Mo Yan Nobel received a reward speech

Distinguished academicians of the Swedish Academy, ladies and gentlemen:

Through TV or the Internet, I think everyone here, I have more or less understanding of the distant high-density northeast township. You may have seen my 90-year-old father and saw my brother and sister. Wife and daughter and my granddaughter one year and four months old. But there is one who I miss most at the moment, my mother, you can never see it. After I won the award, many people shared my glory, but my mother could not share it.

My mother was born in 1922 and died in 1994. Her ashes were buried in Taoyuan on the east side of the village. Last year, a railway had to pass there, and we had to move her grave to a farther distance from the village. According to the grave, we saw that the coffin had decayed and the mother’s bones had been mixed with the mud. We had to symbolically dig up some soil and move it to a new grave. From that moment on, I felt that my mother was part of the earth. My standing on the ground was a statement to my mother.

I am the youngest child of my mother.

One of the earliest things I remember was carrying the only hot water bottle in my house to the public canteen to open the water. Because of hunger and powerlessness, I lost my hand and shattered the thermos. I was so scared that I got into the haystack and didn’t dare to come out one day. In the evening, I heard my mother calling my name. I got out of the haystack and thought I would be beaten, but my mother didn't beat me or lick me, just stroking my head and making a long sigh in my mouth.

The most painful thing in my memory is to follow the mother to the collective land, the wheat ears, the people who guard the wheat fields, the people who smashed the wheat ears have run away, my mother is a small foot, not running fast, being caught, The tall watchman fanned her in the face. She swayed and fell to the ground. The watchman confiscated the wheat that we had picked up, and whistled and ran away. My mother's mouth bleeds and sits on the ground. The desperate look on my face makes me unforgettable. After many years, when the person who guards the wheat field becomes a white-haired old man, meets me at the market, I rushed to think Looking for revenge, my mother took me and said calmly to me: "Son, the one who beat me, and the old man, is not alone."

The most profound thing I remember was the noon of the Mid-Autumn Festival. Our family had a rare dumpling and only one bowl per person. Just as we were eating dumplings, a begging old man came to our door. I picked up half a bowl of sweet potato and sent him. He said with indignation: "I am an old man, you eat dumplings, but let me eat sweet potato. How long is your heart?" I said with anger: "We can't eat dumplings a few times a year, one person and one small bowl, and can't even eat half a full meal! It's good to give you sweet potato, you have to Don't just roll!” The mother reprimanded me, then picked up her half bowl of dumplings and poured them into the old man's bowl.

One of my last regrets was to follow the mother to sell cabbage, and intentionally or unintentionally counted a man who bought cabbage for a dime. After I finished the money, I went to school. When I came home from school, I saw tears of my mother crying. My mother didn't yell at me, just said softly: "Son, you let your mother lose face."

When I was a teenager, my mother suffered from severe lung disease, hunger, sickness, and fatigue, which made our family in trouble and could not see the light and hope. I have a strong sense of ominousness, thinking that my mother will always look for short-sightedness. Whenever I came back from work, when I entered the gate, I shouted at my mother and heard her response. I felt a stone fall to the ground. If I couldn't hear her response, I was frightened and went to the kitchen and the mill to find it. Once, I found all the rooms and I didn't see my mother. I was sitting in the yard and crying. At this time, my mother came in from the outside with a bundle of firewood. She was very dissatisfied with my cry, but I could not tell her about my concerns. My mother saw through my mind, she said: "Children, you can rest assured that although I am not a little happy to live, but as long as the prince does not call me, I will not go."

I was born with an ugly appearance. Many people in the village laughed at me in person. There were several students in the school who even beat me. I went to cry and my mother said to me, "Son, you are not ugly. You don't have a nose, no eyes, no limbs, no ugliness. And, as long as you are kind, do good things, even if it is ugly, you can change. Beauty." Later, I entered the city. Some very cultural people still sneered at me in the back and even mocked me. When I remembered my mother's words, I apologized to them calmly.

My mother is illiterate, but she is very respectful of literate people. Our family has a difficult life and often eats up and down, but as long as I ask her for a book to buy stationery, she will always satisfy me. She is a hardworking person who hates lazy children, but as long as I have lost my work because of reading, she has never criticized me.

