Author: wulb

Goodbye to Newspapers?

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　　BIBF8月30日开幕，主宾国德国诺奖作家缺席，其争议自传中文版拖至10月出版

　　本报讯（记者张弘）2007北京国际图书博览会（以下简称BIBF）将于8月30日开幕，作为前奏的“北京国际出版论坛”将于28日在中国大饭店举行，主宾国德国安排了多场中德作家的对话，可惜当代德国最有影响力的诺奖作家君特·格拉斯未能来华。同时，他那本曾在世界引起轩然大波的自传《剥洋葱》中文版也无缘本次BIBF，出版时间拖到了10月以后。

　　北大学生做读者代表参加论坛

　　记者从组委会获悉，28日举行的2007年“北京国际出版论坛”的主题为“阅读新趋势与出版业的发展”。新闻出版总署署长柳斌杰、贝塔斯曼直接集团执行董事会主席埃瓦尔德·瓦尔根巴赫、美国大英百科全书公司总裁霍海等都将在论坛发言。

　　与往年不同的是，北京大学中文系学生刘琪将作为读者代表登上论坛的讲台。中国出版科学研究所所长郝振省称，自己在论坛发言中，“将通过本所所做的国民阅读调查情况，对阅读新趋势进行分析。”29日，“2007中美大学出版论坛”第十四届BIBF暨“中华图书特殊贡献奖”颁奖仪式将在人民大会堂举行，届时，组委会将给德国汉学家顾彬、罗梅君、以及德国大学助理教授乌里希·考茨博士颁奖。

　　法兰克福书展前主席新书首发

　　德国图书信息中心王竞称，法兰克福书展现任主席博思以及前主席卫浩世都将参加本届书展。博思除了参加本届BIBF开幕式并发言以外，31日下午，他还将在德国出版管理论坛上发言。而卫浩世展示法兰克福书展6个世纪以来的变革与发展的中文版新书《法兰克福书展600年》，也将在30日的BIBF现场首发。

　　除了法兰克福书展两任主席，中国出版界一直期待德国著名作家、诺贝尔文学奖得主君特·格拉斯能访华。如今主办方已确定他不会参加本次BIBF.无独有偶，去年格拉斯曝光自己在二战期间曾做过武装党卫军的自传《剥洋葱》中文版也将无缘本届BIBF.译林出版社总编刘锋称，“这本书原定在本届BIBF首发。由于现在无法赶出来，估计要到10月份以后面市。”

　　德国新锐作家对话周国平阎连科

　　虽然格拉斯缺席，但歌德学院表示，从开幕之日起，德方安排了多场中德作家的对话，参与对话的德国新锐作家包括罗妮卡·彼得斯、彼得·施塔姆等，而中国作家则包括周国平、阎连科、毕飞宇、叶兆言等。

　　从8月26日至9月2日，北京图书大厦、万圣书园等七家书店将举办“德国图书周”。

　　29日，法兰克福市市长罗特女士，法兰克福书展主席博思先生将带领德国高层代表团、德国出版商代表团以及国际出版商代表，参观本次活动。

　　此外，德方还安排了多场活动，就中德出版业的合作、中国文化艺术产业和西方市场等问题进行探讨。
 
 

走向和解与建设的一步

——我看茅于轼的“替富人说话，为穷人办事” 

 

1

茅于轼先生的文章“替富人说话，为穷人办事”，遭到许多批评，甚至不少漫骂。但我赞赏茅先生的文章，向他表示敬意和支持，这篇文章不媚权，亦不媚众，也不屈于时尚，重实情，讲道理，敢言众所不容之言。这是知识分子独立的人格。

“替富人说话，为穷人办事”，在西方社会用不着说；但在目前中国，这话就很有意义，非得有人说不可。当然谁要是说了就可能遭致围攻、谩骂，说这话得有些勇气。茅先生的这个观点，在中国有其具体的背景和历史渊源，据此才能看到其意义。

茅先生说：“现在社会上为穷人说话的人很多，替富人说话的人很少。另一方面为富人办事的人很多，为穷人做事的人很少。 ”“原因很简单。为穷人说话能够得到社会上大多数人的赞同。……为穷人说话是不会出问题的。”“ 为富人说话则不同。由于大众受马克思剥削理论的灌输，富人被认为是剥削者。为剥削者说话当然错了。我国又有仇富的传统，帮富人说话肯定是不受欢迎的。”“ 至于做事，为富人做事是有酬劳的，所以大多数人愿意为富人做事。而为穷人做事很难有酬劳，所以为穷人做事的人比较少。于是结果是许多人为富人做事， 为穷人说话；很少人为富人说话，为穷人做事。这样一个社会是很不正常的，是容易出问题的。”

茅先生的话很实在，是因为中国社会不正常，“所以我要反其道而行之，为富人说话，为穷人做事。” 在西方，私有制、自由经济是其社会基础，有制度和法律的保障，私有观念根深蒂固，因此富人的财产、权益有保护，有安全，能正常地经营和贸易。而且中产阶级比例大，穷人不是多数，而他们的基本生活也有保障，所以社会没有仇富问题。由此，在西方不需要特别地为富人说话，他们有能力靠法律维护自己；反之，穷人是弱势，他们缺少竞争的能力，也缺少维护自身权益的手段，比如打官司，就很难请得起律师。因此，西方社会的公共舆论和种种福利政策都倾向穷人。一般地说，自由更有利于强者；舆论偏向穷人是对此的平衡与制约。权力、财富、舆论，三者的分立与制衡，是西方民主社会的结构特征。

目前中国，穷人不仅是弱势，而且是非常艰困，其中很大一部分生存尚无保障。在中国当然需要为穷人说话，现在有越来越多的人为穷人说话，这是好事。但是仅仅说话是不够的，尚需要能为穷人具体做事，帮助他们走出贫穷。这里所说的帮助不是救济， 而是提供某些机会、条件、技术，靠穷人自己努力走出贫困。比如，茅先生身体力行的“小额贷款”、“保姆学校”，就是为穷人具体做事。就整个世界，帮助穷人已是知识者的普遍义务和责任，无论是发达的西方，还是落后的第三世界。在这方面，中国知识者做得是差的。远的不说，对比一下印度知识者，就很让我们脸红。当然，中国知识者有其特殊的背景，毛的30年将知识者剥夺迫害得太悲惨了，从物质、精神、人格，乃至心理，他们都丧失了人起码的独立和自重；一个人尚不能担负自身，自然也就顾不了他人，更承担不了社会。80年代后，中国知识阶级的处境开始变化，至90年代后，就他们的地位和利益已为中国中上阶级。按说，他们该有更多的社会义务和责任了，但是中国的知识者并未担起。毛留下了浓重而漫长的阴影，其一就是知识者卑怯、自身难保的人格，他们终于翻身，有了机会，得照顾好自己，而且利益越多越好。茅先生批评“为穷人做事的人比较少”，“这样一个社会是很不正常的”，是有针对性的。

