Read the book to the point of silence: Study volume

Author: Xiang Qixin, Editor-in-Chief
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2004-12-01
Features: Whether walking, sitting, leaning, resting, lying down, or half-lying and half-sitting, while Mom's TV drama unfolds and Grandpa's radio sings, we can immerse ourselves in the world of books. Reading should not be burdened by the environment—it is about reading to the point of silence! This book elaborates on a novel attitude toward reading, making all lazy excuses for not reading feel ashamed. Reading that delights the soul has become a new trend in the study lives of modern middle and high school students. Amidst busy studies, reading heartfelt articles filled with profound and beautiful emotions, like crystal-clear, sweet spring water, nourishes our souls and enriches our lives. Read with heart and savor the wisdom—some articles will inspire you, some will move you to tears, some will bring you a sense of sorrow, and some will make you smile with understanding. Like a gentle spring breeze, they create a pleasant and sweet mood. The fragrance of comforting reading will forever linger in our memories. Reading this series of books will bring you unprecedented joy. Read aloud—Qian Gang
We Chinese call "reading" "reading aloud." By name, "reading aloud" means to read the book out loud. Look, phrases like "the sound of books being read" and "fluctuating rhythms" all describe how the older generation read. However, in recent years, this scene of reading aloud has been more often criticized and mocked: "swaying the head," "adopting a pretentious tone." Reading aloud seems to be an outdated and pedantic activity for those in long gowns and horse collars. I oppose stifling the vitality of the youth with "antique" ways. But I support reading aloud. My alma mater, West Lake Primary School in Hangzhou, has several teachers who retired from the military's cultural troupe, who placed great emphasis on students' reading aloud. My homeroom teacher, Bu Qingrong, was one of them. She stood at the podium, leading us in passionate readings of texts, often reminding us of the photo on her wall of her performing as an MC on stage back then. Like a director training actors, she demanded strict (even excessively strict) reading and recitation from us. Even today, I can still recall how she taught us to read aloud from texts like "The Dog Bites Again" and "Aunt, Stop Your Farewell Steps"—the texts are hazy in my memory, but the moving intonation remains deeply etched. Every book has its own "tone." Truly excellent works have tones as beautiful as music. The renowned writer Sun Li wrote a novella titled "The Prequel to Iron and Wood." At the end of the story, there is a passage: Childhood, your entire experience, without a doubt, is like a small boat sailing on a river filled with spring water. When recalled, people's feelings are always cheerful and lively. But on your (swollen) white sails, haven't there been traces of storms? Or on your ambitious bow, haven't you encountered obstacles from the reverse current and rocks? Your memories are like your burdens—sometimes light, sometimes heavy.
I have read "The Prequel to Iron and Wood" many times, and each time, I read aloud this concluding passage. It was in that joy of "reading" that I savored Sun Li's fresh language. I also enjoy reading Gorky's "Italian Fairy Tales" aloud, especially the 11th story, which describes a mother who kills her son, who has become an enemy leader, with her own hands—she covers his body with her black cloak, stabs him in the chest with a dagger, and he convulses once before dying. She knows his heart. Later, she tightly grips the dagger, warmed by his blood—and also her own—stabs herself in the chest, still hitting the mark perfectly. A wounded heart is easy to strike. I also enjoy reading Shen Congwen's "Autobiography of Shen Congwen," Feng Zikai's "Essays from Yuan Yuan Hall," and many excellent news pieces, such as Huashan's "The October of Heroes." I remember an older comrade once telling me that Chinese literature has a prominent aesthetic feature: it appeals to the ear. Poetry, of course, is no exception. Novels, which evolved from storytelling, equally retain the characteristics of auditory art, such as clarity, fluency, and ease of recitation. But is it only Chinese works like this? Not long ago, I heard my neighbor recite Lermontov's lyrical poems in Russian, and the melody was so beautiful and enchanting that he insisted Russian was the most melodious language in the world. But is it only "literature" like this? Excellent speeches, newspaper articles, diaries, letters, and even good theoretical books can all bring auditory beauty. Reading aloud means cultivating this sense of beauty from a young age. I will always be grateful to my beloved Bu teacher, who gave me and my classmates strict reading training from a young age. When I grew up and started writing, the rhymes and melodies of those books I read as a child would linger in my ears. Of course, some "tones" might eventually seem outdated and constrain my writing. Then, pick up new, excellent books and read them again to seek new rhythms and tones. Naturally, you still have to "read aloud."