Women told the stories, superstitious, chill-inducing, full of myth and colour, that preserved links with dead generations. They made Memory sitdown at the table with them. She had dismissed those tales for years before finding, especially in "Song of Solomon", deep grist for the worlds she had to recreate. She learned to watch for shadowy figures by the water at her Hudson river place and to listen for their whispers.
女人们讲的故事，迷信，令人毛骨悚然，充满了神话和色彩，保留了与死去的几代人的联系。他们让记忆和他们待在一起。她多年来一直对这些故事不屑一顾，直到发现，尤其是在《所罗门之歌》中，她对自己必须重建的世界的深刻的理解。她在哈德逊河的边上寻找着这些模糊的人物，并且听着他们的耳语。
In particular she felt a reverence for old women, sometime shalf-crazed, who nonetheless seemed to have a lock on wisdom. Her own great-grandmother, for one, for whom all the males in the family stood up without urging. Or Baby Suggs in "Beloved", who preached to her people in the woods that if they, the whites yonder, "do not love your neck unnoosed and straight...You got to love it...put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up." Or the old woman she evoked in her lecture when she received the Nobel, who reminded her young interrogators that the future of language, a bird fluttering between life and death, was in their hands. She gave lectures and advice when she was asked. Her post at Princeton required it from time to time.
她尤其对老年妇女怀有崇敬之情，这些妇女有时爱穿风衣，尽管如此，她们似乎牢牢掌握着智慧。比如她自己的曾祖母，家里所有的男人都不约而同地支持她。或者《宠儿》里的贝比·萨格斯，她在森林里向她的人民说道，如果他们，那边的白人，“不喜欢让你的脖子没有束缚，保持笔直...你得爱它...把一只手放在它上面，优雅地抚摸它，坚持下去。”或者是她接受诺贝尔奖时在演讲中唤醒的年老女人，她向年轻的讯问者提醒道，语言的未来，一只在生死之间摇摆的鸟，在他们的手中。 当有人问她时，她会给人讲课和提出建议。她在普林斯顿的职位时不时地需要她这么做。
But writing fiction was her true freedom. She did it in the hours when no one had a claim on her. She owned it, and the characters were hers to control. If she wanted the hero of "Song of Solomon" to lift his beautiful black ass up in the sky and fly, he would. Shut up, she would tell him. I'm doing this. Steadily, morning by morning, she would get up in the dark and make a mug of coffee, drinking it as the light gathered. When it came, full-bore, enabling, she did not look away.
但是写小说是她真正的自由。她在没人给她提要求的时候进行写作。她拥有它，她控制着书中的人物。如果她想要《所罗门之歌》中的英雄把他美丽的黑屁股举到天上飞起来，她可以做到。闭嘴，她会告诉他。我会这么做。每天早上，她都会在黑暗中起床，煮一杯咖啡，在光线聚集的时候喝着。当光线来的时候，她会全神贯注，充满能量，不会将目光移开。
译文由可可原创，仅供学习交流使用，未经许可请勿转载。
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