我对中国知识阶级不悲观，我想随着时间的延续，社会的变化，知识者会反省、变化，会有越来越多的人为穷人做事，为社会做事。而且现在已经有一批先进知识者出来，为民众维权、做事，茅先生本身就是一个表率，高耀洁女士更是让我们感动。承付社会义务和责任，毕竟是人更高更完整的实现和发展。

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“为穷人办事”，人大多不会对之有异议，茅先生让人攻击的是“替富人说话”。在中国到底要不要替富人说话？茅先生说：“我这里所说的富人不包括贪污盗窃，以权谋私，追求不义之财的那些人，而是指诚实致富，特别是兴办企业致富的企业家和创业者。我愿意为这样的富人说话。”茅先生这样说，是因为他事先就想到，“替富人说话”将受到许多道德指控。把这层道德因素去掉，茅先生所指的富人主要是指企业家、商人，旧话是“资本家”“剥削阶级”。

茅先生的文章有疏漏，比如他说：“中国穷了几千年，其中原因之一就是仇富。社会上有了一些富人就变成众矢之的，就被剥夺，被侵犯。这一传统几千年没变……”。其一，穷富不能以今天的价值为参照，在历史上很多时代，以当时的经济情况，中国曾经是富裕大国。其二，如果以今天的价值为参照，中国几千年的贫穷，也不是因为仇富（即使是原因之一），而是因为生产技能与方式。就自然农业，畜犁耕种，中国经济已经发展到了当时的极限。其三，仇富不是中国的传统。在中国底层社会有杀富济穷的思想，但比重不大，只在社会崩溃，发生大规模暴乱时才有作用。对于大多数中国百姓来说，他们的财富观念是“生死有命，富贵在天”，而在正统儒家学说中，“富与贵，是人之所欲也。不以其道得之，不处也。贫与贱，是人之所恶也。不以其道得之，不去也。”也就是，富与贫都要遵仁合规。四、“社会上有了一些富人就变成众矢之的，就被剥夺，被侵犯”，中国历史上也不是这样，中国古代文化如此发达，没有财富的相对集中、稳定不可能成就，我们看看苏杭那些私家园林就明白。

但是，茅先生在当前提出对“仇富”的批评，仍然非常重要。他的“替富人说话”是针对中国出现的“仇富”情绪而来的。由20年代到80年，中共革命60年，其中心就是阶级斗争，说穿了就是鼓动穷人仇恨富人，进行暴力革命，夺取国家权力，实现“无产阶级专政”。中国的“仇富”传统是从这里开始，并普及扎根的。这几十年中，在农村消灭了地富；在城市消灭了资产阶级——有产者、企业家和商人；全国知识者被批判洗脑、打为另类；即中国有中等以上财产、才能和文化的人全体覆没。且不说死了多少人，这使中国民族的素质退化一半以上。其结果是大跃进，饿死数千万人，八亿人民几十年一无所有。49年后，“阶级斗争”作为国家意识形态，强制教育30余年，毛泽东思想至今写在中国宪法。“仇富”、“剥削论 ”、“阶级斗争”、“大锅饭”、“臭老九”，这套意识形态的影响不可轻估，其在中国人的思想中落下了根。

有人说，中国现在没有“仇富”意识。如果没有，那么重新崇拜毛泽东是怎么回事？重提“阶级斗争”，要求回到“社会主义”又是怎么回事？中国“的确有一批人准备打倒富人，再次剥夺他们。这批人反对为富人说话，反对保护富人。”他们“鼓动穷人反对富人，宣传富人有罪，宣称穷人和富人势不两立，制造剥夺富人的理论。”茅先生说的“仇富”，准确地说就是毛意识形态：“打倒资本家”，消灭“剥削阶级”，再进一步就是“分田分地”、“劳苦大众翻身解放”、“工农兵当家作主”。毛泽东意识回潮，一方面其反映了社会危机，另一方面也将给中国带来危险。最近，中共数十名原高层领导致信中央要求“拨乱反正”，回到“社会主义”和“共产主义理想”，是之代表。这股力量不能轻估。我需要说，它的危险巨大，大过中国眼下的专制。现在，中国毕竟承认了私有财产，鼓励自由经济；但是中国如果再发生毛革命，将葬送中国二十多年的经济成果，将丧失中国走向自由民主制度的基础：私有制和自由经济。而中国正需要坚持、推进这两点。私有制和自由经济，不仅有益于富人，也有益于穷人。比如如果土地私有，农民的土地就不会被强占剥夺；是因为土地承包，有了自由市场，80年代后农民才有了温饱。公有制的要害是：公而不有，唯权力所有。茅先生对于“仇富”意识的批评，其根本意义就是：中国要不要回到毛那里？是私有制、自由经济；还是“分田分地”，“公有制”“大锅饭”？这有关中国的道路与命运。

中国经济发展有种种不合理，其中心是中国是权力控制和垄断，经济的竞争和财富的分配没有公正规则和法律保障。在这种制度中，除少数贪赃枉法依靠权力的人，大部分人都是受害者，既包括底层民众，也包括大多数企业家和商人。这也就是茅先生所说：“当企业家容易吗？他们要交纳各式各样的苛捐杂税，要对付不讲理的官员，给他们上贡，请吃饭，陪娱乐，说好话，低三下四地做人。中国的企业家是全世界最难当 的，风险最大的，负担最重的。在执业中稍有闪失，比如得罪了某位高官，没有协调好黑社会的关系，立刻灾难临头，多年的努力马上付之东流。在一个政策多变， 朝不保夕的环境中，战战兢兢做事。”对于中国大多数企业家、商人来说，他们何尝不希望中国有健全的法律和制度，像西方、美国，踏踏实实地经营，踏踏实实地赚钱。看不到这些，将富人归于腐败者、既得利益者，需要对之革命，这是共产意识。中国需要制度的改革，而不是社会革命。为什么面对中国的现实问题，许多人会一下回到毛那里去？为什么中国会再次兴起毛热潮？几十年的毛思想统治，在民族的心底留下了烙印。自由经济的发展会带来许多问题，但是我们应该以新的眼光、思想，积极建设的精神去修正，而不是简单地回到毛那里，重拾“阶级斗争”的武器。半个多世纪的思想、言论控制，导致中国民族的思想、精神贫乏，许多人除了毛没有其它的思想资源。我们收集一下批判茅先生的文字，他们的语言大多是毛时代的用语，就说明问题。我们该反省一下，半个多世纪，中国民族的思想、精神、文化、认识能力到底倒退了多少？

