英语短篇小说赏析Chapter I

ChapterI PlotandStructure Plot,togetherwithcharacter,setting,theme,languageandstyle,composethebasicelementsoffictionsandshortstories.Itisthepatternofactionsandeventsinaliterarywork,andinaloosesense,referstothechiefeventslogicallyhangingtogethertoshapethestructureofafiction. InPoetics(4thcenturyB.C.)Aristotleinsiststhataplotbemorethanjustarrangementofincidents,andfunctionasagoverningprincipleofdevelopmentandcoherence,towhichotherelements(includingcharacter)mustbesubordinated.*Infact,plot,themeandcharacteraretakenasinterdependentelements,selectedandarrangedinsomespecificwaytomeetthewriter’spurposewhenafictioniscomposed. Thereareavarietyofplotforms.Usuallyspeaking,afictionispresentedtothereaderasanorganicwhole,withonethingbringingonanotherinachronologicalorder.Butthetimesequence,withthe“natural”orderandduration,isnotalwaysvalidinstory-tellingwhenparticularartisticeffectisdemanded.Therefore,someplotsaredesignedtoachievetheeffectsofcomedy,andsometheeffectsoftragedy,romance,andsatireetc..Ordinarily,aplothascertainnaturalstages:thebeginning,themiddle,andtheend.Thebeginning,knownalsoasexposition,indicatesthatthestorywilldevelopfromtheassumptionsintheopeningscene.Themiddleiscalledcomplication,anditpresumessomethinggoneandrequiressomethingtofollow.Thehighesttension－climaxisoftenseeninthispartwhenconflictrevealsitself.Thentherecomestheend,orthedenouement,whichmeansthesolutiontotheproblem.* Fictionalstructurehasgreatconcernwithplotdesign,whichrequireslogicconnectionsoftheincidentstobringoutthecause-and-effectrelationshipinthestory.Itcanbedefinedasorganizationandshapeofafiction,bothofwhicharedeterminedbytheinternallogicexhibitedbytheplot.Linearformstructure(beginning-middle-end)isgenerallyemployedingenrefictions;whilenon-linearformismoreoftenfoundincomplicatednovelswithmorethanoneclue.**DebbieLeeWesselmann:Structure,2007-06-15.<http://trutor.net/struc.html>*CleanthBrooks,RobertPennWarren,ed.,UnderstandingFiction,(Beijing:ForeignLanguageTeachingandResearchPress,2004):33-39.O.Henry(1862-1910),thepseudonymofWilliamSydneyPorter.Heestablishedhisfameasapreeminentshortstorywriterwitharound400shortstoriesinhislifetime,amongwhich“TheGiftofMagi”,“TheLastLeaf”,and“TheFurnishedroom”arethebest-knowntales. PorterwasborninNorthCarolinawherehetookabriefschooling.ThenhetraveledtoTexasin1882,tryingdifferenttypesofworkincludingapositionasabanktellerinanAustinBankandajournalistinaHoustonpaper.In1896hewaschargedwithembezzlementinthebank.Althoughiteventuallyturnedouttobesometechnicalmismanagement,hefledtoHondurasandcamebackathiswife’sdeathbed. Afterfiveyearsinprison,PortermovedtoNewYorktowriteagain.Hebecameverypopularandpublishedworksingreatrapidity:CabbagesandKings(1904),TheFourMillion(1906),HeartoftheWest(1907),TheTrimmedLamp(1907),TheGentleGrafter(1908)…Throughyearsofhardwork,heraisedtheshortstorytoafineliteraryartform,andformedtheuniqueOHenry-stylewithironiccircumstancesandplotsfullofcoincidence. Hewasgoodatcharacterizingthoseplain,simplecharacterswefindineverydaylife:clerks,policemenandwaitressesetc....Hissenseofhumor,incisivemindanddeepinsighthelpedhimtomakeingenuousdepictionandwittynarrationtowinthelastingprestigeinliterature.TheFurnishedRoomOHenry