The birth of the work means the explanation of the author's death.

This is a literary theory put forward by roland barthes. After roland barthes put forward the famous concept of "the death of the author", the dominant position of the author was subverted, and the text was restored to freedom and gained an independent position. However, the author's death does not completely give the freedom of interpretation to the reader, but to the text itself. The reader, like the author, is just a place to talk, a receiver, and the real freedom is still given to the text itself. What Barthes pursues is a free interpretation space and a three-dimensional and pluralistic text production space.

For a long time, the author has been regarded as the sole and permanent owner of the work, while the reader has only the right to benefit from the work, that is, the reader has only the right to choose and accept the work, but not the right to participate in the creation. This form implies an authoritative theme: the author has certain rights to readers, and he forces readers to accept a certain meaning in the work, which is of course correct and true; Therefore, there is a critical force of correct meaning (its defect is the critical ethics of "misunderstanding" and "anti-meaning"): people try to establish the author's meaning, regardless of what the reader understands. From then on, roland barthes revealed a message to us: the author is in the position of commanding everything, while the readers are almost overwhelmed. In fact, in this case, the work becomes unique, there is no reason to explain, there is no room for development. For readers, it just means accepting or rejecting.

So roland barthes published the famous Death of the Author in 1968. Barthes pointed out in the article Death of the Author that the author became the owner of the work only recently, and the author can only exist with the work at the same time. "It is the language that speaks, not the author; Writing is impersonal as a premise (don't confuse it with realistic novelists' views on * * * *), so that only language, not' I', is at work and performing. " Barthes also distinguished between authors and writers in the traditional sense. The former corresponds to traditional "works", while the latter corresponds to productive "texts". In the theory of works, the relationship between the author and the works is equivalent to the father-son relationship, but in the theory of texts, the author's subjective position is subverted, and the subject is just a synonym for "I" in a language, not a real person. The birth of the concept of text declared the author's death. Because in Barthes' view, the text is a multidimensional interpretation space, not a concrete thing, and there is no so-called fixed original meaning, so it is not necessary for the author to continue to exist. He said: "We know that if we want to give writing a future, we must overturn this myth: the birth of readers must be at the expense of the author's death." Barthes believes that the traditional theory of works allows the author to dominate everything in the works, which masks the actual role of readers. In order to make readers fully realize their practical value, critics believe that Barthes' Death of the Author subverts the old author-centered structure and establishes a new reader-centered structure.

Simply put, this theory actually tells us that when a work is written, the author has no right to interpret it, and the original intention that the author wants to express is not unique. The power of interpretation is entirely given to the reader. If 100 people have 100 Hamlet in their eyes, then all are true.

The composition of the death of a lover will always be the firecrackers of the Red Balloon. In the cries of relatives and friends, my father's coffin slowly fell into the grave. At this time, my heart was full of tears, although my eyes stopped crying ... I remembered the bright red hydrogen balloon when I was sixteen years old more than once. Under the blue sky, bright red balloons stand out. Sixteen-year-old I am proud under the traction of my father's thick hands.

I have always been proud that I am a poet among my sisters, but I don't know what words to use to express my feelings at this time ... My father has gone and came to this world with infinite attachment. "Red Balloon" stung my heart, so I couldn't confirm this sudden thing ... My father's voice echoed in my ear, so kind, and that call was a thorough baptism for me. Wherever I go, I can feel his breath. I really can't accept that I am isolated from my father's sacred title. Although I am no longer young, I am still attached to my dead father like a spoiled young son. For my father's departure, I seem to have experienced a century of choice. Time is frozen at this moment, and I feel that the whole person has been semi-mechanized. When I said goodbye to my father for the last time, my head buzzed, and my father's image and Red Balloon shook in front of me. Everything clearly tells me that my father has left us. My Red Balloon will also die with my memory, although I was not too sad when it died ... I am the oldest of the sisters, and my father loves me the most, because I have always been an obedient, hardworking and intelligent girl in his heart, and he is delighted with my every success ... When my sisters and I were sorting out my father's relics, we found five sisters in the attic. My father carefully cut and pasted the materials, transcripts, graduation certificate application forms that I took part in the self-taught examination, and even the tofu blocks published in various tabloid magazines that I don't usually pay much attention to. Seeing this, tears once again occupied my eyes, and I seemed to snuggle up in my father's arms again, feeling his gentle touch ... Those newspaper clippings all had my father's handwriting, and each stroke reflected a father's deep love for his children. Imagine my father's mood when sorting out these things, his hopes and longings ... Everything can't be verified after his father left ... Today, he sat in front of the computer and expressed his thoughts in words. I don't know if my father in heaven can feel it, but I know that I have been working hard, trying to do what I want to do, and trying to make my father in heaven happy forever!

