怎样的不如意？
然后两个blip里充分的细节让我忘记了Jim。Helen说的问题的确是这个小说最重要的问题。还有Mnemosyne到底了不起在什么地方？她做些什么signature在blip里面让Joey说道All her signatures were there，这些都让我好奇。
看到最后，我想Jun这个小说的主题是无意义的生活对人天真美好的愿望和理想的毫不留情的摧毁，和被命运打倒的人被迫产生的宿命感。Jim大概就是因为这个原因而对blip上瘾。但是Jim的现实活动和两个blip里丰富的细节让读者很容易产生代入，而第二个blip里的半求婚为什么这样powerful，让Jim产生巨大的关于宿命的共鸣读者却很难代入。不过这样大的主题在短篇中是很难表达。另外我的意见是这种宿命感并不是所有人都会有，这个道理和小说前段说"since no two persons felt exactly the same way about one experience" 是一个意思，所以不太应该所有人看完这个blip都是这同一个感想。
我很喜欢这个小说，这里面很多东西让我很好奇。
云浆未饮结成冰
读中感
这篇小说有意思，用读中感，不用读后感，是因为小说本身也象blip, 作者的感受由读者折射出来.
The Memory Box （看来是科幻？）
The rain had turned into a drizzle by nine o’clock. The puddles of water glistened on the sidewalk pavement, reflecting the pale light from the street lamps. Jim pulled up the collar of his old coat against the damp November wind and hastened his steps. He was in his mid-forties, medium height, wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He was not particularly fat, not more so than any middle-aged man with a bulging belly, but the skin and flesh on every part of his body sagged under gravity like a day-old balloon.
The residual warmth from the greasy burger, soggy fries, and cheap beer in his stomach was quickly dissipating. He turned around the street corner into a narrow back street, almost tripping over an empty soda can. A pawnshop and a pizza parlor he passed were both dark inside with the “Closed” sign facing out. The rows of dirty brick houses that lined the street seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Jim stopped in front of a store with a flickering neon sign, “Ray’s Memory Box,” which was missing a couple of letters. He pressed the icy door handle with the familiarity of a blind man in his own home, and entered through the wooden door with peeling paint.
The inside of the store was almost darker than the streets outside. A lamp with a dirty orange shade huddled in a corner of the wobbly reception desk. Behind the desk, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf barely held together against the wall. Piles of papers, binders, boxes, and CDs spilled out of the shelf and onto the floor. (未来的成人店？）A scrawny little man with spiky gray hair looked up at Jim. His skin was covered with wrinkles upon wrinkles. Despite the shriveled face and stature, his agile movement and shifty eyes suggested that he was not as old as he looked. Joey had run the store for as long as Jim had been coming here. His voice was hoarse from chain smoking:
（前三段非常视觉，象电影--嗯，应该说象blip)
“Hey, Jimbo! What’s up?”
Jim took off his spectacles and wiped them with a corner of his shirt, then put them back on. He reached into his pant pocket and placed a fistful of crumbled dirty bills on the counter. “Hey, Joey. Got any new inventory?” He asked.
Joey’s eyes behind the small cracks of lids glanced at the money and returned to Jim’s face. “Sure,” he swirled his chair around and fished out a few disks from the piles on the floor behind him.
“Payday, isn’t it?” Joey said, “Take it easy, Jim. You’ve been here almost every day this month. Don’t forget to put some dough aside for the child-support check.”
（令人上瘾的高科技模拟现实成人片儿？要不是最后这一句，差点儿猜是少数派报告里阿汤哥老看的家庭片儿)
“That blood-sucking bitch has already got her check this month.” Jim slammed his fist on the counter and spit. “Half of my paycheck every month and it can’t even buy a Thanksgiving holiday with my own boy.”
Joey shook his head with pity. “Tough break, buddy.” In the past three years, Jim had only let slip a few one-liners about his bitter divorce despite Joey’s frequent prying. Joey had never heard him referring to his ex-wife by any name other than “the bitch.” （改成店主视角，突然）From the toys he had seen Jim buy for his son, he figured the kid was about eleven or twelve years old. Jim never talked about his life beyond two sentences. Tonight, he again waved away any further discussion on the topic of his ex-wife and fingered the collection on the counter, his eyes burning with hunger.