3

“中国改革三十年，财富的创造增加了十倍之多。这主要是企业家的功劳。” 茅先生这句话说过些了，如果将“主要”改为“重要”就恰当了。因为中国的企业家的力量还弱，尚起不到主导的作用。但是茅先生勇于为企业家说话，肯定他们在中国经济发展中的成就，这是值得赞赏的。在中国传统中重农抑商，这在自然农业社会还有一定的道理。但是在现今世界，工商不发达，社会国家即无出路，民众也不会走出贫困。在一定的意义上，工商带领、推动今天的世界。中国未来经济的发展，很大程度上决定于中国是否能有一个稳定、有实力、高素质、高水平、承负责任的私营企业家、商人阶层，也就是毛所说的“资产阶级”。

中国“资产阶级”自晚清到毛，可谓是孤零一线、风雨飘摇、惨淡经营、连根铲除。由封闭的古中国，迈进现代世界，我们的民族本来是应该由他们来带领的，他们的失败是中国民族的失败。如果他们强大一些，多为他们说话，多辅助他们，历史也多给他们一些机会，上一世纪中国不至于如此悲惨。在近代中国社会的转折中，就企业家、商人所应有的作用和功能，他们的力量太弱了。试想，如果顺着上世纪20-40年代，让他们自由发展下去，中国社会将是什么情景？从历史、从社会发展，中国资产阶级是弱势，简直是太弱，如果他们不弱，中共革命就不会成功，中国就将是另一番样子，黎民百姓也就不会遭那么大的灾。真是，“问苍茫大地谁主沉浮”？

现今，我们看到企业家、商人赚到了一些钱，但是他们的财富并没有保障。上有权力，下有黑社会，哪方面都要打点，大大小小谁都要掠一把。企业家、商人实际比穷人更需要秩序、法律，因为生产、贸易需要稳定，依靠秩序与规则。他们中能靠高官获利的是极少数。在非秩序无规则的中国，私人办企业近乎入乱石之阵。中国的私营企业为什么成不了规模？ 多数小企业三、五年就完结。这说明在中国，官权为上，非秩序无规则，私营企业很难经营。我们不能用简单的有房有车去看企业家、商人，中国“资产阶级”的处境，要从他们的事业，社会与经济的发展来判断。如果这样来看，中国“资产阶级”尚在弱小阶段，需要发展和壮大。在这种状况下，需要为他们说话、立言；政府也应该给他们以支持和辅助。如果有一天，中国资产阶级和“党”的力量对比掉了个儿，那时中国的变革大致就完成了。

4

茅先生的文章，让我欣慰，因为我在中国看到了积极建设的精神。“替富人说话，为穷人办事”体现了社会合作、和解的精神。毛的几十年中，中国一直在灌输对立的仇恨意识，一部分人将另一部分人视为敌人，歧视、仇很、打倒。当初，共产党也就是靠煽动穷人仇恨富人，进行暴力革命。“阶级斗争”是对立和仇恨的学说。在一个国家、社会内部，鼓动对立和仇恨是危险的，中国人深受其害，文革红卫兵运动，就是“阶级斗争”教育出来的。国家依靠法律，依法治罪，一案是一案，一人是一人，而不能类分，一部分人将另一部分人作为敌人。

人是脆弱的生物，很容易被伤害，也很容易敌视和仇恨，因此各种宗教、文化都倡导“爱”、“慈悲”、“仁义”，信任和宽容。这是人类社会存在不可缺少的条件，如同水和空气。几十年，中国清除了宗教、仁义道德，把“阶级斗争”作为国家意识，结果可想而知。毛时代过去了，但几十年的这种精神灌输，却培养了我们的民族某些不好的思想方式，这是毛留给中国的思想遗产。仇恨、敌意、极端的精神不是通向暴乱，就是走向极权。中国积蓄的仇恨、敌意已经太多了，需要消融，民族需要和解，需要以积极的建设精神取代敌对。

中国社会腐败、不公正、不合理，法律无保障，民众权益被剥夺等等。中国的有些问题需要从政治层面来解决，比如新闻自由、司法独立、公民结社等等。但即使政治变革了，中国社会的许多基本问题也依然会存在。几十年的极权统治，严重破坏了中国的社会和文化，在某些方面是彻底摧毁。在政治之外，中国尚需要社会和精神的建设，好的政治是以好的社会为基础的。如果社会缺少互助、谅解，有过多的敌视、仇恨，好的政治也会被吞噬。我觉得“替富人说话，为穷人办事”，是向社会和解、共同建设迈出的一步。现今中国，在人数和舆论上富人较孤立，他们的处境和难处不大被谅解，“替富人说话”就是消除人们对他们的偏见、敌意，或者说是消解富人与穷人的对立，这就是社会的和解。中国的穷人是多数，公共舆论对穷人的关注和同情也在增长，但是穷人更需要的事确实解决他们的生存困难，因此要“为穷人办事”，政府要办、富人要办、知识者也要办。而这个办的过程，就是社会的具体建设。当办的事情一件件增多，穷人的能力得以成长和发挥，那么社会的共生机制就会逐步形成。

5

我希望人们能从积极的、长远的、建设的方面，来理解茅先生的话。茅先生的理想是使穷人走出贫困，但这样一位老人，为什么要提出“替富人说话”。他八十岁了，是为了挨骂，还是为了留名？人类社会存在需要道义，但人类社会的存在首先是利益的。道义是以承认人性的有限为前提的，即使是宗教。高举着道义的戒尺，不计实情，任意挥打，会将一切毁掉。当初，共产党就是这样起家的。既然我们有过教训，为什么不抵制呢？茅先生说：“我也赞成为穷人说话，他们的权利也需要保护。但是我反对为了讨好舆论，哗众取宠，说的话最终对穷人不利。”他在另一篇小文中又说：“历史上一切造反都要靠动员底层群众，造反无非是这一派的底层群众打那一派的底层群众，牺牲的都是底层百姓。得利的都是善于利用和操纵别人的聪明人。这些经验教训普通老百姓是看不到的。”