Three young people saw the funeral procession in a small town.

They found that the dead were their two friends: one was called Friendship and the other was called Happiness. They were murdered by a man nicknamed Death.

The youngest of the three said to his two friends, "Who is this guy nicknamed' Death'? Let's go to him together and avenge our friends! " On the way, they met several people who looked flustered. One of the old ladies told them that "death" was chasing them, and they had to run away quickly, or they would be killed, and suggested that others run away together. If they meet "death", they will die.

They told the old lady that they had come to kill "Death".

At their repeated requests, the old lady told them that "Death" was under an old oak tree at the top of the hill behind the small village.

The three of them excitedly walked to the top of the mountain and took out their sharp knives, ready to kill "Death" at any time.

But unexpectedly, when they came to the old oak tree on high alert, they didn't see the hideous "death" in their imagination, but found a box of shiny gold coins.

They immediately dropped their sharp knives and counted the gold coins selflessly, completely forgetting to look for "death".

The leading young man said, "We must keep these gold coins, otherwise they will be considered stolen and thrown into prison."

You know what? Let's draw lots. Whoever draws the shortest time will go to the town to buy food, and the other two will stay and keep the gold coins. Tomorrow we will divide the gold coins and go our separate ways.

"The youngest guy got the shortest ticket. He took some gold coins and bought food in a small town.

The two gold coin custodians have their own ulterior motives. Finally, they came up with a plan: when their friend came back with food, they killed him, then ate the food, and then divided the gold coins that should have been divided into three parts into two parts.

When the young man who bought food walked into the town, he thought, if poison is put in these foods, then those gold coins can be owned by me alone.

So, he ate his fill first, then put a colorless and tasteless poison in his food and drink, and returned to his friend that night.

Unexpectedly, he was killed by two friends as soon as he came back.

They proudly ate the food and drinks bought by their companions, and a few minutes later, they were also poisoned to death.

They never imagined that they would be killed by "death" like "friendship" and "happiness" of their friends.

What is even more unexpected is that the "death" who killed them is actually greed hidden behind gold coins.

Because greed, whether friendship, happiness or life, will die.

Write a composition about the death of a loved one. Everyone's life can't always be smooth sailing, and everyone will certainly encounter difficulties and setbacks.

When you face difficulties and setbacks, don't be timid, don't shrink back, be brave, find ways to overcome and overcome, so that you are equal to defeating yourself.

I had the same experience once.

One day, our teacher asked us to make a test paper written by the teacher himself. I finished the first few questions easily, but I was stumped by the last one. I thought about it and called back. I have racked my brains for a long time, but I haven't come up with a solution to this problem.

Ten minutes have passed, twenty minutes have passed, thirty minutes have passed, thirty-five minutes have passed ... Seeing that there are still five minutes to collect the papers, what should I do? Just when I was about to give up, I remembered what my mother said to me: "Don't give up easily, as long as you stick to the end, you will be the best."

"So I started a mental war again.

Finally, in the last few minutes, my eyes suddenly lit up and I found a solution to this problem.

