NettlesAlice Munro讲解.docx

NettlesAlice Munro讲解.docx

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NettlesAliceMunro讲解

Nettles

ByAliceMunro

GuidetoReading

AliceMunroisaprolificwriter,whohasmadeamajorcareeroutofshortfiction.Inthepast35years,shehasproducednumerousshortstoriesthatarereadinandoutsideofCanada,oftenappearinginsuchprestigiousmagazinesasTheNewYorkerandTheAtlanticMonthly.Todaysheisstillactiveinherwritingcareer.

Likehermanyotherstories,thesubjectofthestory“Nettles”isabouttheproblemofamiddle-agedwoman—thepassions,confusionsanddilemmasthatanywomaninamodernsocietymightbeconfrontedwith,regardlessofrace,colorornationality.Inthisstory,thenarratormeetsherchildhoodfriendbychanceattheverystageofherlifewhensheiscaughtupinatroubledrelationshipwithherhusbandandherchildren.Sheisdelightedwiththisreunion.Thisjoyquicklyturnsintoatenderandambiguousfeelingtowardthisman--adesireandpassionsheherselfisnotsureof.Thetwoofthemgothroughawildstorm.Inordertoprotectthemselvesfrombeingknockeddownbytheviolentwind,theyholdeachotherfirmly.Whenthewindpasses,theykissandpresstogetherinagestureofrecognitionofsurvival.Atthismomentthemantellsherhisdeepestsecret.Sherealizesthat“hewasapersonwhohadhitrockbottom.”Sheishappythathetreatsherasa“personhehad,onhisown,whoknew.”Whathappenedorrather,whatdoesnothappenbetweenthemgivesheranewperceptionoflove,“Lovethatwasnotusable,thatknewitsplace.Notriskingathingyetstayingaliveasasweettrickle,anundergroundresource.”

Thenarrationofthisstoryismarkedbyaclearregionalidentityandshiftsintimewithaprominentelementofretrospectionrevealingtheprotagonist’sambiguousholdofthepast,throwinglightonthepresent.Theauthoremploysaskillfulbutnaturalnarrativevoice,whicheffortlesslyleadsthereaderontowardanopenandyetconclusiveending.Whilereadingthestory,thereaderislikelytoforgetthatthisisonlyafictionandthattheprotagonistisbutacharactercreatedbyart.Theauthorsucceedsinbridgingthegapbetweenartandrealityandpresentingthefictionalcharacterasanacquaintanceorevenafriend.Thusthereaderisapttoidentifywiththeprotagonist,feelingwhatshefeelsandworryingaboutwhatworriesher.

Inthisshortstorytheauthoraddressesseveralessentialproblemsofeverydaylifesuchasfriendshipandlove,marriageanddivorce.Onceagain“Nettles”displaysMunro’slastingstrengththatarisesfromherabilitytocreateanillusorysimplicitythatcombinesthetellingofasimpleplotandtheprobingofcomplicatedfeelingsandsubtlemeaningsoflife.

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1.Inthesummerof1979,IwalkedintothekitchenofmyfriendSunny’shousenearUxbridge,Ontario,andsawamanstandingatthecounter,makinghimselfaketchupsandwich.

2.IhavedrivenaroundinthehillsnortheastofToronto,withmyhusband－mysecondhusband,nottheoneIhadleftbehindthatsummer－andIhavelookedforthehouse,inanidlypersistentway,Ihavetriedtolocatetheroaditwason,butIhaveneversucceeded.Ithasprobablybeentorndown.SunnyandherhusbandsolditafewyearsafterIvisitedthem.ItwastoofarfromOttawa,wheretheylived,toserveasaconvenientsummerplace.Theirchildren,astheybecameteenagers,balkedatgoingthere.AndtherewastoomuchupkeepworkforJohnston－Sunny’shusband－wholikedtospendhisweekendsgolfing.

（Rewrittenas:

Yearsafterward,drivingaroundinthehillsnortheastofTorontowithanotherman,Ilookedforthehouse.Itriedtolocatetheroaditwason,butIneversucceeded.Ithadprobablybeentorndown.SunnyandherhusbandsolditafewyearsafterIvisitedthem.ItwastoofarfromOttawa,wheretheylived,toserveasaconvenientsummerplace.）

Ihavefoundthegolfcourse－Ithinkittherightone,thoughtheraggedvergeshavebeencleanedupandthereisafancierclubhouse.

3.InthecountrysidewhereIlivedasachild,wellswouldgodryinthesummer.Thishappenedonceinabouteveryfiveorsixyears,whentherewasnotenoughrain.Thesewellswereholesdugintheground.Ourwellwasadeeperholethanmost,butweneededagoodsupplyofwaterforourpennedanimals—myfatherraisedsilverfoxesandmink—soonedaythewelldrillerarrivedwithimpressiveequipment,andtheholewasextendeddown,down,deepintotheearthuntilitfoundthewaterintherock.Fromthattimeonwecouldpumpoutpure,coldwaternomatterwhatthetimeofyearandnomatterhowdrytheweather.Thatwassomethingtobeproudof.Therewasatinmughangingonthepump,andwhenIdrankfromitonaburningday,Ithoughtofblackrockswherethewaterransparklinglikediamonds.