社会存在定有矛盾与冲突，也必有穷富、高低、左右、强弱层次差异之区别，否则无以结成社会。平等是面对规则的平等，而不是事与物的平等。穷人和富人、企业主和雇工的矛盾是直接的利益矛盾，有时甚至会深重而激烈，不可忽视。但是冲突并不意味敌对，这是一个博弈的过程，有要求有让步，有斗争有妥协，博弈的过程也是磨合、调整的过程，由此平衡，建立合理的秩序与稳定。博弈是为了更长久的互利与合作，它是走向法律、依靠法律、也是逐步形成健全、完整、合理、有效的法律秩序的过程。民主社会为穷人提供了许多维护自身权益的斗争方式，比如协商、谈判、付诸法律、组织工会、罢工、游行示威等等。穷富共处不意味没有斗争，但其不是敌意、敌对，非要消灭“剥削者”和穷富的差异；它需要承认人和社会的有限，和平、理性，有理、有利、有节。目前中国的富人、穷人都处于缺少法律保障的处境中，他们的人权也都缺少保证。穷人要站起身，真正能维护自身的权益，从根本上要争取自己的言论权、结社权、罢工、游行的权，有了正当的社会权利，穷人才能起来自己保护自己，争取自身的利益。而不只是靠别人“办事”。而穷人真正享有了维护自身的社会权利，有了保护自己，为自己谋利的可能，他们就不会嫉恨，敌意。敌视产生于过分的压制和掠夺，而没有正当的抗争的手段和可能。中国社会的仇恨、敌意心理，很大程度上，是由于民众的正当社会权利，包括政治权利的被剥夺。中国制度变革之重要，还不在于由谁来执政，而是要建立非敌对，非仇恨，非你死我活，共存共建制社会。如果社会不公，而人们又没有言说、维护自身的可能，那其就一定是敌意、仇恨的。半个多世纪极权统治，中共何止是仇富，中国蓄有太多的仇恨，包括仇访民、仇官、仇政府、仇法轮功、仇异议人士、仇外地人，甚至仇美等等。仔细观察一下，中国人常常怀有许多不知所来的仇恨，一些微小的事情也会酿成大悲剧。公车上多挤了几个人，也恨不得将其踹下去。不在于仇恨的对象是什么，而在仇恨本身太多了。中国是不正常的社会，蓄有太多的仇恨。这是值得所有国民警醒的。

 

2007年1月9日晚10点，我和孙医生自西双版纳返回昆明，乏极而卧，感觉才几分钟就天亮了。恍惚中瞅见孙医生起身洗漱，影子一般飘出门去。接着，市井之声逐渐嘈杂，刺耳的军号也从楼群的另一端阵阵吹响，搅得我这条懒虫不停蠕动，直至下床，将脑袋埋入水池约几分钟，方恢复日常状态。

再度出发已是早晨8点40分，孙医生斜挎一包，精神抖擞地领我下楼，来到一辆咖啡色面包车前。探头一看，车内已堵满各类旧衣物，我们奋力将旧物塞得更紧扎些，以便新人能够坐得比较宽敞。我笑道：教会也做这种访贫问苦送温暖的政府工作？孙医生一丝不苟地纠正：都是教友和病员个人捐赠的，跟教会和政府都没有关系。

接着我们磕磕绊绊穿越了大半个昆明市区，又在通往禄劝县的北郊堵上了。记得2005年底首次去禄劝，就在这地名“王家桥”的烂泥滩堵了1个多小时，数百车辆屁股抵屁股，一尺一尺绕着“施工现场，车辆慢行”的招牌挪移，那种令人疯掉的乌烟瘴气！我从前座回头道：这路大概要修拢世界末日才算完。孙医生解释道：前几天的新闻报道，云南省的交通厅长落马，受贿贪污几千万，据说跟这条路有直接关系。我愧疚道：屡屡出师不利，你受累了。孙医生道：我一年要进出禄劝好多次，已经对烂路产生感情，如果哪天突然换成好路，顺畅了，我会生气的。我忍不住哈哈大笑：对嘛，再烂也是自己的国家！

可是一合拢嘴巴，我就想起了宋玉。我们离婚之后，她就从成都来到昆明，在市郊的某个停车场开了个添加黄油的铺子，据说有好几个雇员，生意还不错。没有电话，没有确切的方位，虽然时常有找找她的冲动，也无从下脚。若干朋友建议我，就一家一家，将停车场都寻遍，去争取一个戏剧化的大团圆结局。甚至有朋友愿意提着摄像机，脚跟脚地记录这一“亲情行动”——然而观众需要看到的场面，我和宋玉不一定需要。那种无能为力的痛是永远的——以其出众的美貌和善解人意，她为什么至今没有再接纳一个能让自己过上安逸日子的男人？反而一意孤行，在弥漫着货车尾气的恶劣环境里谋生？她在电子邮件里，没透露任何现实信息，却一再说，有什么过不去的难处，她会首先告诉我——她果真这么做了，今年初她奶奶患晚期肺癌，我依约回成都探望，却没见着她人。

既然世界上有路，既然人长有腿，就得往前走。这是20几岁的时候，鲍勃•迪伦教会我的，他唱道：一个人要走多少路，才能成为一个男人？炮弹要纷飞多少次，和平才会降临？答案随风而逝。同居、结婚、坐牢、离婚、亲情都不是借口，你要往前走，不管遭遇什么，不管伤口多么深，不管你多么想回头，不管你曾经倒下去，没有力气、没有信念再爬起来，你都要记着往前走——“答案随风而逝”又怎么样呢？中国人比美国人更需要成长呀！一个生在家里死在家里的德高望重的榜样，哪怕活200岁，也跟没活差不多。你看你看，虽然如今我又成资深光棍，虽然我的胆气和血气都大不如前，可老天毕竟眷顾于蒙昧的我，幼年时通过母亲，少年时通过姐姐，青年时通过阿霞，成年时通过宋玉，持续不断地教育和引导，令我在人心人性如此扭曲的铁血共产社会里，还一步步地学会感动、感伤、怜悯、坚持、忍耐、单纯且源源不断的爱。