At that time, I thought,' Isn't this method right in front of me? "Why didn't I see it?" Speaking of which,

Write a composition about my childhood death. Childhood, 65,438+000 words, flows slowly in my heart, like an endless stream. In this stream, there are both happy laughter and sad tears, but what I remember most is a stupid thing I did in my childhood. That was when I was four years old. One morning, my grandmother was cooking in the kitchen and found that there was no salt, so she immediately became brother and sister. Because I'm the only one left at home, what if she goes out by herself and leaves me alone at home? So I feel uneasy. At this time, I saw through grandma's difficulties and took the initiative to say to her, "I will help you buy back the salt." "You?" Grandma looked at me doubtfully. "yes! I have been there several times! " (Actually, I haven't been there. ) Grandma nodded helplessly. Soon, I bought salt from the grocery store, and I was glad that I could work for adults. I accidentally stepped on the banana skin on the ground. Suddenly, I fell down, the salt bag fell to the ground and broke, and shiny salt spilled all over the floor. I immediately panicked and thought: The salt fell on the ground and got dirty. I have to tell grandma the bad news quickly. I saw grandma Wang scouring rice next door. I suddenly had a brainwave. I think: since rice can be washed, so can salt. Thinking of this, I immediately borrowed a basin from Grandma Wang. I went to the street to put salt in the basin and ran to the faucet in the yard. Water quickly filled the washbasin. I shook the basin vigorously, then put my hand in and stirred it. I didn't expect the basin to be empty, and I was very upset. I ran home at once. When I got home, I told my grandmother what had happened. Before I finished, my grandmother burst into laughter. She touched my head and smiled and said, "Silly boy, salt is not as clean as rice, but soluble in water." Then I laughed again. From this incident, I understand a truth: think twice about everything. Childhood is like a child. There are also sad tears. In my childhood, there were more interesting things, laughter and laughter. My second and third uncles like fishing very much. To this end, they bought a lot of things related to fishing. I remember three years ago, on Labor Day, my uncle and uncle took me fishing outdoors when they were free.

The firecrackers of the composition "Red Balloon" about the death of the closest relatives have been one after another, and it will last forever. In the cries of relatives and friends, my father's coffin slowly fell into the grave. My heart was full of tears at this time, although my eyes stopped crying ... I thought of the bright red hydrogen balloon when I was sixteen more than once. Under the blue sky, bright red balloons stand out. When I was sixteen, I was dragged by my father's rough hands.

I have always been proud that I am a poet among my sisters, but I don't know what words to use to express my feelings at this time ... My father has gone and came to this world with infinite attachment. "Red Balloon" stung my heart, so I couldn't confirm this sudden thing ... My father's voice echoed in my ear, so kind, and that call was a thorough baptism for me. Wherever I go, I can feel his breath. I really can't accept that I am isolated from my father's sacred title. Although I am no longer young, I am still attached to my dead father like a spoiled young son. For my father's departure, I seem to have experienced a century of choice. Time is frozen at this moment, and I feel that the whole person has been semi-mechanized. When I said goodbye to my father for the last time, my head buzzed, and my father's image and Red Balloon shook in front of me. Everything clearly tells me that my father has left us. My Red Balloon will also die with my memory, although I was not too sad when it died ... I am the oldest of the sisters, and my father loves me the most, because I have always been an obedient, hardworking and intelligent girl in his heart, and he is delighted with my every success ... When my sisters and I were sorting out my father's relics, we found five sisters in the attic. My father carefully cut and pasted the materials, transcripts, graduation certificate application forms that I took part in the self-taught examination, and even the tofu blocks published in various tabloid magazines that I don't usually pay much attention to. Seeing this, tears once again occupied my eyes, and I seemed to snuggle up in my father's arms again, feeling his gentle touch ... Those newspaper clippings all had my father's handwriting, and each stroke reflected a father's deep love for his children. Imagine my father's mood when sorting out these things, his hopes and longings ... Everything can't be verified after his father left ... Today, he sat in front of the computer and expressed his thoughts in words. I don't know if my father in heaven can feel it, but I know that I have been working hard, trying to do what I want to do, and trying to make my father in heaven happy forever!