RESTLESS,shifting,fugaciousastimeitselfisacertainvastbulkofthepopulationoftheredbrickdistrictofthelowerWestSide.Homeless,theyhaveahundredhomes.Theyflitfromfurnishedroomtofurnishedroom,transientsforever—transientsinabode,transientsinheartandmind.Theysing“Home,SweetHome”inragtime;theycarrytheirlaresetpenatesinabandbox;theirvineisentwinedaboutapicturehat;arubberplantistheirfigtree. Hencethehousesofthisdistrict,havinghadathousanddwellers,shouldhaveathousandtalestotell,mostlydullones,nodoubt;butitwouldbestrangeiftherecouldnotbefoundaghostortwointhewakeofallthesevagrantghosts. Oneeveningafterdarkayoungmanprowledamongthesecrumblingredmansions,ringingtheirbells.Atthetwelfthherestedhisleanhand-baggageuponthestepandwipedthedustfromhishat-bandandforehead.Thebellsoundedfaintandfarawayinsomeremote,hollowdepths. Tothedoorofthis,thetwelfthhousewhosebellhehadrung,cameahousekeeperwhomadehimthinkofanunwholesome,surfeitedwormthathadeatenitsnuttoahollowshellandnowsoughttofillthevacancywithediblelodgers. Heaskediftherewasaroomtolet.“Comein,”saidthehousekeeper.Hervoicecamefromherthroat;herthroatseemedlinedwithfur.“Ihavethethirdfloorback,vacantsinceaweekback.Shouldyouwishtolookatit?” Theyoungmanfollowedherupthestairs.Afaintlightfromnoparticularsourcemitigatedtheshadowsofthehalls.Theytrodnoiselesslyuponastaircarpetthatitsownloomwouldhaveforsworn.Itseemedtohavebecomevegetable;tohavedegeneratedinthatrank,sunlessairtolushlichenorspreadingmossthatgrewinpatchestothestaircaseandwasviscidunderthefootlikeorganicmatter.Ateachturnofthestairswerevacantnichesinthewall.Perhapsplantshadoncebeensetwithinthem.Ifsotheyhaddiedinthatfoulandtaintedair.Itmaybethatstatuesofthesaintshadstoodthere,butitwasnotdifficulttoconceivethatimpsanddevilshaddraggedthemforthinthedarknessanddowntotheunholydepthsofsomefurnishedpitbelow. “Thisistheroom,”saidthehousekeeper,fromherfurrythroat.“It’saniceroom.Itain’toftenvacant.Ihadsomemostelegantpeopleinitlastsummer—notroubleatall,andpaidinadvancetotheminute.Thewater’sattheendofthehall.SprowlsandMooneykeptitthreemonths.Theydoneavaudevillesketch.MissB’rettaSprowls—youmayhaveheardofher—Oh,thatwasjustthestagenames—rightthereoverthedresseriswherethemarriagecertificatehung,framed.Thegasishere,andyouseethereisplentyofclosetroom.It’saroomeverybodylikes.Itneverstaysidlelong.” “Doyouhavemanytheatricalpeopleroominghere?”askedtheyoungman.fairgirl,ofmediumheightandslender,withreddishgoldhairandadarkmolenearherlefteyebrow.” “Theycomesandgoes.Agoodproportionofmylodgersisconnectedwiththetheatres.Yes,sir,thisisthetheatricaldistrict.Actorpeopleneverstayslonganywhere.Igetmyshare.Yes,theycomesandtheygoes.” Heengagedtheroom,payingforaweekinadvance.Hewastired,hesaid,andwouldtakepossessionatonce.Hecountedoutthemoney.Theroomhadbeenmadeready,shesaid,eventotowelsandwater.Asthehousekeepermovedawayheput,forthethousandthtime,thequestionthathecarriedattheendofhistongue. “Ayounggirl—MissVashner—MissEloiseVashner—doyouremembersuchaoneamongyourlodgers?Shewouldbesingingonthestage,mostlikely. “No,Idon’trememberthename.Themstagepeoplehasnamestheychangeasoftenastheirrooms.Theycomesandtheygoes.No,Idon’tcallthatonetomind.” No.Alwaysno.Fivemonthsofceaselessinterrogationandtheinevitablenegative.Somuchtimespentbydayinquestioningmanagers,agents,schoolsandchoruses;bynightamongtheaudiencesoftheatresfromall-starcastsdowntomusichallssolowthathedreadedtofindwhathemosthopedfor.Hewhohadlovedherbesthadtriedtofindher.Hewassurethatsinceherdisappear--ancefromhomethisgreatwater-girtcityheldhersomewhere,butitwaslikeamonstrousquicksand,shiftingitsparticlesconstantly,withnofoundation,itsuppergranulesofto-dayburiedto-morrowinoozeandslime. Thefurnishedroomreceiveditslatestguestwithafirstglowofpseudo-hospitality,ahectic,haggard,perfunctorywelcomelikethespecioussmileofademirep.Thesophisticalcomfortcameinreflectedgleamsfromthedecayedfurniture,theraggedbrocadeupholsteryofacouchandtwochairs,afoot-widecheappier-glassbetweenthetwowindows,fromoneortwogiltpictureframesandabrassbedsteadinacorner. Theguestreclined,inert,uponachair,whiletheroom,confusedinspeechasthoughitwereanapartmentinBabel,triedtodiscoursetohimofitsdiverstenantry. Apolychromaticruglikesomebrilliant-flowered,rectangular,tropicalisletlaysurroundedbyabillowyseaofsoiledmatting.Uponthegay-paperedwallwerethosepicturesthatpursuethehomelessonefromhousetohouse—TheHuguenotLovers,TheFirstQuarrel,TheWeddingBreakfast,PsycheattheFountain.Themantel’schastelysevereoutlinewasingloriouslyveiledbehindsomepertdraperydrawnrakishlyaskewlikethesashesoftheAmazonianballet.Uponitwassomedesolateflotsamcastasidebytheroom’smaroonedwhenaluckysailhadbornethemtoafreshport—atriflingvaseortwo,picturesofactresses,amedicinebottle,somestraycardsoutofadeck. Onebyone,asthecharactersofacryptographbecomeexplicit,thelittlesignsleftbythefurnishedroom’sprocessionofguestsdevelopedasignificance.Thethreadbarespaceintheruginfrontofthedressertoldthatlovelywomanhadmarchedinthethrong.Tinyfingerprintsonthewallspokeoflittleprisonerstryingtofeeltheirwaytosunandair.Asplatteredstrain,rayingliketheshadowofaburstingbomb,witnessedwhereahurledglassorbottlehadsplinteredwithitscontentsagainstthewall.Acrossthepier-glasshadbeenscrawledwithadiamondinstaggeringlettersthename“Marie.”Itseemedthatthesuccessionofdwellersinthefurnishedroomhadturnedinfury—perhapstemptedbeyondforbearancebyitsgarishcoldness—andwreakeduponittheirpassions.Thefurniturewaschippedandbruised;thecouch,distortedbyburstingsprings,seemedahorriblemonsterthathadbeenslainduringthestressofsomegrotesqueconvulsion.Somemorepotentupheavalhadclovenagreatslicefromthemarblemantel.Eachplankinthefloorowneditsparticularcantandshriekasfromaseparateandindividualagony.Itseemedincrediblethatallthismaliceandinjuryhadbeenwroughtupontheroombythosewhohadcalleditforatimetheirhome;andyetitmayhavebeenthecheatedhomeinstinctsurvivingblindly,theresentfulrageatfalsehouseholdgodsthathadkindledtheirwrath.Ahutthatisourownwecansweepandadornandcherish. Theyoungtenantinthechairallowedthesethoughtstofile,soft-shod,throughhismind,whiletheredriftedintotheroomfurnishedsoundsandfurnishedscents.Heheardinoneroomatitteringandincontinent,slacklaughter;inothersthemonologueofascold,therattlingofdice,alullaby,andonecryingdully;abovehimabanjotinkledwithspirit.Doorsbangedsomewhere;theelevatedtrainsroaredintermittently;acatyowledmiserablyuponabackfence.Andhebreathedthebreathofthehouse—adanksavourratherthanasmell