无赖政权赋予我的无赖天性也一步步被抑制，这一天我吃惊地发现，嬉皮笑脸的面具裂开了，我在哭，假面具却在笑；我在哀悼，我在祈求六四亡灵的饶恕，我的假面具却在自嘲；我在酗酒，在江湖上瞎混，在虚无的舞台上表演，而另一个我却拒绝着，冷静着，追忆着，跟随着孙医生转穷山沟寻觅陈年冤案。我表里如一吗？我从一而终吗？答案随风而逝。

苍山是一排横亘古今的巨大屏障，自南向北，连绵几十公里；几十条沟壑由天及地，如阴道，孕育繁衍了此地不同凡响的人类历史和文明。我阵发性地栖身苍山脚背，爬山方便。最近有一个月朗之夜，我在斑驳的树影里穿行，遭遇回族人的公墓，遂乘着酒兴撞入，终于靠住一残缺墓碑坐下来。冷风刺骨，簌簌叶动间似有人语；我打了个寒战，转身端详碑文，纳声雷，36岁。原来是位夭者。

复坐，为了壮胆，我扯出洞箫吹将开来，曲未终，竟闻鬼哭。摇摇晃晃下山之际，月色如一缕缕纱衣，来回拂面。眼前跳动着诸多死人活人、女人男人。母亲父亲、姐姐妹妹、宋玉刘晓波、刘霞周忠陵、蒲勇李必丰、金琴余杰王胖子、还有康正果与他的农村婆娘——为了对这人鬼神混淆的场景有个交代，我随口编了3段歌词：

月夜穿过丛林，
想起我的爱人，
长眠在寂静的黄土，
天边传来了枪声。

当年热血沸腾，
肩挑祖国命运，
如今空空的双拳，
岁月折断了刀刃。

月夜穿过回忆，
想起我的爱人，
生者我流浪中老去，
死者你永远年轻。

后来我把这命名为《八九悲歌》。由于箫音过于凄切，我改用拇指琴伴奏。反复的演练中我突然明白，第2段写的是刘晓波诸君的下场。当年天安门广场上一呼万应的天马行空的人物，如今动不动就叫共产党堵在家里，数日出不来门，为了什么呢？信念吗？和无赖较劲吗？做软禁中的“自由人”吗？与现实和未来都要发生关系的公共知识分子吗？

面包车颠簸着，临近中午才拢禄劝县城。刚说熄火吃饭，车却自动熄火，像一堆破铜烂铁摊在路边。小伙子司机反复折腾，无效，只得哭丧着脸说，生意做不成了。孙医生叹口气，就临时打电话给我们都熟悉的基督徒小张，上帝保佑，一下子就通了。10分钟不到，那辆白色面包车及灿烂的笑脸都浮现过来。
 
于是大家忙活一阵，在两车之间转移旧衣物，孙医生差点就闪了腰，小张急忙让他靠边，并开玩笑道：医生不能出问题哟。孙医生道：我又不是特殊材料制成的共产党员，为啥不能出问题？

用罢午餐，我们即脱离禄劝县城，朝武定方向行驶。两县相距不过10公里，起先属于同一专区，可而今却分属昆明市与楚雄州。沿途灰蒙蒙，过往车辆密集，但小张车技高超，谈笑间，再狭仄的缝隙也马不停蹄地钻，惹得孙医生直叫慢、慢，安全、安全。武定县城一晃而过，留下的印象仅仅是大大小小的“板扎壮鸡馆”招牌。小张连刹车都懒得点，就杂耍一般旋动方向盘，下坡上坡，往一派苍翠间的山道落荒而去。

车至山腰，遇一鸡毛店，我们便下来买矿泉水。孙医生乘机向路边的苗族群众打听我的下一个采访对象，本地，也是云南境内最著名的基督教圣徒家族。中心人物王志明牧师，生于1907年，成年后继承了其父王撒世牧师的衣钵；1969年因坚持信主而被捕，1973年以反革命罪名遭公开枪决。然而，此以身殉教的事迹没被湮没，还传扬海外，令英国皇家威斯敏斯特大教堂替他塑像，作为上个世纪10位伟大的殉道者之一， 永远并排屹立在大教堂的正门上方。

王志明牧师的儿子至今还是这一片教会的传道人。孙医生一挑起话头，大伙即踊跃作答，还自告奋勇带路。阳光普照，白云悠悠，山梁子犹如天路一般蜿蜒着，层层叠叠通往无尽之处。我们趁着格外好的心情，从车里拖下一口袋旧衣物，分发给在场的群众。眼看着那一张张红土捏成的脸逐渐绽放，并越发灿烂，我们体内的暖意也越发浓郁。几个参差不齐的苗家孩子都冲我嗷嗷叫，那最小的女孩，大约才3岁，竟激动得放声大哭。没办法，我只好不客气地从小张手中拽过口袋，使劲抠底，终于翻出两三样玩具。我把最大的那只彩色绒布猪塞给最小的女孩，惹起周围一派气势汹汹的谴责，幸而是苗语，我不懂。

其实那绒布猪已经发黑，并多处绽线，显然是城里孩子玩厌了的垃圾。可我能说什么呢？剩在手中的两样东西都不够大。还是孙医生细致，他又从车里翻出两只双背书包，亲自挂上两个稍大孩子的肩，好好学习啊，他鼓励道，那爬满皱纹的笑容圆满极了。

这一插曲延续了十几分钟，我们接着上路。挤在车里带路的苗族男女七嘴八舌地介绍，上完这山梁子，再一路长坡下到底，就拢了。

我盯住窗外，心不在焉地点头；而孙医生已取下眼镜，比目鱼一般扁着身体，神态疲惫。

 

Museums Meet Auction Houses

The wall between art-world realms is going, going . . .

BY ERIC GIBSON

The art world was briefly awakened from its summer slumbers two weeks ago by the news that, at the end of this month, Lisa Dennison, director of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, will be leaving to become executive vice president of Sotheby’s America. Ms. Dennison became the Guggenheim’s director in October 2005, succeeding the controversial Thomas Krens. She has spent almost all her professional life at the Guggenheim.

Until recently, museums and auction houses were–and were perceived to be–opposite sorts of institutions, their values so different as to preclude cross-fertilization. Museum curators and directors concerned themselves mostly with aesthetic values, scholarship and the life of the mind. When the value of a work of art was discussed, it was usually in terms of its historical importance. Museum people regarded the commercial art world–as a museum director once put it to me only half in jest–as “the dark side,” a realm inimical to their values.