On June 2, 2005, at 2: 40 pm, 165438+, my grandfather who loved me the most passed away.

Four months before his death, it happened to be my grandfather's 98th birthday.

He has died of cancer for three years, and the disease has made his grandfather's face thin and yellow. His death is also a relief.

It was a boring afternoon.

When I got home and finished my homework, Uncle Yang said to me heavily, "Your grandfather passed away this afternoon.

"I stopped and felt that the mountain suddenly became silent and the water stopped flowing.

At the moment, it seems that all moving creatures have stopped.

"ah! No way! How can it be? " I don't believe my ears after hearing it.

I feel particularly sad inside.

After dinner, we set off for grandma's house.

I was silent, I didn't cry or laugh all the way, and my heart was heavy.

Usually it's a short road, but today I've walked so long.

When I came to my grandmother's house, the door was open and the whole family was in Lacrimosa.

I came to the familiar grandfather's bed and suddenly became strange.

Grandpa is covered with white sheets and his body has become cold.

Grandpa will never make me happy again, and he will never laugh like before.

I held grandpa's hand and couldn't help crying.

Grandpa was buried in his hometown at 8 o'clock in the morning, and we returned to our hometown at 6 o'clock in the morning.

Grandpa said before his death that he didn't want to be burned to ashes by a ruthless fire, but just wanted to be buried completely underground and enjoy family happiness in heaven.

I love you, Grandpa! We will come to see you again during the Spring Festival. Rest in peace! I will study hard and won't let you down. Don't worry! Grandpa! ...

I stood in the boundless night, I heard the whispering of leaves, and I was even more confused in the silent night.

I want to know whether I came to this world by accident or necessity. This question reminds me of Zhang Zi's sentence: "There is no accident in the world, only necessity."

"To tell you the truth, I never knew what my appearance could bring to the world. Are you lucky? Is it a disaster? Or I'm just a trivial dust.

However, it is still too early to draw conclusions about all this.

My eyes gradually blurred, and when I woke up again, everything was blank. I have to keep walking, looking for an exit and hope.

On the way, I began to learn to adapt to all this.

Finally, at the end of a piece of white, I found a little girl.

With big and long braids, playing with dolls, the smiling face is so clean and pure.

I went over and asked softly, "Who are you? Why are you here? How can I get out? " She looked up, her face familiar.

She smiled and pointed in one direction and said, "I am you!" " This is your childhood! "Don't you remember? Your childhood ... ""I ... maybe.

"I paused," but, they are buried in my heart, it is difficult to find them again.

""Ha ha, everyone is like this.

The more you grow up, the easier it is to forget the innocence of childhood.

That's why I don't want to leave.

"While speaking, I don't know where to stretch out a pair of big hands and hold the doll in my hand. I frowned and lost my smiling face.

"You go and see the next you, different ... you." I nodded, and when I just wanted to step forward, I looked at the clean world with great nostalgia.

Just one step forward, the space has changed again.

Turned into a shallow sky blue, just like the sky washed by rain.

In the sky blue space, there is a green lawn, on which stands a girl overlooking the distance.

She has a big schoolbag on her shoulder.

I went over and asked, "Are you me? Where is this? " "I" turned around, stared at my face with a pair of eyes and whispered, "hmm! This is a primary school.

""What are you looking at? Blue sky? Distant relatives? " "All, she is not with me, I miss her.

At this time, the sky reflected many memories: my first pet, the first time to make friends, the first time to perform on stage, the first time to know to leave. ...

I dreamed of my grandfather again last night. When I woke up, I was in tears. I know I can only see him in my dreams from now on.

I remember that day, just before dawn, I was awakened by the sound of closing the door and zipper in my mother's room.