“What’s this one?” He picked up one disk and held it close to his nose, straining to read the label. “The Caribbean Fling,” then another, “Naughty Friday. Hmm… Sounds racy（词意确切，但书面化得更象作者评语）.”
“Here’s a great one --- A Victorian Proposal. It’s underground, made by Mnemosyne. Remember Mnemosyne?” Joey handed him a disk with a photocopied cover on which one could barely discern the shape of a woman in 19th century costumes.
“I thought she retired.” Jim examined the pirated “blip” copy with curiosity. Blip was short for “brain clip.” The original intention for the technology was to copy and save, and possibly transfer, a small amount of knowledge stored in a person’s brain for potential medical uses in people with Alzheimer’s disease and mental retardation. Soon it became a tool for accelerating children’s learning and schooling. When the price of the technology came down, it was computer gamers who first began to make blips for recreation and exchange them on black markets. The big companies were too slow to catch the trend. The deep-rooted culture of underground production and distribution had not been purged so far by corporations and their copyright big sticks.
Mnemosyne was one of the gurus with a large cult following. The sources of her blips were the subject of much speculation. When early blip-creators paid anyone off the street for raw memory recordings of cheap thrills or basic bodily pleasures, Mnemosyne hand-picked both the “runners”
The Memory Box （看来是科幻？）
The rain had turned into a drizzle by nine o’clock. The puddles of water glistened on the sidewalk pavement, reflecting the pale light from the street lamps. Jim pulled up the collar of his old coat against the damp November wind and hastened his steps. He was in his mid-forties, medium height, wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He was not particularly fat, not more so than any middle-aged man with a bulging belly, but the skin and flesh on every part of his body sagged under gravity like a day-old balloon.
The residual warmth from the greasy burger, soggy fries, and cheap beer in his stomach was quickly dissipating. He turned around the street corner into a narrow back street, almost tripping over an empty soda can. A pawnshop and a pizza parlor he passed were both dark inside with the “Closed” sign facing out. The rows of dirty brick houses that lined the street seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Jim stopped in front of a store with a flickering neon sign, “Ray’s Memory Box,” which was missing a couple of letters. He pressed the icy door handle with the familiarity of a blind man in his own home, and entered through the wooden door with peeling paint.
The inside of the store was almost darker than the streets outside. A lamp with a dirty orange shade huddled in a corner of the wobbly reception desk. Behind the desk, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf barely held together against the wall. Piles of papers, binders, boxes, and CDs spilled out of the shelf and onto the floor. (未来的成人店？）A scrawny little man with spiky gray hair looked up at Jim. His skin was covered with wrinkles upon wrinkles. Despite the shriveled face and stature, his agile movement and shifty eyes suggested that he was not as old as he looked. Joey had run the store for as long as Jim had been coming here. His voice was hoarse from chain smoking:
（前三段非常视觉，象电影--嗯，应该说象blip)
“Hey, Jimbo! What’s up?”
Jim took off his spectacles and wiped them with a corner of his shirt, then put them back on. He reached into his pant pocket and placed a fistful of crumbled dirty bills on the counter. “Hey, Joey. Got any new inventory?” He asked.
Joey’s eyes behind the small cracks of lids glanced at the money and returned to Jim’s face. “Sure,” he swirled his chair around and fished out a few disks from the piles on the floor behind him.
“Payday, isn’t it?” Joey said, “Take it easy, Jim. You’ve been here almost every day this month. Don’t forget to put some dough aside for the child-support check.”
（令人上瘾的高科技模拟现实成人片儿？要不是最后这一句，差点儿猜是少数派报告里阿汤哥老看的家庭片儿)
“That blood-sucking bitch has already got her check this month.” Jim slammed his fist on the counter and spit. “Half of my paycheck every month and it can’t even buy a Thanksgiving holiday with my own boy.”
