If envy can also be a synonym for avoidance

Too lonely, or quirky waiter. ——Herbar, who liked it recently

For thirty-five years, Hanjia used a packing press to dispose of waste paper. From waste paper to art philosophy, there is nothing in waste paper. Han Jia’s dirty body was full of words. After reading a good book every day, the words and sentences are all chewed by the old workers holding the shovel. But the job is so dirty at the bottom, Han Jia’s fingers are always scratched by the razor blades hidden in the waste pile, and the flesh-and-blood waste paper from the slaughterhouse is also clustered. The flies were so surrounded that he went to the beer store to have a drink, and the waiter would stay away from him in disgust. He had a dead fly on his forehead and a small mouse in his sleeve.

It is such a humble worker who recycles waste paper resources. But for the church library and ethnology professors to give free books for free, and in order to make the Prussian Royal Library a fine collection of books will be according to the price of waste paper: the price per kilogram of foreign exchange krona loaded on the train sold to Switzerland and Austria I feel deeply guilty. "At that time, I had found strength in my heart, which made me witness the unfortunate and indifferent, restrained my feelings. At that time, I began to understand how beautiful the sight of destruction and misfortune was..."

The memories of life are excavated at the moment when these and waste products occur. Mother's ashes, rotted corpses; the girl who is always discriminated and ridiculed because of contaminated feces, Manqinka; only the unknown girl who needs to raise the fire to make a pot of potato sausages and occasionally want to release the kites In the concentration camp; the hard-working Tsoka women always believe that there will be beautiful photos for them... The love and sadness pieces associated with the years are melodious in the basement of this mouse. Jesus and Lao Tzu will also appear in the humble basement, and Han Jia will see the mystery of the hatchback contrast.

Knowledge, thoughts, memories, and desolation brought together the war-torn mice, the crazy flies, and the roaring machines, which created the “too lonely” of a lonely old man. The cherishment of human civilization, there is a new way of expression: put a spread book in each waste paper bag, a copy of the outer wrap of famous paintings, together with the dirty animals that are inevitably squeezed to death, become a Square package. This is why we can't imagine it out of thin air. When a person closes his mouth, but when his heart becomes endless, there will be such awkwardness.

At the end of the day, he saw with his own eyes that the young man and the new packaging machine were about to replace his position, he and all the old-fashioned packers working on the waste paper while reading, and the young and the children practiced tearing the new books off the cover. The book was thrown at the machine, and I didn’t look at it. He began to repeat that “the heavens are not kind,” and the books are pulled up by the hands. Dealing with waste paper has become a work without humanity, which makes Han Jia heartache. Eventually he lost his job in order to give way to these mechanical work, efficient young people to take over his position and his hydraulic baler.

He will lose everything. You will see that when a person loses his only way of life and his loneliness in thirty-five years, he is a dead knot. In the slight drunkenness, he saw the entire Prague from its extension to its own location, all squeezed into a huge waste package. Does this really mean that there is no hope for the world to be arrogant?

Perhaps this is the suggestion, or the inevitable despair, he really sent himself to the pressure machine that has been in the past thirty-five years. He eventually made himself into a package. As the end of his favorite and familiar way, quietly greet the fate of not being kind, equating himself with philosophy and famous painting, and metaphorizing the ultimate destiny.

Heaven is not merciful. Originally should be sacred books, people who should be human, will change the various forms to prove the incompetence of heaven and earth. Hypocrisy, fanaticism, rudeness, war, and even modernization will turn people into objects of abandonment. Some people are being executed, ridiculed, and forgotten for different reasons. Here, this old Han Jia, who is in the basement and the mouse, can do it even if he is full of books.

The horrible ending of this story became so sensible after Lao Hanjia’s life. It is a great desolation. The grief of the heart is so strong that it is the reasonable ending of the author's life.

I also read Herabar’s "I have served the King of England", a life story about a small hotel waiter, entangled in the context of World War II, this Czech waiter from humble to rich, but with some loss The betrayal of the national position is premised. His life principle is simple and powerful. He just wants to own a famous restaurant belonging to him and become a millionaire. The odd thing is that he became a millionaire because of the stamps left by several German wives, but he would rather be in prison and be recognized as a millionaire first. The rich and the poor have always been discriminating against each other, but it is ironic when they get to this step, but it makes people feel sad. Why does life exist? If a simple ordinary person has a firm ideal, it is great or even more pitiful.

Both of Herabar's novels are streamlined and short, but full of compassionate conscience. The tiny protagonists entangled in the background of major human social changes such as wars, coups, etc., are heart-wrenching with their unique wisdom, perseverance and sense of humor.

