托妮·莫里森與尼娜·西莫內

埃米莉·洛爾迪

Toni Morrison1 was such an exceptional talent， and seemed to float so high above the fray， that its easy to forget she was a product of her time. But she was profoundly influenced by the work of contemporary musicians. She wanted her writing to emulate， she told the scholar Paul Gilroy， “all of the intricacy， all of the discipline” that she heard in black musical performance.

Literary critics sometimes compare Morrisons writing to jazz， the genre after which she titled her novel from 1992， and whose cultural prestige as “Americas classical music” befits her canonical stature. Her work resonates with the music of those soul artists alongside whom she honed her craft： the grand ambition of Isaac Hayes， the moral clarity of Curtis Mayfield， and the erotic truth-telling of Aretha Franklin. But the soul artist who is most closely aligned with Morrison is Nina Simone2. “She saved our lives，” Morrison said of the singer， after Simones death， in 2003. Simone meant so much to her， and to other black women， I think， in part because of how she turned social exclusion into superlative beauty and style. It was this recuperative alchemy that defined soul， as a music and an ethos. And， if Simone was souls “High Priestess，” Morrison was one of its literary architects.

Simone was born two years after Morrison， in 1933. A musical prodigy by any measure， she played piano in her mothers church while she was still a toddler and studied classical music throughout her early life. But her dreams of becoming a classical pianist began to wither when she was denied admission to the Curtis Institute of Music， in Philadelphia， owing to her race. It was a foundational trauma， but Simone made of it a radically new aesthetic： a mixture of classical， gospel， the blues， and anything else that inspired her. “I was and still am influenced by everything I hear，” she said， citing Bach， Louis Armstrong， and Marian Anderson as examples. By the nineteen-sixties， she had turned her institutional homelessness into a righteous artistic nomadism3.

In Simones recording of the jazz standard “Love Me or Leave Me，” she weaves a solo around a Bach-style fugue. In “Mississippi Goddam，” she couches a statement of black rage in a show tune， like a concealed explosive. But she most explicitly turns marginalization into sonic innovation in her recording of “Aint Got No， I Got Life” （or simply “Life”）， from the rock musical “Hair.” With her rich and pointed voice， Simone catalogues her deprivations： “Aint got no home， aint got no shoes， aint got no money， aint got no class...” Nor does she have family， friends， culture， perfume， food， faith， love， or God. What she does have is， simply， herself：

I got hair， got my head， got my brain， got my heels， got my eyes， got my nose， got my mouth， I got my smile...

I got my heart， got my soul， got my back， I got my sex...

Especially in light of Simones song “Four Women，” which details the “pain inflicted again and again” on a series of black women， her recording of “Life” marks a striking reclamation of the black female body as a source of pleasure and pride. The song anticipates Morrisons famous scene in “Beloved，” in which Baby Suggs instructs black people to love every part of their much-maligned flesh. But， even beyond Simones lyrics， her integrative technique itself—her use of gospel piano， blues melisma， classical riffs—refutes myths of black deprivation. Here instead is expressive abundance.

This mode of turning supposed lack into plenitude shapes all of Morrisons work， but it is especially clear in her novel “Sula，” from 1973， which she composed at the height of the soul era. She seems to echo Simones recording of “Life” when she describes Shadrack， a young shell-shocked veteran of the First World War， as finding himself “with no past， no language， no tribe， no source， no address book， no comb， no pencil， no clock... no soap， no key， no tobacco pouch， no soiled underwear and nothing nothing nothing to do...” What Shadrack does find amid this crisis is his blackness. Seeking his reflection in a toilet bowl （he has no mirror）， he feels “joy” at the sight of his black face： “When the blackness greeted him with its indisputable presence， he wanted nothing more.”

Shadrack lives on the edge of an all-black town called the Bottom， where the novels protagonists， the best friends Sula and Nel， come of age in the nineteen-twenties. Morrison writes that the girls “had discovered years before that they were neither white nor male， and that all freedom and triumph was forbidden to them，” and so “they had set about creating something else to be.” That “something” never quite coalesces， but the search for it cements their bond， which outlasts betrayal， estrangement， and death.

