1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 161: Recruiting Jiang Xian
[Finally Wu Long saw the vast expanse of water. He saw himself floating on the waves, gradually going away, like an ear of rice, or a cotton flower.]
After spending more than a day reading the novel "Rice", Wang Meng's eyes were slightly out of focus.

This is a dark and cruel story.

"Fuxi Fuxi" is gloomy because it touches taboos, and "Mi" is pure decadence and depravity.

There is not a single good person in the whole novel, only twisted and dark characters.

Take the protagonist Wu Long for example. His biggest hobby is stuffing handfuls of rice into the hole.

Wang Meng didn't know whether she should praise Jiang Xian for his wild imagination.

Although the symbols are obscure and the words are gloomy, Wang Meng cannot deny the wonderful use of the "stream of consciousness" technique in this novel.

No one understands stream of consciousness better than him.

From the founding of the People's Republic of China to 1978, during the nearly thirty years, there was only one article in China that commented on "stream of consciousness", written by Yuan Kejia of the "Nine Leaves School", the translator of "When You Are Old".

It was not until this year that the critical community began to discuss "stream of consciousness".

It can almost be asserted that Wang Meng is a Chinese writer at the forefront of exploring "stream of consciousness", but compared with Jiang Xian's article, his use of "stream of consciousness" is as immature as a child's.

The novel "Rice" achieves a high level of stylistic maturity.

"Could it be that I can no longer keep up with the young people?" Wang Meng sat in the chair, falling into deep self-doubt.

Those who do not know are fearless; those who know are deeply afraid.

Almost predictable.

Once this article "Rice" was published, it was undoubtedly a literary example of "Eastern stream of consciousness".

As for its author, people like to call him: founder, pioneer, master, representative writer, pioneer, forefather
In a word, Jiang Xian this kid has unlimited future.

Thinking of this, Wang Meng picked up the manuscript again, flipped through a few pages, and a burning feeling welled up in his heart.

"Talents like this should be absorbed into the team sooner!"

At this moment, the founder is sleeping soundly at No. 15 Hufang Road.

I slept all day and didn't go to class.

This is not just sleeping in. In the past, this was called "detoxification."

I got up, washed and looked at the time. It was only three o'clock, so I still had time to go to Zuojiazhuang for dinner.

In May, the weather is sunny and a little cool.

Jiang Xian got off bus No. 18 and just passed the party school gate when he heard someone calling him.

He turned around and saw Wang Meng coming towards him from the reception room. "I told you that if you don't come over again, I'll go back first."

"Teacher Wang Meng." Jiang Xian greeted him and asked with some expectation: "Have you read my article?"

"Why else do you think I came here?" Wang Meng waved her hand, motioning him to walk together.

The two of them strolled and chatted in the party school.

"Teacher Wang Meng, what do you think of my novel?"

"how?"

"It's very literary, your writing is very profound, and it digs deep into human nature." Wang Meng sighed. He still feels murderous when he thinks back to the novel "Rice". "You handed me a heavy homework! Among the 33 students, you wrote the best."

"Thank you for the compliment. Comrade Wang Anyi's article is also good." Jiang Xian hurriedly responded politely.

"Compared to you, Comrade An Yi still has a long way to go. I believe she will agree with what I said after reading this novel."

"."

Jiang Xian showed a shy expression and did not respond to the conversation.

Wang Meng pondered for a moment, "What place is Fengyangshu Village?" "It's not a place, it's a place name I made up." Jiang Xian explained.

In fact, Fengyangshu Village is a place name often used in Su Tong's works. Friends who like to read his books should all know that Fengyangshu Village is full of the fragrance of poppies (millet). There is also a place called Xiangchunshu Street. Xiangchunshu Street is a microcosm of the city, while Fengyangshu Village is a representative of the countryside.

"Have you ever been exposed to stream of consciousness before?" After holding it in for a long time, Wang Meng couldn't help but ask.

He still couldn't believe that Jiang Xian could use the stream of consciousness so skillfully and appropriately just by listening to some of what he said?

This learning ability is too exaggerated.

But Jiang Xian had already prepared an excuse, "I have read foreign stream-of-consciousness novels in Foreign Literature and Art before."

"Foreign Literature and Art" is a bimonthly magazine in Shanghai. It is a pure literature magazine that mainly introduces contemporary foreign literature.

"I told you." Wang Meng felt relieved, but soon felt sad again.

"Foreign Literature and Art" was also a magazine he was keen on reading, but he still could not create a long stream-of-consciousness novel.

“Have you ever written stream-of-consciousness work before?”

"I've never written it before. This is my first time writing it." Jiang Xian said honestly. He had to be honest. Wang Meng wanted to see his previous stream-of-consciousness exercises, but he couldn't hand them in.

“You wrote it so well the first time!” Wang Meng showed envy.

You have to know that Jiang Xian wrote a long novel!
It was inevitable that Wang Meng felt shocked, and this was also related to the overall environment.

In the early 1980s, only a few writers attempted stream of consciousness, but by the end of the 1980s, even young writers who had just started writing were able to use it proficiently.

"Jiang Xian, if you have no objection, I can find someone to help you publish this novel." Wang Meng said.

"Of course I have no objection, but I want to publish it with Renwen Press." Jiang Xian thought of Li Jingfeng.

Regarding the last time the remuneration standards were revised, Li Jingfeng did him such a big favor, he must repay him once.

"I'm just helping you make the connection. We must respect your wishes in everything."

Wang Meng paused, stopped, and said sincerely, "There is one more thing."

"You speak."

"You are a local writer in Beijing and a member of the China Writers Association. You should join our Beijing Literature and Art team."

"As an editor?"

Li Qingquan told Jiang Xian about this once, but he declined, "Teacher Wang Meng, I don't have much time. I still need to write."

Wang Meng smiled.

"Don't be so quick to refuse. I want to recruit you to join the editorial board of our Beijing Literature and Art."

"Editorial board?"

The editorial board is the leadership team and the core force of a magazine.

"Beijing Literature and Art" is the country's leading top publication and is affiliated to the Beijing Federation of Literary and Art Circles. Therefore, part of the editorial board is composed of editorial staff, and the other part is made up of prominent figures in the Beijing literary world, including Lin Jinlan, Haoran, Zhao Jinjiu and Wang Zengqi.

For Jiang Xian, this is definitely a great honor.

Being able to enter such a queue means that one's personal writing level and influence in the cultural world have been recognized by the organization.

Moreover, at Jiang Xian’s current age, if he could join the editorial board of “Beijing Literature and Art”, it would probably shock a lot of people.

You know, Zhang Dening, who is the same age as him, is currently just a small editor.

So when Wang Meng made this suggestion, Jiang Xian's heart immediately became hot with excitement.

(End of this chapter)