Chapter 218 Whoever wins this year's Mao Dun Award will be the chairman of the association!
At this time, Fang Minghua was sitting on the train to Yanjing.
It is spring now, and the green wheat fields are all outside the car window, which makes people feel relaxed and happy.
Just two days ago, Fang Minghua received an invitation from the Excellent Short and Medium Novels Jury, inviting him to attend the award ceremony in Yanjing.
Of course, he was not the only one who went to Xijing to receive the award this time, but also the other two writers from Qin Province, Jia Pingwa and Zou Zhian.
Zou Zhian is about to turn 40 this year. He is tall and thin and not very good at talking. He won the Outstanding Short Story Award in 1984 for his novel "Oh, Little Stallion".
The novel creates the image of Zheng Quanzhang, secretary of the county Youth League Committee, who acts impartially and is not afraid of power. The language of the work is sharp, the hatred for unhealthy trends is palpable, and the thinking about the difficulties of reform is profound.
He is also a member of the Qin Provincial Writers Association and a professional writer. But the cool thing is that he also serves as the deputy secretary of the county party committee in his hometown of Liquan.
Due to working and living in Liquan for a long time, Fang Minghua rarely saw him except for Writers Association meetings.
At this time, he was sitting on the lower bunk, holding a radio and listening to the program on the novel broadcast channel of CCTV.
"In 1904, winter came earlier than usual in Zhangqiu, Lu Province. Zhangqiu was originally a place of outstanding people and the hometown of Li Qingzhao, a female poet in the Song Dynasty. It had abundant springs and outstanding scenery. However, it was not perfect under the cover of the nest. Due to successive years of disasters, crops have failed, bandits are rampant, and starvation is everywhere. In the open fields, the north wind howls past, making the gloomy sky even more desolate. On the simple roads between villages, groups of families drag their families. The people pushed their wheelbarrows and walked silently and wearily into the distance. They are all refugees going to Guandong."
"Although it is difficult to leave our homeland, surviving on a full stomach is the most realistic life outside the Guandong. They don’t know whether it is fertile fields or snowy frozen soil. They only know that there is such a vast land in the distance that may be able to accommodate them and allow them to get a bite of food.”
After more than a month. In preparation for this, CCTV began to officially broadcast "Crossing Guandong" written by Fang Minghua.
Zou Zhi listened quietly for a while, then raised his head and said to Fang Minghua, who was sleeping in the middle bunk: "Minghua, I have read your novel, and now when I listen to it on the radio, I have a different feeling. It's so well written that it makes people feel the local customs of the vast black land in the north."
"The main reason is that the announcer named Li Yemo has a nice voice," Fang Minghua said modestly.
But it is true, low and magnetic, which adds a lot to this novel.
"What sounds good?" At this time, a man came over and sat down on Fang Minghua's lower bunk. It was Jia Pingwa.
So the two stopped talking, and Zou Zhi'an looked at Jia Pingwa: "Have you had enough?"
"I smoked three cigarettes in one breath, and finally I felt much better." Jia Pingwa let out a long sigh. After taking a breath, Fang Minghua, who was sleeping on the bunk above him, could smell the smoke on his body.
It turned out that smoking was not allowed in the sleeper car, so he ran to the toilet to enjoy himself.
None of the writers in Qin Province that Fang Minghua knew was not a heavy smoker.
“This sleeper carriage is good for everything, except that it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable when you smoke.” Jia Pingwa sighed, and suddenly remembered what she just said; “Hey, what were you talking about just now? What’s nice?
"The Central Radio Station is broadcasting the book "Crossing Guandong" written by Minghua. I listened to it for a while and found it to be really good. "Zou Zhian explained.
"Minghua's novel was written for this year's Mao Dun Award. Jia Pingwa said something, and when Fang Minghua was about to speak, she immediately said: "Minghua, I'm not complimenting you, I'm here to analyze it for you." "
"Oh? you say. "Zou Zhian suddenly became interested.
