Tag Archives: 小說

《Less》書評：不如他人

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62386248_441367870010315_144654923731042304_n我最近在看一本名為《Less》的同志小說。主角Less是一位年近五十的同志小說家，他在二十幾歳的時候曾經跟一位比他大二十歳的大師級詩人在一起，但他四十幾歳的時候則是跟一位比他小二十歳的青年交往。然而，正當Less要邁入生命的後半段時，那位現在已經三十幾歳的情人找到了跟他年紀相近的伙伴，所以與Less分手。

小說中提到Less那一代人和他這兩位情人分屬的兩代，三代之間在意識形態上的矛盾和對立。詩人的那一代同志甚至不認為自己是同志，也沒有什麼同志歸屬感。詩人本身是雙性戀，沒有公開出櫃，也沒有被文學圈歸類為一名「同志」詩人；比他年輕的那位青年Freddy屬於年輕一代，他們公開承認他們同志的身份，他也善於跟「同志」作家圈社交。

Less的小說在這些年輕世代的圈內作家眼裡，是對同志身份太悲觀的風格。Less本身也有點自卑：他知道他不是天才（不過他跟詩人交往的期間身邊都是天才）；跟Freddy交往時，則被視為不夠gay，不如年輕一代以同志身份為傲，也不是對同志圈有責任感的同志作家。他的姓也暗示他不如別人（less than）的身份。

他為了婉拒Freddy的婚禮邀請函，決定去國外旅遊。在出發之前他與經紀人見面，才得知他最近寫完的小說剛被出版社退稿，因為跟以往一樣，主角又是一個自覺委屈的中產階級白人同志。有趣的是，故事中Less的小說其實跟這本小說Less有許多相似之處，比方說，主角都是年紀比較大、充滿疑惑的白人同志，他們懷念過去的身世。不過，在現代社會，一個白種同志一般來說並不是很大的問題，多得是更受壓迫的社群。然而，在他出發之前，他沒辦法看到自己世界之外的一切，只是一再重複一樣的故事。

讓我比較產生共鳴的部分，是他在講那些經歷過第一代愛滋病危機的同志，他們活到晚年的感受。在缺乏模範的情況下，那一代的同志不是很清楚要有尊嚴地活到老。更進一步來說，對同志而言，什麼是「有意義」的存在？身為同志，是要效仿異性戀社會的典範，結婚、生下（或領養）小孩嗎？這些問題也牽涉到我上述的「矛盾和對立」。早期的同志運動其實意圖為顛覆以異性戀為正統的關係典範。最近台灣才剛通過婚姻平權法案，但反對這個法案的萌萌竟然無意識地呼應早期的同志運動，也就是性解放的觀點：同性戀者不應該（或不適合）受「正統」異性戀關係的壓迫影響；萌萌口中的「不反同，反同婚」也是套用這個道理。在婚姻平權法案之前，台灣曾有「多元成家」法案，更符合性解放運動的觀點，不過沒有通過。在某方面來說，現有法案比較傳統，同性戀關係也受限於傳統典範；不過，這同時也是一個比較踏實的觀點，同性戀者不因為性取向並而比異性戀者更有智慧，也是繼續複製異性戀社會中的階級與種族不平等。

總之，還沒看完，不過我還是很推薦這本小說。

Book launch: The woman from Taichung meets the little French prince《臺中一姊遇到法國小王子》

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IMG_0398smallWent to an enjoyable book launch today. The book is called 《臺中一姊遇到法國小王子》(The woman from Taichung meets the little French prince). I read the first few chapters when I was waiting to meet the author. The book seems like a charming, light read, on the development of the romance of the author and her French boyfriend (now husband). If you’re asking “why do I care?” right now, the answer is perhaps that Taiwan is still very conservative about what it calls “cross-cultural” relationships, and this book has an important task in offering an alternative representation of foreign male/Taiwanese female relationships to the one that Apple Daily most revels in, ie a nasty foreign guy who is unemployable in his own country, comes to Taiwan, and uses a combination of drink and foreign tricks to sleep with her, robbing Taiwanese men of their birthright (I think Li Ang’s book is having an effect on me). The couple are very charming, and the vocabulary is definitely very accessible for foreign learners looking to pick up their first Chinese-language novel. Of what I gleaned of the tone of the book, it’s not about foreigner worship, or doing down Taiwan, but is rather a comic but sincere look at how relationships like these function long term, which is what Professor Fongming Yang was asking for in this article.

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Thanks to my skills with the camera, most of the footage is a little fuzzy along with the pictures, but had an interesting chat with the author (above), and will write a review after I’ve read it, incorporating some of the footage I shot.

The Sound of a Falling Angel in the Night – Lolita Hu 夜裡天使墮落的聲音——胡晴舫

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Image Lolita Hu (胡晴舫) was born in Taipei and graduated from the Foreign Languages Department of National Taiwan University and went on to get her masters in the Theatre Department of The University of Wisconsin. In 1999 she moved to Hong Kong. She writes cultural criticism as well as short stories and essays. Her works have been published in the media in Mainland China, Taiwan, Hong Kong and Singapore. She currently lives in Tokyo.

Dim light is cast by the dragon-head-shaped wall lights, the pulse of electro shakes the entire space, comfy sofas divide the room into different nooks and crannies for people to drink in, pink nylon and muslin hang from the ceiling to the floor, prints of hundreds of bored faces are faintly discernible upon it. It could only be the hottest spot in Beijing this weekend.

Every three months a new nightclub appears in Beijing, and everybody trips over themselves to go there. The nightclub will normally be in a hutong, a dilapidated courtyard style house or a factory that’s about to be demolished. The same people every time scurry along to explore the new bar, they spout their cigarette smoke while telling you in lofty tones how the music in this new place is cool. After three months have passed, if it’s not that the style of the music has changed, or that the building which houses the club has suddenly been demolished by the city government, then it’s that it loses popularity for no particular reason whatsoever. Another bar opens, it’s also housed in an old factory, a hutong, or a traditional courtyard style house, wherever it may be, it always sounds incredibly cool.

Everyone vies with one another to be the first to spread the news. Then, at the new bar you meet the same familiar faces who recommended the old bar to you so enthusiastically.

When someone mentions the old bar, it’s as if they’re talking about a has-been celebrity. It’s so passé, they say. I don’t even know why it was so popular in the first place, it’s only logical that it’s become as out of fashion as it should have been in the first place.

It’s Friday night at 2am at the hottest bar of this couple of months, situated in the Sanlitun area. She has drunk quite a lot, but she’s still quite sober. She came with a friend who had a song twenty years ago which was popular throughout the whole of Beijing but who never followed it up with any other songs, when meeting a stranger he would always say “I’m so-and-so, do you want to buy me a drink?’. She would stand next to her friend, then not long after that she would ditch him, and sit down next to an immaculately dressed foreigner.

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