4.Thewelldriller－hewassometimescalledthewelldigger,asifnobodycouldbebotheredtobepreciseaboutwhathedidandtheolderdescriptionwasthemorecomfortable－wasamannamedMikeMcCallum.Helivedinthetownclosebyourfarmbuthedidnothaveahousethere.HelivedintheClarkHotel－hehadcomethereinthespring,andhewouldstayuntilhefinishedupwhateverworkhefoundtodointhispartofthecountry.Thenhewouldmoveon.

5.MikeMcCallumwasayoungermanthanmyfather,buthehadasonwhowasayearandtwomonthsolderthanIwas.Thisboylivedwithhisfather（him）inhotelroomsorboardinghouses,whereverhisfatherwasworking,andhewenttowhateverschoolwasathand.HisnamewasMikeMcCallumtoo.

Iknowexactlyhowoldhewasbecausethatissomethingchildrenestablishimmediately,itisoneoftheessentialmattersonwhichtheynegotiatewhethertobefriendsornot.HewasnineandIwaseight.HisbirthdaywasinApril,mineinJune.Thesummerholidayswerewellunderwaywhenhearrivedatourhousewithhisfather.

6.Hisfatherdroveadark-redtruckthatwasalwaysmuddyordusty.MikeandIclimbedintothecabwhenitrained.Idon’trememberwhetherhisfatherwentintoourkitchenthen,forasmokeandacupoftea,orstoodunderatree,orwentrightonworking.Therainwasheddownthewindowsofthecabandmadearacketlikestonesontheroof.Thesmellwasofmen—theirworkclothesandtoolsandtobaccoandmuckybootsandsour-cheesesocks.Alsoofdamplong-haireddog,becausewehadtakenRangerinwithus.ItookRangerforgranted,IwasusedtohavinghimfollowmearoundandsometimesfornogoodreasonIwouldorderhimtostayhome,goofftothebarn,leavemealone.ButMikewasfondofhimandalwaysaddressedhimkindlyandbyname,tellinghimourplansandwaitingforhimwhenhetookoffononeofhisdog-projects,chasingagroundhogorarabbit.Livingashedidwithhisfather,Mikecouldneverhaveadogofhisown.

OnedaywhenRangerwaswithushechasedaskunk,andtheskunkturnedandsprayedhim.MikeandIwereheldtobesomewhattoblame.Mymotherhadtostopwhatevershewasdoinganddriveintotownandgetseverallargetinsoftomatojuice.MikepersuadedRangertogetintoatubandwepouredthetomatojuiceoverhimandbrusheditintohishair.Itlookedasifwewerewashinghiminblood.Howmanypeoplewouldittaketosupplythatmuchblood?

Wewondered.Howmanyhorses?

Elephants?

Ihadmoreacquaintancewithbloodandanimal-killingthanMikedid.Itookhimtoseethespotinthecornerofthepasturenearthebarnyardgatewheremyfathershotandbutcheredthehorsesthatwerefedtothefoxesandmink.Thegroundwastroddenbareandappearedtohaveadeepblood-stain,aniron-redcasttoit.ThenItookhimtothemeat-houseinthebarnyardwherethehorsecarcasseswerehungbeforebeinggroundupforfeed.Themeat-housewasjustashedwithwirewallsandthewallswereblackwithflies,drunkonthesmellofcarrion.Wegotshinglesandsmashedthemdead.

7.Ourfarmwassmall—nineacres.Itwassmallenoughformetohaveexploredeverypartofit,andeveryparthadaparticularlookandcharacter,whichIcouldnothaveputintowords.Itiseasytoseewhatwouldbespecialaboutthewireshedwiththelong,palehorsecarcasseshungfrombrutalhooks,oraboutthetroddenblood-soakedgroundwheretheyhadchangedfromlivehorsesintothosesuppliesofmeat.Buttherewereotherthings,suchasthestonesoneithersideofthebarngangway,thathadjustasmuchtosaytome,thoughnothingmemorablehadeveroccurredthere.Ononesidetherewasabigsmoothwhitishstonethatbulgedoutanddominatedalltheothers,andsothatsidehadtomeanexpansiveandpublicair,andIwouldalwayschoosetoclimbthatwayratherthanontheotherside,wherethestonesweredarkerandclungtogetherinamoremean-spiritedway.Eachofthetreesontheplacehadlikewiseanattitudeandapresence－theelmlookedsereneandtheoakthreatening,themaplesfriendlyandworkaday,thehawthornoldandcrabby.Eventhepitsontheriverflats－wheremyfatherhadsoldoffseveralyearsago－hadtheirdistinctcharacter,perhapseasiesttospotifyousawthemfullofwaterattherecedingofthespringfloods.Therewastheonethatwassmallandroundanddeepandperfect;theonethatwasspreadoutlikeatail;andtheonethatwaswideandirresoluteinshapeandalwayswithachoponitbecausethewaterwassoshallow.

Mikesawallthesethingsfromadifferentangle.AndsodidI,nowthatIwaswithhim.Isawthemhiswayandmine,andmywaywasbyitsverynatureincommunicable,sothatithadtostaysecret.Hishadtodowithimmediateadvantage.Thelargepalestoneinthegangwaywasforjumpingoff,takingashorthardrunandthenlaunchingyourselfoutintotheair,toclearthesmallerstonesintheslopebeneathandlandonthepackedearthbythestabledoor.Allthetreeswereforclimbing,butparticula