For a while, the market came up with a storyteller. I sneaked to the book and forgot the work she had assigned to me. To this end, the mother criticized me. In the evening, when she was making a cotton lamp for her family with a small oil lamp, I couldn't help but retell the story I heard from the storyteller during the day. At first she was impatient because in her mind, the storyteller They are all people who have a slick tongue and are not doing business. From their mouths, they can’t make any good words. But the story I retelled gradually attracted her. In the future, she will not give me a job every time, and acquiesce me to go to the collection. In order to repay the mother's kindness and to show off my memory to her, I will tell the story I heard during the day.

Soon, I am not satisfied with repeating the story told by the storyteller. I am constantly adding vinegar in the process of retelling. I will vote for my mother, make up some plots, and sometimes even change the ending of the story. My audience, not just my mother, even my sister, my sister, my grandmother, have become my audience. After listening to my story, my mother sometimes feels worried, as if to say to me, and like to talk to herself: "Children, who will you become when you grow up? Do you have to rely on poor mouth to eat? ?"

I understand my mother's worries, because in the village, a poor child is boring, sometimes causing trouble for myself and the family. The one I wrote in the novel "The Cow" is often used in the village. The child who hates people has the shadow of my childhood. My mother often reminds me to talk less. She hopes that I can be a quiet, stable child. But in me, it shows a strong ability to speak and a great desire to speak. This is undoubtedly a great danger, but my ability to tell stories brings her pleasure, which makes her fall into deep contradiction. in.

As the saying goes, "Jiangshan is easy to change, nature is difficult to move." Despite the guidance of my parents, I have not changed the nature of my favorite words, which makes my name "Mo Yan", much like the irony of myself.

When China graduated from a small school, she dropped out of school. Because she was young and weak, she could not do heavy work. She had to go to the grassland to graze cattle and sheep. When I took the cattle and sheep from the front of the school and saw the old classmates playing on the campus, my heart was full of sadness, deeply understanding the pain of a person even after leaving a group.

On the barren beach, I let go of the cattle and sheep and let them graze. The blue sky is like the sea, the grass is endless, there is no figure around, no one's voice, only the birds are screaming in the sky.

I feel very lonely, very lonely, my heart is empty. Sometimes, I lay on the grass and looked at the white clouds floating in the sky, and there were many inexplicable fantasies in my mind. There are many stories in our place where foxes become beautiful. I am imagining that there can be a fox turned into a beauty and I am a companion, but she never appears. But once, when a fiery red fox jumped out of the grass in front of me, I was scared to kneel on the ground. The fox ran away, and I was still shaking there. Sometimes I will kneel beside the cow, looking at the blue bull's eye and my reflection in the bull's eye. Sometimes I will imitate the sound of a bird trying to talk to the birds in the sky. Sometimes I will tell a tree about my heart. But the birds ignored me and the tree ignored me. Many years later, when I became a novelist, many of my fantasies were written into the novel by me. Many people praise me for their imagination. There are some literary enthusiasts who hope that I can tell them the secret of cultivating imagination. I can only report it with a smile.

Just like the Chinese sages and old man said: "Blessings and sorrows are sorrowful, and sorrows are sorrowful." I dropped out of school in childhood, suffering from hunger, loneliness, and no book to read, but I am also like our predecessors. The writer Shen Congwen started reading the big book of social life early. As mentioned above, going to the market to hear the storytelling of the book is just a page in this big book.

After dropping out of school, I was in the midst of adulthood and began a long career of “reading with my ears”. More than two hundred years ago, my hometown had a great genius Pu Songling who told stories. Many people in our village, including me, were his descendants. I am in the field of collective labor, in the production team, in the hot hoe of my grandparents, and even on the rickshaws that are swaying, I have heard many stories of ghosts, historical legends, and anecdotes. Interestingly, these stories are closely related to the local natural environment and family history, which gives me a strong sense of reality.

I never dreamed that these things would become my writing materials one day. I was just a child who was obsessed with stories and listened to people's stories with intoxication. At that time, I was an absolute theist. I believe that all things have spirituality. I will see a big tree and will be awe-inspiring. I saw a bird that felt it would change adult at any time. I met a stranger and I suspected that he was an animal. Whenever I came home from the production team's work room, the boundless fear surrounded me. In order to be courageous, I sang and sang loudly. At that time, I was in a period of changing voices, my voice was hoarse, my tone was ugly, and my singing was a torture for my folks.

