How about burning yuan leaves?

1953, juan rulfo, 36 years old. Three years ago, his idol william faulkner won the Nobel Prize. Two years ago, he lost his job selling hotels in southern Mexico; Four years later, Garcí a Má rquez met Hemingway for the first time in Paris and shouted "Master" across the street. Six years later, the same Marquez will feel that a brand-new world is open to him, because he has read juan rulfo's novels. This year, Rulfo just published his first book, Burning Yuan Ye, with seventeen short stories. Marquez has always been labeled as "magic realism in South America", and his memory of Rulfo can put Rulfo and "pioneers of magic realism" on the same banner. But as Marquez himself said, when a good novelist reads a novel, he "looks at how the novel is written"-just as a painter appreciates a painting not necessarily by lamenting the beauty of a girl, but by observing the direction and speed of brushwork. Rulfo worships Faulkner, and so does Marquez-before meeting Rulfo, Marquez had been baptized by Kafka's Metamorphosis, was already an ardent admirer of Hemingway, and paid tribute to Faulkner in Dead Leaves. But we also see that Marquez before and after Rulfo is really different. So, the question is: What did Rulfo inspire Marquez, South America and Spanish literature? You can find some images of Faulkner in Rulfo. His feelings for the southern land of Mexico are the same as Faulkner's feelings for the southern land of the United States. We got the land, Rebo and Luvina of Komad, and blamed our poverty, you can almost smell the same land smell: the desolate wilderness is dry and almost malicious; Because of the ruthlessness of the land, people's spirit is forced to return to its true colors, the most primitive fear, despair and numbness. But it doesn't stop there. The long narrative with idiotic tone in Marcario, the novel with full dialogue in North Ferry, and the intermittent hints and segmentation of the plot in Anna Clayto Moronis all have Faulkner's meaning-as we all know, changing the style, narrator and narrative order is Faulkner's specialty. But it doesn't stop there. Juan rulfo's novels are so light that you can't stop reading them. You can wander along a sentence, like a whirlwind blowing through the countryside in southern Mexico, where there are no obstacles. Marquez said that his writing is like poetry, which is true. In other words, his novels are like elegies wandering in rural Mexico, headless and tailless, with vague lyrics. In his own words: he doesn't talk, he just says. Every sentence of his can be extended into a whole sentence or even a novel, but he has converged. He refused to spend too much time on any paragraph, so it was difficult to find his point. As he appeared in many novels, he said, "He didn't hear (a question). He walked away. " In juan rulfo's novels, there are often only the most objective statements and long dialogues. The sentences are mostly short sentences, exquisite and clear, and only provide you with a camera-like picture sense; The dialogue is wandering, and there are many, many questions. Why do people in his works have so many problems? Life is barren and desolate, so that the theme of every question is as simple as memory, life, long suffering and death. You can see his picture in this book. Le Clezio praised his "simple and sad photos" of the Mexican countryside. He knows how to grasp a certain moment, when people have the most wrinkles, when the shadow on their faces is the deepest, and when the season when clouds and the wilderness win glory is the bleakest. His father died at the age of seven, his mother died at the age of ten, his two uncles died a year later, and his grandmother adopted him, but his family was destroyed in the Mexican revolutionary war. He has seen too many deaths since he was a child, and he can't talk to his parents since he was a child. You can imagine why people in his novels often talk to themselves-those words that seem to ask people and seem to ask nothing, those ghosts who are dead and immortal. In 1952, he lost his job because he asked the company for a radio so that he could install it in the car and accompany him to the dusty countryside in southern Mexico to promote it. On the longyuanye Mercedes-Benz, he hoped to make a little noise to avoid loneliness-but the company refused. In addition to conceiving great novels, his main thinking in life is: how to sell hotel business and tires well. A salesman knows how to brag, how to take the lead, how to set the tone of sales promotion in the first sentence, and how to sing praises in a vague tone. When these are put together, you will find that ... at the beginning of Morning, he described smoke clouds, dust and swallows singing as fascinated as a camera; In "That Night, He Stay", those who traveled long distances recited stories in a tired and sleepy tone. "We Got the Land", the wilderness is boundless and desolate almost unlike the real world; The narrative sequence of Libo in Komad is like a wandering journey of a lonely person hesitating where to go; "It's all because we are poor" uses a salesman's unreasonable tone to determine that there is an inevitable relationship between the flood and the fall of women (this is an important means of magical realism); The flute of pain in Mathilde Alcanhill's legacy: Anna Clayto Moronis was serious, and it was not until the end that the truth of the plot was revealed. The details in Pedro Palermo are scattered in Burning Yuan Ye: the wind is blowing, and sleep is blurred; A calm and firm narrative; Every sentence is condensed into a photo; A faint voice; The dust that always makes you doubt the truth of the world around you constitutes his poems. Even in "Burning Yuan Ye", which narrates the revolution, he seems to be splicing the silhouette of the photo, coupled with the wind around him and sporadic conversations, so weak that only he will pay attention to the voice. You can imagine how he wrote these novels in the early 1950s. Of course, he didn't know at that time that all this would completely change the literary narrative mode of a mainland after many years. During the long and desolate journey, he didn't have a radio, so he could only recite these poems by himself, which are now regarded as classics by South American novelists. That seems to be a habit he developed since childhood: when he can only find the scale of his father's conversation with his mother from his memory, he talks to himself like a poem: some monologues that we can still watch and fall into the dream of southern Mexico.