"Looking at the characteristics of the six works that won the first Mao Dun Award, they focus on grand narratives, favor heavy epic works, rely on the spirit of realism, and pay attention to historical themes. To sum up, they are "grand narrative", "epicness" and "realism" ", and this novel written by Minghua has all three, so it is very likely to win the award."
"Pingwa, your analysis is very thorough." Zou Zhian nodded frequently.
Even Fang Minghua felt that what Jia Pingwa said made sense.
Not to mention the first one, the entire Mao Dun Award has his aesthetic preferences:
Over-one-sided emphasis on the epic nature of novel narratives; excessive preference for realist works; over-preference for narrative The artistic value of the text has lost necessary attention; the novel’s exploration of the inner layers of the human spirit, especially its revelation of the humble and dark side of human nature, has not been given reasonable recognition.
Gradually, this has become a criticism of the Mao Dun Prize. However, in the 1980s, this shortcoming was not yet prominent.
Fang Minghua was lying on the upper bunk, listening to Jia Pingwa's words, and was thinking wildly. Suddenly, he heard him lower his voice and say in a slightly mysterious tone: "Do you know? At the end of the year, our Qin Province The Writers Association is changing, and the provincial leaders have spoken. If anyone can win the Mao Dun Award this time, let him be the chairman of the Association!"
As soon as these words came out, Zou Zhian suddenly raised his head and looked at the middle berth lying in the middle. Fang Minghua.
Holy shit!
Is this rumor true?
"Brother Zou, don't look at me. This has nothing to do with me." Fang Minghua quickly replied and expressed his own opinion: "I guess this is a joke. How could the chairman of the Writers' Association choose this way?"
Zou Zhian nodded and said: "Pingwa said that whoever wins the Mao Dun Award will be the chairman of the association, which is a bit weird, but being the vice chairman is totally fine."
At the end of this year, the Qin Provincial Writers Association will During the change of office, a new leadership team will be elected. Du Pengcheng, the older generation, and others will retire because of their age. Most of the members of the leadership team will be from the new generation of writers in Qin Province.
People like Lu Yao, Chen Zhongshi, Jia Pingwa, etc. all have high voices, including the youngest Fang Minghua.
However, Fang Minghua doesn't care much about this.
Of course, it is not appropriate to talk about this kind of topic in a public place like a train, so the three of them quickly changed the topic.
After traveling on the plain for more than twenty hours, the train finally arrived at Yanjing Station.
The three of them got off the train, carried their travel bags, and followed the pedestrians out of the train station and towards the bus stop on the edge of the square.
Fang Minghua has come to Yanjing many times, and Jia Pingwa has also been here several times. Only Zou Zhian came to Yanjing for the first time. Looking at the busy traffic on the street, he couldn't help but sigh: "It is indeed the capital. Our Xijing is much more prosperous.”
"Then I say Zhi'an, take this opportunity to go shopping everywhere, including Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City, and the Great Wall... all next to each other!"
"How can I have time? There are still a lot of them in the county. I always find time to write at night." Zou Zhian sighed.
"You have the same temper as Lu Yao, no matter what you do, you will risk your life!" Jia Pingwa said.
Fang Minghua said nothing.
In my memory, all the writers in Qin Province died young. Except for Lu Yao, it seems that it was the Zou Zhian in front of me?
It seems that he also died of illness in the 1990s.
So he quickly added: "Brother Jia is right, work is more important than body!"
Zou Zhian smiled and said nothing.
The three of them piled onto a bus and went straight to the Writers Association Building in Taoranting, Xicheng.
According to the arrangement in the letter from the jury, the three of them stayed at the nearby Guoxin Hotel. This time Fang Minghua met many old acquaintances.
Li Suanli, Zhang Xianliang, and of course Shi Tiesheng who came in a wheelchair were pushed in by Zhu Wei, editor of "Yenjing Literature".
Fang Minghua saw them as soon as he arrived at the hotel lobby.
(End of this chapter)