I lived in my hometown for 21 years. The farthest away from home was the trip to Qingdao by train. I was almost lost between the huge timber of the lumber mill, so that when my mother asked me what scenery I saw in Qingdao, I told her in dismay: I didn't see anything, only saw a pile of wood. But this trip to Qingdao made me have a strong desire to leave my hometown and go outside to see the world.

In February 1976, I enlisted in the army, carrying four copies of the "Chinese General History Compilation" purchased by my mother to sell the jewelry at the wedding, and went out of the high-density northeast town, which made me love and let me hate, started. An important period in my life. I must admit that without the tremendous development and progress of Chinese society for more than 30 years, if there is no reform and opening up, there will be no such writer.

In the boring life of the military camp, I ushered in the ideological liberation and literary craze of the 1980s. I started to try to tell the story with a pen from a child who listened to the story with his ears and told the story with his mouth. The initial road was not smooth. I didn't realize that my 20 years of rural life experience was a literary rich mine. At that time, I thought that literature is a good thing to write good people, that is, to write a hero model. Therefore, although several works have been published, the literary value is very low.

In the autumn of 1984, I was admitted to the Literary Department of the PLA Art Academy. Under the guidance of my famous teacher Xu Huaizhong, I wrote "Autumn Water", "The Dead River", "Transparent Carrot", "Red Sorghum" and so on. Batch short stories. In the novel "Qiu Shui", for the first time, the word "high-density northeast township" appeared. From then on, just like a peasant wandering around with a piece of land, my literary wanderer finally has a life to settle down. Place. I must admit that in the process of creating my literary territory "Gaomi Northeast Township", William Faulkner of the United States and Garcia Marquez of Colombia gave me important inspiration. I didn't take them seriously, but their heroic spirit inspired me to understand that a writer must have a place of his own. A person should be humble and concede in his daily life, but in literary creation, he must be arrogant and arbitrarily. I followed these two masters for two years, realizing that they must escape from them as soon as possible. I wrote in an article: They are two hot stoves, and I am ice, if they are too close to them, Will be evaporated by them. According to my experience, the reason why a writer is influenced by a writer is simply because of the similarities between the influencer and the soul of the affected person. The so-called "the heart has a little bit of a pass." So, although I didn't read their books very well, but after reading a few pages, I understood what they did and understood how they did it. Then I understood what I should do and What should I do?

The thing I should do is actually very simple, that is, telling my own story in my own way. My way, the way I know the market storytellers, is the way my grandparents and the old people in the village tell stories. Frankly speaking, when I told you, I didn't think of who would be my audience. Maybe my audience was like my mother. Maybe my audience is myself. My own story is my personal experience at first. For example, the child who was beaten in "Bush River", such as "Transparent Carrot", the child who never said a word from beginning to end, I did have been beaten by my father because I had done something wrong, I am indeed I used to pull the bellows for the blacksmith master on the bridge site. Of course, no matter how peculiar the personal experience is, it is impossible to write the novel intact. The novel must be fictional. It must be imagined. Many friends say that "transparent carrot" is my best novel. I don't refute it, nor agree with it. But I think "Transparent Carrot" is the most symbolic and meaningful part of my work. The child who is dark, superhuman with the ability to endure pain and the ability of Superman is the soul of all my novels, although in later novels, I wrote a lot of characters, but no one is closer to me than him. soul. Or it can be said that there is always a leader among a number of characters created by a writer. This silent child is a leader. He does not say a word, but powerfully leads all kinds of characters in the stage of Gaomi Northeast. Perform and enjoy yourself.

Your own story is always limited. After you have finished your story, you must tell the story of others. So, the stories of my loved ones, the stories of my villagers, and the stories of the ancestors I heard from the old people, like the soldiers who heard the assembly, rushed out of my memory. They looked at me with a look of hope and waited for me to write about them. My grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, wife, daughter, have appeared in my works, and many of our folks in the high-end northeast township are also exposed in my novels. Pass over. Of course, I have dealt with them literarily, making them transcend themselves and become characters in literature.