These days, my father went back to his hometown to visit his seriously ill grandfather. What is mom doing alone in the room? Thinking about thinking, I pushed the door and took a look. It turned out that she was packing.

I suddenly had an ominous premonition and asked, "Mom, what are you doing so early?" "Your grandfather died at 4 o'clock 13 this morning." After dawn, please ask the teacher for leave, and we will go back to our hometown today. "A burst of sadness filled my eyes and I couldn't say a word. I turned to the bed and cried. I regret not going back with my father to see my grandfather for the last time.

Home.sanwen8.cn remembers that when I was in the first grade, my grandparents came to take me away from my hometown. After school that day, I painted in the school art room and came out very late. Grandpa waited for me at the school gate for a long time and asked if anyone had seen me.

As soon as I left the school gate, my anxious grandfather rushed over and grabbed me, dangling and shouting at me.

I think it's a shame for my classmates to see my grandfather do this, so they had a big fight with him.

Later, the teacher learned about it and criticized me for not respecting the elderly. My classmates laughed at me, too, so I began to blame my grandfather.

It is also for this matter that almost all my classmates joined the Young Pioneers in the second grade, but I didn't. I blame my grandfather even more.

Grandpa from the countryside has always been proud of me. Seeing me because he didn't get the red scarf, he felt guilty and tried desperately to make up for something. How he wishes I could get the red scarf as soon as possible! But one day, he suddenly had a stroke and couldn't get up in the hospital bed.

Later, I joined the Young Pioneers and attended the Young Pioneers Conference in Shenzhen as an outstanding student representative of the school.

When I told my grandfather with a red scarf, my grandfather, who could not speak, was lying in the hospital bed, his skinny hands clutching the red scarf tightly, and tears actually flowed out of his eyes. Grandpa is crying! I feel even sadder when I think of this composition.

Now he's really gone and will never come back. I didn't see grandpa for the last time.

I want to tell grandpa that I don't blame him for the red scarf. I am more grateful to him, but I didn't have the opportunity to say it in person. I really regret it, so I have to tell grandpa in my dream that you can rest in peace. I will study hard and will not live up to your expectations.

...

An academic report I participated in before: death and what kind of death we are to you and me are composed of irreversible division of our life process as individuals. Detain. If we have a clearer understanding of what we are and the conditions for our survival, this feature of death can become clearer. However, the latter is a controversial issue. There are three main viewpoints: animali ***, saying that we are human beings, quoted from Snowdon 1990, Olson 1997, 2007; Personi ***, which says that we are creatures with self-awareness ability; And mindi ***, it says that we are minds, and we may or may not have the ability of self-awareness. Animali *** implies that we persist over time in case we are still the same animal; Mindi *** suggests that we can stick to it as long as we keep the same mentality. From Locke's 1689 and parfitt's 1984, Personi *** usually appears in pairs with the view that our persistence is determined by our psychological characteristics and the relationship between them. If we are animals and have the conditions of animal persistence, our death is constituted by the irreversible stop of the important process of maintaining our existence as human beings. If we are brains, our death is made up of irreversible disappearance, which is an important process to maintain our existence as brains. And if persistence is determined by our retention of certain psychological characteristics, then the loss of those characteristics constitutes death. These three ways of understanding death have very different meanings. Severe dementia can destroy many psychological characteristics without destroying the mind, which shows that although death as understood by psychiatrists has not yet occurred, death as understood by personality theorists may occur. In addition, human beings sometimes survive the destruction of the mind, just like when the brain dies, leaving a person in a persistent vegetative state. It is also conceivable that after the extinction of human beings, the brain can still survive: if the brain is taken out of the body, artificially kept alive, and the rest of the body is destroyed, assuming that a bare brain is not human, this situation may happen. These possibilities show that even if the death understood by animists does not happen, the death understood by mentalists may happen, and the latter death is not necessarily caused by the former.

Please indicate the source? The birth of the work means the explanation of the author's death.