Auctioneers, by contrast, were all about money. “Value” to them was dollars and cents. Historical importance was of interest only to the extent that it could increase an object’s sale price. Given this oil-and-water relationship, there was no question of someone from an auction house going to work at a museum, just as it was equally unheard of for traffic to go in the other direction.

But in the past decade or so the wall between museums and auction houses has become porous. Museums, for example, are now more commercial, greatly expanding their retail operations, renting out parts of their collections and staging exhibitions–such as the Guggenheim’s own 2001 Giorgio Armani show–that seemed more promotional than scholarly.

And far from being loath to put a price tag on their treasures, museums nowadays can hardly wait to do so. Last year the director and trustees of the Albright-Knox Gallery in Buffalo, N.Y., one of the nation’s premier museums, picked through their collection and sent more than 200 of the most valuable items–and, in some cases, the most historically important–off to Sotheby’s, where this spring they realized a tidy $67.2 million.

The auction houses, for their part, have been reaching out to the rarefied world of museums. In 1995, Richard Oldenburg relinquished the directorship of MoMA to become chairman of Sotheby’s America. Around the same time, Charles S. Moffett, an authority on French Impressionist art, moved from the directorship of Washington’s Phillips Collection to a senior post at the same auction house.

And why shouldn’t they have done so? Such auction-house jobs offer bigger paychecks and, just as attractive, they free these new arrivals from the relentless drudgery of raising money, which is pretty much all that museum directors do these days.

What do the auction houses get? A little class, for one thing. Auctioneers tend to be insecure about their line of work, a fact illustrated by an old saw bout the difference between Sotheby’s and Christie’s: One consists of auctioneers trying to be gentlemen; the other of gentlemen trying to be auctioneers.

So, for example, auctioneers dress up in black tie to conduct the big-ticket auctions–to make sure you don’t confuse them with other folks around the country who knock down hogs and repossessed cars for a living and to gloss over the fact that they’ll, well, sell anything. (Remember Andy Warhol’s cookie jars?) Keep a few former museum directors on the premises and not only do you get their expertise but you can hold your head up a little higher.

Museum people are also helpful with potential clients. It unsettles collectors who want to sell their art to think that they’re merely “cashing in.” Too vulgar. Far more comforting to view yourself as an enlightened patron reluctantly but generously parting, after years of careful stewardship, with a cultural milestone so that others might enjoy it.

And who better to help with this existential makeover, and thereby ease the painting off the wall and into the saleroom, than an ex-director, equipped as he is with the proper intellectual pedigree and able to drop all the right scholarly references just when they’re needed?

Which brings us to the main reason that auction houses find museum people so attractive: They know where the bodies are buried. In the course of their work they learn who has what important works of art because that’s how they organize their exhibitions. They spend hundreds of hours tracking down objects–some famous, some obscure–and visiting their owners in hopes of borrowing them. In the course of such visits, they might well come upon other works of art that the collector owns.

Auction houses rely on a steady stream of loot to stay in business, so they badly need this insider information. It’s especially valuable given the surprisingly large number of A-list works of art still in private hands. A collector is far more likely to be persuaded to part with his treasures by an ex-museum director with whom he probably already has a relationship than by a cold-calling “expert” from Sotheby’s or Christie’s.

This trend, although a rainmaking boon for the auction houses, might in the long run wind up making life more difficult for museums. The loan exhibition–the big draw for most art museums–is already hard to bring off, given increasing red tape, high insurance costs and fears of terrorism. And it may become a near-impossible task if collectors start to think that the museum director pleading with them to lend a masterpiece today will be an auctioneer badgering them to sell it tomorrow.

Mr. Gibson is The Wall Street Journal’s Leisure & Arts features editor.

Is this the end of English literature?

By A. N. Wilson

Blog: Literature is not going up in smoke
What do the following have in common: Oscar Wilde, Henry James, Joseph Conrad, Virginia Woolf, T S Eliot, W B Yeats, Charles Dickens, William Makepeace Thackeray, Evelyn Waugh, Philip Larkin and Kingsley Amis?

The answer is, of course, that if they were to come back to life in Gordon Brown’s Britain and wanted to go out to their club, or a restaurant or café, they would not be allowed to indulge in a habit which sustained them during the most creative phases of their lives.

advertisementThe moment they popped their favoured cigar, cigarette or pipe between their lips and lit up, they would have been fined on the spot.

There were, we must concede, books before there was tobacco in Britain

But is it mere chance that the lifetime of Sir Walter Raleigh (1552?-1618), who introduced tobacco-smoking to England, was also the time when the great story of English literature really began? Milton – a smoker -and Ben Jonson – a smoker – ensured that the Elizabethan glory-age was not to be a flash in the pan.

I have been racking my brains to find a single non-smoker among the great English poets or novelists of the 17th, 18th, 19th or 20th centuries. Possibly, Keats had to lay off the pipe tobacco a bit after he developed tuberculosis.

Otherwise, from Swift and Pope to Cowper and Wordsworth, from Byron to Charles Lamb, they were all smokers.

Tennyson, who only stopped smoking in order to eat and sleep, describes in one of his letters sitting in a pub with a friend and doing very little except “staring smokey babies” at one another.

Nowadays, this harmless experience would cost the publican £1,200, and Tennyson himself £600, while appallingly self-righteous non-smokers at neighbouring tables, rather than being pleased that they had enjoyed a glimpse of the greatest Victorian poet, would be complaining about the fumes which they chose to believe were causing them some kind of damage.

I do not really care whether anyone smokes or not.

I do so myself in phases, and then give up – not for health reasons, but simply to remind myself that I can.

Summer holidays, however, seem a natural time to light the occasional cigarette, while sitting with friends in a bar, or puzzling over the crossword puzzle.

Cornwall, where I am writing this, has completely changed since the Ban.

My wife and I have found formerly much-loved pubs all but empty or, worse, filled with middle-class eight-year-olds sitting on the bar stools, slurping J2O through straws and giving their views on global warming in the high-pitched tones of Fulham or Hampstead.

The grizzled old smokers of yore are still smoking, but, rather than enjoy one another’s companionship, they sit melancholily at home with their six-packs and watch telly. It is no substitute for the pleasure (albeit sometimes a boring pleasure – an oxymoron which all pub-goers will recognize as apt) of meeting real people.