In my latest novel "Frog", the image of my aunt appeared. Because I won the Nobel Prize, many reporters went to her house for an interview. At first she patiently answered the questions, but soon she was so annoyed that she went to the county town and her son's family hid. My aunt is indeed a model when I wrote "Frog", but the aunt in the novel is very different from the aunt in real life. The aunt in the novel is arrogant, sometimes like a son-in-law. The aunt in the real life is a standard wife and good mother. The aunt in reality is happy in her later years. The aunt in the novel is in her later years but because of her greatness. Suffering from insomnia, wearing a black robe, wandering in the dark like a ghost, I thank my aunt for her tolerance. She didn't get angry because I wrote her in the novel. I also admire my aunt's wisdom. She correctly understood the complex relationship between characters in the novel and characters in reality.

After the death of my mother, I was deeply saddened and decided to write a book for her. This is the book "Blood Breasts and Buttocks". Because of the well-being of the chest, because it was full of emotions, it took only 83 days, and I wrote the first draft of the 500,000-word novel.

In the book "Blood Breasts and Buttocks", I use the material related to my mother's personal experience unscrupulously, but the mother's emotional experience in the book is fictional or based on the experiences of many mothers in the high-end northeast township. In the volume preface of this book, I wrote the words "Dedicated to the Mother in Heaven", but this book is actually dedicated to the mother of the world. This is my arrogant ambition, just like I hope to make a small " The high-density northeast township is written in the same episode of China and the world.

The author's creative process has its own characteristics. The ideas and inspirations of each book are different. Some novels originate from dreams, such as "Transparent Carrots", and some novels originate from events in real life. "The Song of Paradise Garlic". But whether it originates from a dream or originates from reality, it must be combined with personal experience to become a distinctive personality. It uses a lot of vivid details to create a typical character. The language is rich and colorful, and the structure is unique. In the literary works of Yun, it is necessary to mention in particular that in the Song of Paradise Garlic, I made a real storyteller debut and played a very important role in the book. I am very sorry to use this storytelling. The real name of the person, of course, all his actions in the book are fictitious. In my writing, there have been many such phenomena. At the beginning of writing, I used their real names, hoping to get a sense of intimacy, but after the work is finished, I want to change the name for them but feel it is impossible. So, there have been cases where the same name as the characters in my novel found my father to vent their dissatisfaction. My father apologized to them for me, but at the same time enlightened them not to take it seriously. My father said, "In his "Red Sorghum", the first sentence says "My father is a bandit", I don't care what you still care about?"

It may be because I have experienced a long and difficult life, which gives me a deeper understanding of human nature. I know what true courage is and understand what true compassion is. I know that everyone has a difficult area in which they are difficult to use. This area is a vast space for writers to display their talents. As long as it is accurately and vividly described, this contradictory area is described. The works inevitably transcend politics and possess the qualities of excellent literature.

In my early works, as a modern storyteller, I was hidden behind the text, but from the novel "Sandalwood Penalty", I finally jumped from the background to the front desk. If my early works are self-speaking and have no readers, from the beginning of this book, I feel that I am standing in a square, facing many listeners, telling them vividly, this is the tradition of world novels, and more It is the tradition of Chinese novels. I have also actively studied Western modernist novels, and I have played with various narrative patterns, but I finally returned to the tradition. Of course, this return is not a constant return. "Sandalwood Penalty" and later novels are mixed texts that inherit the tradition of Chinese classical novels and draw on Western novel techniques. The so-called innovation in the field of fiction is basically the product of this mixture.

