Sun Ganlu literary excerpts self-selected

Author: Sun Ganlu
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-08-01
Features: This book excerpts from his novels and essays. Here, he depicts various things and emotions, discussing music, movies, books, urban life, partings and reunions, or love and fantasy—their loss and summons are an enjoyment. As people often say, what matters is not what is written, but how it is written; the posture they reveal is strange, rich in aesthetic insight, as if emitting a mellow fragrance from time. Sun Ganlu's unique style and literary expression are his trademark. His linguistic charm lies not only in its brilliance and elegance but also in its subtle rhythm and tone, like notes floating around a mysterious core, resonating with lingering melodies. As he writes in the preface, the original intention of publishing this book was to hope readers would examine his work from the perspective of reading aloud (perhaps a lost reading experience). More importantly, the inner mirror reflected through the text. Whether in the narration of his novels or the ramblings of his essays, he always has distinct experiences, thoughts, and fantasies. For example, he views city streets as "a superimposed rope," "a network of Utopia in the present," or "an isolated embrace of the world." When discussing music, he makes an intertextual comparison between time and music: "Years are touchable melodies and harmonies," and "when we listen to music, time is continuous, stretching in one or countless directions, touching our innermost parts"; he also intriguingly points out: "People demand to hear pure sounds—in a noisy era. This is indeed profound." It is indeed profound! All his words, I consider them as verse, or a transformation of verse, a reflection rooted in a sense of refined taste and exquisite aesthetic perception. Through his works, one can also discover his innermost, secretive views on the world. He seems to maintain a distance from our time—not out of alienation, but a detachment, to preserve a unique sense of perception, writing about the world that is both strange and familiar. When he quotes: "This city is merely a place where I store letters," he poetically rewrites his own existential circumstances on a metaphorical level. To some extent, this motivation for self-exile stems from an inner dream of a distant land. The sense of being an outsider he reveals, his clear detachment and displacement, keeps his works fresh and perceptive. He is a knight in our city, writing with a sense of nobility, in an ancient way akin to alchemy and winemaking, keeping notes on the times and the heart.