Sitting with my drink in such now-empty bars, my mind has turned to the great smokers of the past – to C S Lewis, who smoked 60 cigarettes a day between pipes with his friends Charles Williams (cigarette smoker) and Tolkien (pipe-smoker); to Thomas Carlyle, whose wife made him smoke in the kitchen of their house in Cheyne Row, but who is unimaginable without tobacco, to Robert Browning, who quickly adapted to the new cigarette craze, to the great John Cowper Powys, who cntinued to smoke cigarettes, and to produce fascinating novels, into his nineties.

This great nicotine cloud of witnesses made me have two thoughts. One was the simple question – why did the people of England accept this draconian ban on their private pleasures?

As far as I am aware, David Hockney, among public figures, was alone in giving vociferous condemnation of the bossy and un-English law.

The so-called Opposition parties, of course, were all so anxious to appease the health-fanatics who make up a proportion of the electorate that they did not dare to say: “Halt! Let the men and women of England, and the publicans of England, be the ones who decide who should smoke, and where, not some risible Government minister”.

But another, sadder thought occurs to me. This attack on basic liberty, which was allowed through without any significant protest, might mark the end not merely of smoking, but of literature.

Heroic Beryl Bainbridge keeps on smoking for England, but will there be any more writers in the years to come, following in her heroic steps?

Life Sentences

The U.S Tour of Günter Grass

By David Streitfeld

At the end of Günter Grass’s 1963 novel Dog Years, a mysterious company starts selling “miracle glasses” to teenagers. When the kids put them on, they see with urgent clarity many things that have been kept hidden. They see their parents, as if in a newsreel, performing murderous acts of violence.

Sometimes the parents do the killings themselves, sometimes they are bystanders who decline to protest or officials just following orders. No difference, writes Grass.

“Aiding and abetting. Smoking cigarettes and looking on while. Certified decorated applauded murderers … blowing on rubber stamps. Sometimes mere signatures and wastebaskets. Many roads lead to. Silence as well as words can. Every father has at least one to hide. Many lie buried curtained soiled, as if they had never happened until in the eleventh postwar year miracle glasses appeared on the market.”

This was Grass’s great theme, played out in dozens of books and hundreds of speeches, interviews and lectures over half a century: German guilt, and the German refusal to acknowledge it. He assailed the appointment of a onetime Nazi Party member as chancellor in 1966, asking why someone else couldn’t have been found, someone who was free from taint German history, he asserted in 1990 after the Wall came down, meant the Germans, even those born long after the war, didn’t deserve to be unified. The taint was in the blood.

So it was a great gift to his foes — and he has annoyed and offended many — when Grass handed them their own miracle glasses. As his autobiography was being published in Germany last summer, he revealed that he had spent a few months at the end of the war in the combat arm of the Waffen-SS, the elite volunteer troops whose responsibilities also included running the concentration camps.

The novelist was denounced as a hypocrite, not so much for what he had done while in the SS — nothing, it seemed — as for the fact that decades had gone by without hism bothering to mention it. Some said he was no longer the conscience of Germany; others, more cruelly, that he never was.The furor made Peeling the Onion a runaway bestseller in Germany, which infuriated more people, who accused him of orchestrating a publicity stunt.There were demands that his Nobel Prize, awarded in 1999 for portraying “the forgotten face of history,” be rescinded.

Grass said his silence always haunted him, which is perhaps why Dog Years now seems full of clues. The central character is Walter Matern, who stresses how he wasn’t like all the other Germans during the war: “In an emergency I would defend every Jew with my life.” Walter sees himself as an avenger, not an accomplice. But where was he when his half-Jewish friend Eddie Amsel was set upon by nine storm troopers?

I was unable to help, Walter admits, but to make amends he names eight of the culprits, even tracks them down. The ninth thug is both harder and easier to find. It’s Walter himself, something he had tried to forget, taken pains to disguise from the beginning. They all hid their faces when they beat poor Eddie, Walter explains, because “it’s the style: when you want to teach a lesson, you hide your face.”

Walter has a point. Tremendous talent enabled Grass to become the most famous and acclaimed German writer since Thomas Mann, but talent is never quite enough. As a youn boy during the war, Grass almost entered a fiction contest run by a Nazi children’s newspaper. A near miss, he later realized; if he had won, the stain would have lasted, and all his lessons would have gone untaught.

There are other precedents. Norwegian Nobelist Knut Hamsun’s reputation never recovered from his support of the Nazis, and the memoir he wrote to explain himself only made things worse. Jorge Luis Borges is widely believed to have missed out on the Nobel because he shook hands with a couple of right-wing Argentine generals. Would the Swedes have given it to a Waffen-SS man, however brief his enlistment?

This summer, Peeling the Onion was published in English to rave reviews that celebrated it as one of the best memoirs of our time and at least one savaging (by the translator Michael Hofmann, in the Guardian) that implied it was the worst. Grass came to New York for his first American tour in 15 years, ready if not exactly eager to discuss not the guilt and punishment of Germany but of himself. He was met with fierce questions, abuse, cheers. The one thing no one debated was whether the controversy was good for business. Every appearance sold out.

SPEAK, MEMORY

“This story was always in my mind but I needed to reach a special age to write it, to allow the past to come into focus,” Grass told me. “Ask me what happened two weeks ago, I can’t tell you. But 1943, that I can remember.”

Well, kind of. Peeling the Onion, which covers the writer’s youth and apprenticeship, is full of auctorial doubt. Incidents blur and dissolve as Grass struggles to recall what he was thinking, feeling or doing five, six and seven decades ago. Often he doesn’t succeed.

Not that he lets himself off the hook. Far from it. The Danzig synagogues burn and the Jewish shops are looted, and the 11-year-old watches without wonder. A beloved uncle defends the city’s Polish Post Office from German takeover, is captured and executed. The family stops speaking of him. Grass’s Latin teacher disappears, probably denounced by a student. Grass’s sleep is untroubled.

“A believer till the end,” he calls himself. “No doubts clouded my faith; nothing subversive like the clandestine distribution of leaflets can let me off the hook; no G?ring joke made me suspicious. No, I saw my fatherland threatened, surrounded by enemies.”

Grass and other Germans were taken in, he says, but they also wanted to be seduced. It’s human nature to follow, to obey orders. He allows himself only this slender, partial exculpation: “It was a dictatorship. It’s much more terrible not to ask questions in a democracy.”