Finally, let me talk about my life and death fatigue. The title of this book comes from Buddhist classics. As far as I know, translators from all over the world have a headache for translating this title. I have not studied the Buddhist classics in depth. The understanding of Buddhism is naturally superficial. The reason why I use this as a topic is because I think that many of the basic ideas of Buddhism are true cosmic consciousness, many disputes in the world, in the eyes of Buddhism. There is no point in this kind of life. It is very sad that such a world of high vision is very sad. Of course, I did not write this book as a sermon. I wrote about human destiny and human emotions, human limitations and human tolerance. And the efforts and sacrifices made by people to pursue happiness and adhere to their own beliefs. The blue face in the novel that confronts the trend of the times with one's own body is a real hero in my mind. The prototype of this character is a peasant in our neighboring village. When I was a child, I often saw him pushing a squeaky wooden wheeler through the road in front of my house. The one who pulled him the car was a donkey's donkey, and he was the wife of his little feet. This strange combination of labor, in the collectivized society of the time, seemed so weird and out of place. In the eyes of our children, they were also regarded as clowns moving against the historical trend, so that when they passed by the street When we are throwing stones at them with indignation, for many years, when I pick up the pen to write, this character, this picture, will come to my mind, I know, I will write for him someday. A book, I will tell his story to the world sooner or later, but it was not until 2005 that when I saw the "six reincarnations" murals in a temple, I understood the correct way to tell the story.

After I won the Nobel Prize in Literature, it caused some controversy. At first, I thought that the object of controversy was me. Gradually, I felt that this controversial object was a person who had nothing to do with me. I am like a watching man, watching the performances of everyone. I saw that the winner was covered with flowers, and he was thrown with stones and poured into the sewage. I was afraid that he would be beaten, but he smiled and drilled out from the flowers and stones to wipe the dirty dirt. Water, standing calmly, said to everyone.

For a writer, the best way to speak is to write. What I should say is written in my work. Words spoken with my mouth are scattered with the wind, and words written with a pen will never be erased. I hope that you can read my book patiently.

Even if you read my book, I don't expect you to change my mind. There isn't a writer in the world that makes all readers like him. This is especially true in today’s times.

Although I don't want to say anything, I have to speak on such a situation today, so I will simply say a few more words.

I am a storyteller, I still want to tell you stories.

In the 1960s, the school organized us to visit a miserable exhibition. We burst into tears under the guidance of the teacher. In order to let the teacher see my performance, I would not want to wipe the tears from my face. I saw a few The classmate quietly wiped the spit on his face and pretended to shed tears. I also saw that there was a classmate between the students who were crying and crying. There was no tear on his face, no sound in his mouth, and no face to face. He stared at us with a look of surprise or confusion in his eyes. Afterwards, I reported the behavior of this classmate to the teacher. To this end, the school gave the classmate a warning. Years later, when I repented to the teacher for my confession, the teacher said that there were more than a dozen classmates who came to see him that day. This classmate died more than a decade ago. Whenever I think of him, I am deeply apologized. This incident made me realize that when people cry, they should allow some people not to cry. When crying becomes a performance, you should allow some people not to cry.

I will tell a story again: I was still working in the army more than 30 years ago. One night, I was reading in the office. An old man came in and looked at the position opposite me. He said to himself: Hey, no one?" I immediately stood up and said in a loud voice: "Don't you say that I am not a human?" The old chief was blushing and screaming, and for this matter, I was proud of it for a long time, thinking that I was It is a heroic fighter, but after many years, I feel deeply guilty.

Please allow me to tell the last story. This is what my grandfather told me many years ago: There are eight masons who go out to work, to avoid a storm, hid in a broken temple, and the thunder outside is like a burst of silence. One by one, the fireballs rolled around the temple door. There seemed to be a screaming dragon in the air. Everyone was frightened and terrified. Some people said, "One of our eight people must have done a bad thing that hurts the world. Who? If you have done bad things, you will go out of the temple and accept punishment, so as not to let the good people be implicated.” Naturally no one is willing to go out, and some people have suggested: “Since everyone does not want to go out, let’s throw our straw hat out, who’s When the straw hat is scraped out of the temple door, it means that who has done something bad, then ask him to go out and accept the punishment.” So everyone threw their straw hat away from the temple door, and the seven people’s straw hats were scraped back into the temple. There was only one person’s straw hat. After being rolled out, everyone urged this person to go out and be punished. He naturally refused to go out. Everyone lifted him up and threw the temple door. I guess everyone guessed the ending of the story. The man had just been thrown out of the temple, built in the dilapidated temple collapsing.

I am a storyteller.

Because of the story, I won the Nobel Prize in Literature.

After the award, many wonderful stories have taken place. These stories make me firmly believe that truth and justice exist.

In the years to come, I will continue to tell my story.

thank you all!