—acold,mustyeffluviumasfromundergroundvaultsmingledwiththereekingexhalationsoflinoleumandmildewedandrottenwoodwork. Then,suddenly,asherestedthere,theroomwasfilledwiththestrong,sweetodourofmignonette.Itcameasuponasinglebuffetofwindwithsuchsurenessandfragranceandemphasisthatitalmostseemedalivingvisitant.Andthemancriedaloud,“What,dear?”asifhehadbeencalled,andsprangupandfacedabout.Therichodourclungtohimandwrappedhimabout.Hereachedouthisarmsforit,allhissensesforthetimeconfusedandcommingled.Howcouldonebeperemptorilycalledbyanodour?Surelyitmusthavebeenasound.But,wasitnotthesoundthathadtouched,thathadcaressedhim? “Shehasbeeninthisroom,”hecried,andhesprangtowrestfromitatoken,forheknewhewouldrecognisethesmallestthingthathadbelongedtoherorthatshehadtouched.Thisenvelopingscentofmignonette,theodourthatshehadlovedandmadeherown—whencecameit? Theroomhadbeenbutcarelesslysetinorder.Scatteredupontheflimsydresserscarfwerehalf-a-dozenhairpins—thosediscreet,indistinguishablefriendsofwomankind,feminineofgender,infiniteofmoodanduncommunicativeoftense.Theseheignored,consciousoftheirtriumphantlackofidentity.Ransackingthedrawersofthedresserhecameuponadiscarded,tiny,raggedhandkerchief.Hepressedittohisface.Itwasracyandinsolentwithheliotrope;hehurledittothefloor.Inanotherdrawerhefoundoddbuttons,atheatreprogramme,apawnbroker’scard,twolostmarshmallows,abookonthedivinationofdreams.Inthelastwasawoman’sblacksatinhair-bow,whichhaltedhim,poisedbetweeniceandfire.Buttheblacksatinhair-bowalsoisfemininity’sdemure,impersonal,commonornament,andtellsnotales.Andthenhetraversedtheroomlikeahoundonthescent,skimmingthewalls,consideringthecornersofthebulgingmattingonhishandsandknees,rummagingmantelandtables,thecurtainsandhangings,thedrunkencabinetinthecorner,foravisiblesign,unabletoperceivethatshewastherebeside,around,against,within,abovehim,clingingtohim,wooinghim,callinghimsopoignantlythroughthefinersensesthatevenhisgrosseronesbecamecognisantofthecall.Onceagainheansweredloudly,“Yes,dear!”andturned,wild-eyed,togazeonvacancy,forhecouldnotyetdiscernformandcolourandloveandoutstretchedarmsintheodourofmignonette.Oh,God!whencethatodour,andsincewhenhaveodourshadavoicetocall?Thushegroped.Heburrowedincrevicesandcorners,andfoundcorksandcigarettes.Thesehepassedinpassivecontempt.Butoncehefoundinafoldofthemattingahalf-smokedcigar,andthishegroundbeneathhisheelwithagreenandtrenchantoath.Hesiftedtheroomfromendtoend.Hefounddrearyandignoblesmallrecordsofmanyaperipatetictenant;butofherwhomhesought,andwhomayhavelodgedthere,andwhosespiritseemedtohoverthere,hefoundnotrace.Andthenhethoughtofthehousekeeper. Heranfromthehauntedroomdownstairsandtoadoorthatshowedacrackoflight.Shecameouttohisknock.Hesmotheredhisexcitementasbesthecould. “Willyoutellme,madam,”hebesoughther,“whooccupiedtheroomIhavebeforeIcame?” “Yes,sir.Icantellyouagain.’TwasSprowlsandMooney,asIsaid.MissB’rettaSprowlsitwasinthetheatres,butMissisMooneyshewas.Myhouseiswellknownforrespectability.Themarriagecertificatehung,framed,onanailover—” “WhatkindofaladywasMissSprowls—inlooks,Imean?” “Why,black-haired,sir,short,andstout,withacomicalface.TheyleftaweekagoTuesday. “Andbeforetheyoccupiedit?” “Why,therewasasinglegentlemanconnectedwiththedrayingbusiness.Heleftowingmeaweek.BeforehimwasMissisCrowderandhertwochildren,thatstayedfourmonths;andbackofthemwasoldMr.Doyle,whosesonspaidforhim.Hekepttheroomsixmonths.Thatgoesbackayear,sir,andfurtherIdonotremember.” Hethankedherandcreptbacktohisroom.Theroomwasdead.Theessencethathadvivifieditwasgone.Theperfumeofmignonettehaddeparted.Initsplacewastheold,staleodourofmouldlyhousefurniture,ofatmosphereinstorage. Theebbingofhishopedrainedhisfaith.Hesatstaringattheyellow,singinggaslight.Soonhewalkedtothebedandbegantotearthesheetsintostrips.Withthebladeofhisknifehedrovethemtightlyintoeverycrevicearoundwindowsanddoor.Whenallwassnugandtautheturnedoutthelight,turnedthegasfullonagain,andlaidhimselfgratefullyuponthebed.**** **** **** **** ItwasMrs.McCool’snighttogowiththecanforbeer.SoshefetcheditandsatwithMrs.Purdyinoneofthosesubterraneanretreatswherehousekeepersforgatherandthewormdiethseldom. “Irentedoutmythirdfloorbackthisevening,”saidMrs.Purdy,acrossafinecircleoffoam.“Ayoungmantookit.Hewentuptobedtwohoursago.” “Now,didye,Mrs.Purdy,ma’am?”saidMrs.McCool,withintenseadmiration.“Youdobeawonderforrentin’roomsofthatkind.Anddidyetellhim,then?”sheconcludedinahuskywhisper,ladenwithmystery. “Rooms,”saidMrs.Purdy,inherfurriesttones,“arefurnishedfortorent.Ididnottellhim,Mrs.McCool.” “’Tisrightyeare,ma’am;’tisbyrentingroomswekapealive.Yehavetheralesenseforbusiness,ma’am.Therebemanypeoplewillrayjicttherentin’ofaroomiftheybetouldasuicidehasbeenafterdyin’inthebedofit.” “Asyousay,wehasourlivingtobemaking,”remarkedMrs.Purdy. “Yis,ma’am;’tistrue.’TisjustonewakeagothisdayIhelpedyelayoutthethirdfloorback.Aprettyslipofacolleenshewastobekillin’herselfwidthegas—aswatelittlefaceshehad,Mrs.Purdy,ma’am.” “She’da-beencalledhandsome,asyousay,”saidMrs.Purdy,assentingbutcritical,“butforthatmoleshehada-growin’byherlefteyebrow.Dofillupyourglassagain,Mrs.McCool.”QuestionsWhatisthemotivationfortheyoungmantokillhimself?Ifheweretoldthetruth,wouldtheinformationsavehislifefromsuicide? Theyoungmanwasdesperateandexhaustedinthesearchforhislove—agirlnamedEloiseVashner.Hecommittedsuicidebecausehehadlosthopeforlifewhenhegotnoclueofthegirl’strace.Ifheweretoldthefactthatthegirlhadkilledherselfinthesameroomhemovedin,hewoulddieheart-broken,too,sincehewastooweakandfragiletoknowthecrueltyoflife.2.Attheendofthestorythelandladytoldhercronythatshehadliedtotheyoungmanaboutthegirl,whichgivesaturntotheplot.Isitmeaningfultoaddthislast-minutesurprise?Whatistheeffectofthisrevelation? Therevelationofthefactofthegirl’sdeathbythelandladywasO.Henry’sliterarytechniqueofintroducingalastminutesurprisetothereaders.It’sstructurallymeaningfulandimportantbecausethestorywouldhavelostitsstrikingforcewithouttheendingandwouldhavebecomeaplain,ordinarystorydevelopedinlinearform.Thisrevelationsuggestedanotherstory(thegirl’sstory)hiddenbehindanddramaticallyinterlacedwiththetaleoftheyoungman.3.Ifthesecondpartisomitted,isthereanyproblemtoaffecttheintegrityofthestory? Ifthesecondpartweresweptaway,thestoryitselfwouldhaveremainedasawholewithoutlosingitsintegrity.Butitwouldn’thaveachieveditsforcebyshockingthereaderswiththecoincidenceoftheyoungman’ssuicideandthegirl’sdeathatdifferenttimebutsharingthesamespace.4.Tryre-tellingthestorywiththeyoungmancallingatthedoor,findingwithhorrorhissweethearthadcommittedsuicideaweekearlierthere.Theanswervaries. MargaretAtwood(1939-)isanoteworthyCanadianwriterwhowinsbothinternationalprizesandimmensepopularityamongreaders.ShewasborninaforestentomologistfamilyinOttawain1939,andlivedinheryouthinnorthernQuebecandOntario,andlaterinToronto. SheattendedtheUniversityofToronto,majoringinEnglish,withminorsinPhilosophyandFrenchandreceivedherB.A.withhonorsin1961.Shefinishedherpostgraduatestudyin1962andreceivedamaster'sdegreefromRadcliffCollegeinMassachusetts.ButthePh.D.studyatHarvardwassuspendedbyherwritingcareer,whichshehasneveraccomplished. MargaretAtwoodisnowtheauthorofmorethanthirtybooks:novels,shortstories,poetry,literarycriticism,politicalessays,socialhistory,ecologicalwritings,andbooksforchildren.Shehaspublishedover15poetrycollections,12novels,8shortfictioncollections,6children’sbooksandbooksinotherfields.Sheistherecipientofnumeroushonors,amongwhichherbest-knownwork,TheHandmaid'sTale(1986),wasshortlistedfortheBookerPrize,andthenCat'sEye(1989)andTheRobberBride(1993).ShealsowontheSundayTimesAwardforLiteraryExcellenceintheU.K.,theNationalArtsClubMedalofHonorforLiteratureintheU.S.,andLeChevalierdansl'OrdredesArtsetdesLettresinFrance. In1983herthirdcollectionofshortstories,Bluebeard’sEggwaspublishedfromwhich“TheWhirlpoolRapids”istaken.TheWhirlpoolRapidsMargaretAtwood Therearesomewomenwhoseemtobebornwithoutfear,justastherearepeoplewhoarebornwithouttheabilitytofeelpain.Thepainlessonesgoaroundputtingtheirhandsonhotstoves,freezingtheirfeettothepointofgangrene,scaldingtheliningfromtheirthroatswithboilingcoffee,becausethereisnowarninganguish.Evolutiondoesnotfavorthem.Sotooperhapswiththefearlesswomen,becausetherearen’tverymanyofthemaround.Imyselfhaveknownonlytwo.Onewasamakeroftelevisiondocumentaries,andwasoneofthefirsttoshootfootageinVietnam.Therewouldbethebeachandthenthelineofjunglewiththesoldiersadvancingtowardit,andinfrontofthem,walkingbackward,wouldbethiswoman.Providenceappearstoprotectsuchwomen,maybeoutofastonishment.Orelse,soonerorlater,itdoesn’t. I’mtoldthefearlessnessgoesawaywhentherewomenhavebabies.Thentheybecomecowards,liketherestofus.Ifthebabyisthreatenedtheybecomeferocious,ofcourse,butthatisnotoutoftheordinary. TheotherwomenIknew,andstillknow－herluckhasheld－isEmma,whohasalwaysintriguedme.IthinkofEmmaasawomanwhowilldoanything,thoughthatisn’thowshethinksofherself.Thetrulyfearlessthinkofthemselvesasnormal. This,asfarasI’vebeenabletotell,ishowshegotlikethat. Whenshewastwenty-one,Emmanearlydied.Orsoshewastold,andsincefourofthosewithheractuallydiddie,shehadtobelieveit.Atthetimeshehadn’tfeltanywhereneardead. Itwasafreakaccident,andthefactthatshewasthereatallwasanaccidenttoo,theresultofawhimandofknowingsomeone.Emmaalwaysknowsalotofpeople.Thepersonsheknewforthisoccasionwasaman,aboyreally,aboutherownage.Hedidn’tqualifyasaboyfriend;hewasjustoneofthegroupshe’dhungoutwiththepreviousyear,attheuniversity.Inthesummersheworkedforatravelagency,agoodonethatspecializedinorganizingout-of-the-ordinarytours:bicycletripsthroughFrance,Africangameparks,thatsortofthing.Thisboy,whosenamewasBill,wasoneofthetourleaders.Becausehisprowesswithbicycleshehadwe