Joey shook his head with pity. “Tough break, buddy.” In the past three years, Jim had only let slip a few one-liners about his bitter divorce despite Joey’s frequent prying. Joey had never heard him referring to his ex-wife by any name other than “the bitch.” （改成店主视角，突然）From the toys he had seen Jim buy for his son, he figured the kid was about eleven or twelve years old. Jim never talked about his life beyond two sentences. Tonight, he again waved away any further discussion on the topic of his ex-wife and fingered the collection on the counter, his eyes burning with hunger.
“What’s this one?” He picked up one disk and held it close to his nose, straining to read the label. “The Caribbean Fling,” then another, “Naughty Friday. Hmm… Sounds racy（词意确切，但书面化得更象作者评语）.”
“Here’s a great one --- A Victorian Proposal. It’s underground, made by Mnemosyne. Remember Mnemosyne?” Joey handed him a disk with a photocopied cover on which one could barely discern the shape of a woman in 19th century costumes.
“I thought she retired.” Jim examined the pirated “blip” copy with curiosity. Blip was short for “brain clip.” The original intention for the technology was to copy and save, and possibly transfer, a small amount of knowledge stored in a person’s brain for potential medical uses in people with Alzheimer’s disease and mental retardation. Soon it became a tool for accelerating children’s learning and schooling. When the price of the technology came down, it was computer gamers who first began to make blips for recreation and exchange them on black markets. The big companies were too slow to catch the trend. The deep-rooted culture of underground production and distribution had not been purged so far by corporations and their copyright big sticks.
Mnemosyne was one of the gurus with a large cult following. The sources of her blips were the subject of much speculation. When early blip-creators paid anyone off the street for raw memory recordings of cheap thrills or basic bodily pleasures, Mnemosyne hand-picked both the “runners”
Oh well, translated, who does this paragraph remind you of? 
支离破碎的感情片断在瞬间涌入--如沙般从指尖滑落的，是流失，是抱憾，是褪色的容颜与笑意，是悲凉―那层将对她的记忆包裹起来的坚壳，终是如此被辗转碾碎研磨。
待那女子抬起头来直视他，那娇小玲珑已非Alicia，却是曾经的妻Maria，一如二十载前的初见。
则为你如花美眷，玫瑰双颊，乌沉秀发，软玉温香抱满怀。
却原来，竟是他以为早已遗忘的她的容颜，早已遗忘的那一刻：“我们结婚吧？伙计？" 她年方廿二，他也不过是新从研究院毕业的廿七年华。
此刻撞击铭记海岸的,是激情的浪涛。是数十年的悲喜与交战，对生命的迟缓折磨,从怒目相向，到持续的相互刺痛，到彼此的厌憎。
那阴影，自深埋的纠结中缓缓升起，又遗失于杳无人烟的记忆荒原，此刻却苏醒于如阳光般刺目的清醒下。
…直到那层层的波褪色为浅蓝，再渐逝于黑暗之中。
支离破碎的感情片断在瞬间涌入--如沙般从指尖滑落的，是流失，是抱憾，是褪色的容颜与笑意，是悲凉―那层将对她的记忆包裹起来的坚壳，终是如此被辗转碾碎研磨。
待那女子抬起头来直视他，那娇小玲珑已非Alicia，却是曾经的妻Maria，一如二十载前的初见。
则为你如花美眷，玫瑰双颊，乌沉秀发，软玉温香抱满怀。
却原来，竟是他以为早已遗忘的她的容颜，早已遗忘的那一刻：“我们结婚吧？伙计？" 她年方廿二，他也不过是新从研究院毕业的廿七年华。
此刻撞击铭记海岸的,是激情的浪涛。是数十年的悲喜与交战，对生命的迟缓折磨,从怒目相向，到持续的相互刺痛，到彼此的厌憎。
那阴影，自深埋的纠结中缓缓升起，又遗失于杳无人烟的记忆荒原，此刻却苏醒于如阳光般刺目的清醒下。
…直到那层层的波褪色为浅蓝，再渐逝于黑暗之中。
不能这样侮辱蓝莲花吧？ 