In stark contrast to his short stories, "Too Lonely Lonely" and "I have served the King of England" use the first-person confession, almost no segmentation habits, all in one go, memories and feelings, descriptions and fantasies All the water is flowing, people feel that it is not generally smooth, but can't wait to be familiar with everything. Therefore, in these two unique styles of novels, there is no trace of oysters. For any reader, such a wonderful, even bizarre character fate will lead to reading in one go. If we determine that this is a kind of realism, we have to pay special attention to the surreal brushwork. In some cruel aspects, his confession is no less than the "100-year-old" Latin magicalism. Unexpected contrasts, details beyond the common sense of intellectuals, will make people who are satisfied with the food and clothing of the city have never been seen before. Lenovo ability.

This way, I can talk about it incessantly. How many people can do it? At the same time, it is incisive, cultural, and mournful, and it can be stopped in time and ingeniously changed.

The beginning of this novel is inexplicable and fascinating for a moment, as if the knowledge gained is indeed the absorption process of that enjoyment. Later, in his layer of disclosure, he realized that the mess of this special class can be said to reach the extreme. Recalling the scene of the waste recycling bin that I have witnessed. I remember that on a summer day in the third year of high school, I piled up textbooks, reference books and various mock papers in the back seat of the bicycle. I drove to the nearby waste recycling bin with almost grief and indignation, watching a foreigner rough. The fingers flipped open a stack of reference books, with some indescribably secret and ironic smile, told me, don't you? But that's all. My memories of this amazing novel can only be remembered. I never thought that these high school cultural knowledge filled with numbers and words makes sense for the foreigner who collects waste. But I did think from another angle, that is, diaries and letters, can not be sold. So far, I have torn the envelope with the name and address into pieces. The diary and the contents of the letter are rather wet and have a musty smell in the old bookshelves of the old family, and they will not be sold in bundles. Now I suddenly realize that I am a person who values ​​privacy too much. In fact, nothing.

The waste paper packer named Han Jia made me feel that the mind can be boundless. The guilty feelings and kind acquiescence are jointly testing the conscience of the people, sin, sometimes from the betrayal of one's heart, and helplessly face the reality and acquiesce in the crime. The factual crimes that are not established are swaying in front of us. Maybe you will say that there are no such dead people in our lives, girls who have disappeared and died in concentration camps; even if we are scrap workers, there are not so many replicas of famous paintings that can make us wrap out twenty. A golden square of vanilla sunflowers. This is too bizarre. It is a self-fantasy of an intellectual with artistic imagination.

But in the final analysis, I have to say that we read novels not to see "reality" but to "some kind of truth that is pointed out." For this purpose, writers can use their imagination to make us obsessed, even from the bodies of flies and rats. In the basement of the waste, you gain a sense of compassion for life. Seeing this "some kind of truth" is both the author and the old Han Jia, but only given to the old Han Jia, this keen and desolate sentiment is more and more touching.

We can only feel the most kind of sorrow in this humanity in very few moments. Even when there are more murderous arson, war, and rebellion than the novel in many corners of the world, we are in front of newspapers and television as an idiot who seems to know everything. Personal destiny has been rewritten one-sidedly in the comfort and comfort of urban life. People are conscientiously controlling their own lives and following the happiness and peace of the mainstream. Therefore, in peacetime without war, the largest number of mortals can only live in their own lives. The sorrows and joys are concentrated on the world's desolation, mostly self-pity. The side effect of a good day is that people lose their perception, especially to others. Perhaps this is why the Czech writer Herabar was engaged in the underlying work for a lifetime. The changing Czech Republic, the ivory tower could not exist, so it is better to face the truth of life. And after a Ph.D. in law, I have been working hard for a lifetime, and there are several intellectuals who can only publish the first work at the age of 49.

Heraba's life should be envied by us, if envy can be synonymous with evasion. He is a doctor of law. After graduating from college, he insisted on the lowest level of labor life. He has worked in waste paper recycling bins, steelmakers, warehouse managers, salesmen, stage setters, etc. His first work was only published at the age of 49. His experience, as evidenced by the achievements of literary creation, became a typical example of “art from life”. Without real labor and life, he could not write such a novel. But thinking from another angle, just because he is a conscious, uncompromising intellectual, he will choose this and complete the art summary. The quality of hard work and hard work is absolutely admirable, and the most touching one is his concern and patience as a conscious intellectual for humanity and the history of the nation. There are some things that really need to be chewed, milled and smashed like a Han Jia for thirty-five years, and can only be obtained in a huge contrast.

Sayed specifically mentioned a concept when discussing intellectuals. Real intellectuals should have the consciousness of self-exile. Obviously, Herabar not only realized early, but also loved these fresh and powerful labor life from the heart. The waiters in his writing are funny and paranoid, the packagers are serious and innocent, and the steelworkers are enthusiastic and energetic. These are almost all the vitality that the high intellectuals who are banned from the fighting room just lack.

First day: winter temperature