In movies — and, very rarely, real life — there’s a singular moment when the hero is sparked into rebellion. Bookish people like to believe books can do this. Grass read All Quiet on the Western Front as a youth. The Nazis recognized the power of Remarque’s tale of the futility and horror of war; they banned it. Grass loved the book but went to war anyway.

“I don’t have this naive belief that literature can change the world,” he said. “It can only change it a little bit, and even then it takes a long time. Look at this country. It’s been a long time since the Enlightenment, and yet you’re still arguing about whether Darwin was right.”

Grass will be 80 in October, although he looks younger. In Onion he lists the three great desires that drove him forward as a young man: the hunger for sex, forfood, for art. He’s well-fed now, and at his age the sexual life ¿ he waved a hand dismissively. But art remains. In addition to the writing of prose and poetry, he makes etchings and lithographs and draws and paints. One of the events he attended here was a party at the Steven Kasher Gallery to launch an exhibit of his prints. (The show was supposed to be accompanied by the U.S. publication of the first two volumes of Grass’s catalogue raisonn?, but the books have been delayed until September.)

His English is surprisingly good, especially considering how little chance he has had to speak it. An interpreter accompanied him everywhere but was rarely needed. He was also escorted by his German editor, an assistant to his German publisher, a secretary, his American publicist and, shadowing him constantly, the German media, which filmed American reporters and American readers asking Grass questions about German history. The controversy won’t die.

The Frankfurter Allgemeine — the leading German paper– “is still going after me,” the writer said, neither boasting nor complaining but merely stating a fact. His critics, he added, “ignored the book. Sometimes I have a feeling they were jealous that I was always able to stay independent of money, of power.” But the people got it. At public appearances, he recounted, they would come up to him and say for the first time they understood their fathers, their uncles.

This seemed to me rampant ego. A book that made Germans rethink their family dynamics? Books don’t change things, I wrote in my notebook, except his.

A few hours later, at the 92nd Street Y, , a packed crowd watched Amos Elon, an Israeli writer from the same generation as Grass, do battle with the novelist. “I’m trying to put myself in your frame of mind,” Elon said, making clear how difficult he found the task. “Your own uncle was summarily executed … and still you thought this was a just cause? Your own uncle?”

Egged on by Elon, Grass said that even after the war, as an American POW, he was slow to realize the truth. He thought the death camps were propaganda.

“But you saw with your own eyes,” exclaimed Elon. He noted that Grass realized immediately that the Americans treated their black soldiers as inferior, but “it took you a year to decide the Nazis were criminals.”

“I was a stupid young boy, who had only his fantasies, his stories,” Grass said.

Grass made no excuses for himself, but it wasn’t enough for Elon. Afterwards, the novelist shrugged. “I wasn’t sure he read the book,” he said of Elon, while endlessly autographing copies.

The next night, Grass ventured to a Barnes & Noble. All the seats were filled 45 minutes before the event was to begin. During the Q&A a man stood up: “You let us down. I used to quote you as a moral force.” He asked for an apology.

“There are so many judges in this world. You are one of them,” Grass said.And then he said he was sorry.

A woman stood up. She spoke with a German accent. “Your books have been important in my life,” she said. “They gave me a way to understand my father.”

The 20TH CENTURY ON TRIAL

At the New York Public Library, Grass was first scheduled to appear alone.

The event quickly sold out. Then Norman Mailer was added to the bill, and another library auditorium was opened up for those who didn’t mind watching the proceedings via closed-circuit TV. This too sold out. The library dubbed the evening, “the 20th century on trial.” Its a spectacle that clearly hasn’t lost its appeal in the 21st.

Scottish novelist Andrew O’Hagan interviewed both writers separately before bringing them onstage together6/27/07. He didn’t waste much time digging into Grass. “You criticized individuals for their Nazi pasts. Did you ever stop and say, I shouldn’t be indulging in this?” he asked in incredulous tones.

As usual, Grass didn’t spare himself — he implied that joining up was the rebellion of “a nasty boy” against a father he despised — but O’Hagan, like Elon, would not relent.

Support came finally from Mailer, who looked small and round and frail, kind of like the aged Bilbo in The Lord of the Rings. Mailer noted this might well be one of his last public appearances. The ability to hear was going, he said, and the rest of him wasn’t doing too well either. But the mind was as lucid as ever. He snapped off quips (“at my age, you have to cling to your enjoyments, and paranoia is one of them”), and ruminated on his failure to win the Nobel Prize.

It wasn’t politics that soured his chances, he declared; it was stabbing his second wife with a pen knife in 1960. “The Swedes are very intelligent people and they’re proud of their prize, and they’re damned if they want to give their prize to a guy who is a wife stabber and as sour and bitter as I am, and I don’t think I can blame them,” he said.

For all the reams of copy in which he has probed his own psyche, Mailer has never written about the stabbing. He never felt ready: “If you can’t do it so it enlarges not only your own focus, but the focus of others, you’re better off not writing about it.”

Something similar, he felt, was true of Grass. He had waited until he was ready for his confession. In his case the moment finally came, and he has now produced a masterpiece. The extract in the New Yorker, Mailer said, was “certainly the best thing” in the magazine for a decade.

Whether the focus of others has been enlarged is less certain. Grass never made the obvious comment to his baying interviewers, although he intimated it to me, and it was clearly in his mind: Stop being so righteously sure that you would always know how to act morally, even in a democracy where you won’t be killed for protesting. It’s only now, hundreds of billions of dollars and uncounted deaths later, that the American public thinks the Iraq War was a bad idea.

At the reception, Grass greeted some admirers and gave me his take on the evening (“Always the same questions!”). Then, with a copy of Onion in hand, he ambled over to Mailer, who was in a wheelchair. Grass began to inscribe the book to him.

With Mailer’s handsome praise for Grass still echoing in my ears, I expected something that would mark the moment as historic. Heller is dead, Vonnegut is dead. But here were the last two great novelists of World War II, in the same room for probably the last time.

I peered over Grass’s shoulder, hoping for something inspired, on the level of James Jones inscribing From Here to Eternity to Mailer, “my most feared friend, my dearest rival.”

Alas, nothing like that here. Grass He wrote that the book was for Norman Mailer and then, shunning all emotion, merely signed his name.

David Stretifeld is a business reporter for the Los Angeles Times. This piece will appear in his work in progress, “Mit Romanschriftstellern Leben” (“Living with Novelists”).

The Invisible Manuscript

Ralph Ellison died leaving four decades’worth of scrib