Black female friendship was as crucial to Morrisons process of writing “Sula” as it was to her main characters. In her foreword to the 2004 edition of the book， she explains that she started work on it in 1969 as a single mother “strapped for money，” and relied on a network of other single mothers for “time， food， money... and daring.” “Daring” was especially important， because “in the late sixties， with so many dead， detained， or silenced， there could be no turning back simply because there was no ‘back back there. Cut adrift， so to speak， we found it possible to think up things， try things， explore... Nobody was minding us， so we minded ourselves.” These women， like Sula and Nel， were making something else to be. And Morrisons experience of that kind of community—as a friend， and later as an editor， at Random House—was a key difference between her life in the arts and that of the exiled and often alienated Simone.

It was perhaps Morrisons sense of being “cut adrift” while writing “Sula” that allowed her to craft such an experimentally syncretic work—a literary counterpart to Simones multi-genre music. “Sula” begins in the dreamlike mode of a fable; proceeds as a series of short vignettes told from different perspectives; includes omniscient reflections on townspeoples behavior and theology; and showcases luminous description， fantastic narrative devices， and theatrical yet perfectly pitched dialogue. It is as strange and stunning a work as Morrison would ever create. This is the richness of black life when no one else is looking—a life touched， but not defined， by white supremacy. This is the reality that Morrison dedicated her life to representing.

There is a version of “Life” that Simone recorded live in Paris， in 1968， in which she performs a false ending： she plays a closing cadence， then strikes up a funk jam4 to keep the song going. The device enacts the virtuosic recovery that was intrinsic to soul. So it is fitting that Morrison should stage a series of narrative false endings in “Sula.” Although one would expect the novel to end with the death of its title character， it doesnt. Nor does it end when Shadrack leads most of the townspeople into a protest that ends in mass death. The novel structurally performs the fantastic will to proceed that Morrison saw as characteristic of black life in this country. As she herself notes in the documentary “Toni Morrison： The Pieces I Am，” “Nobody else could have loved as much as we did. Went on with life as much as we did. Carried on. And considering the efforts to make sure we never did—considering that， its amazing.”

托妮·莫里森天賦如此出眾，似乎高高在上、超然世外，讓人們很容易忘記她是那個時代的產物。不過，她也深受同時代音樂作品的影響。她曾對學者保羅·吉爾羅伊說，希望自己的寫作能模仿出她在黑人音樂演奏中聽到的“種種復雜多變、種種嚴謹規范”。

文學評論家有時將莫里森的作品比作爵士樂——她1992年出版的一本小說就名為《爵士樂》——爵士樂作為“美國古典音樂”所擁有的文化威望，與莫里森在文壇的至尊地位極為相配。她的作品與那些靈魂樂藝術家的音樂產生了共鳴，她曾在他們作品的陪伴下磨練自己的寫作技藝：艾薩克·海耶斯展示的宏大抱負、柯蒂斯·梅菲爾德明晰的道德立場，以及艾瑞莎·富蘭克林揭露的情色真相。但與莫里森最為心靈相通的靈魂樂藝術家是歌手尼娜·西莫內。2003年，西莫內去世后，她評價說，西莫內“拯救了我們的生命”。西莫內對她和其他黑人女性之所以意義如此重大，我想，部分原因在于西莫內把社會排斥轉化為極致的美與風尚。正是這種治愈的魔力界定了靈魂樂的本質——既是一種音樂，又是一種精神。如果說西莫內是靈魂樂的“天后”，莫里森就是靈魂樂的文學締造者。

西莫內1933年出生，比莫里森晚兩年。不管以哪種標準來衡量，她都是一個音樂奇才。蹣跚學步時，她就在母親的教堂里彈鋼琴，童年學習了古典音樂。但由于是黑人，她被費城的柯蒂斯音樂學院拒之門外，成為一名古典鋼琴家的夢想就此破滅。這種創傷是動搖根基的重傷，但她卻藉以創作出一種全新的音樂：融合了古典、福音、藍調，以及一切帶給她靈感的東西。她說：“不論過去還是現在，我聽到的一切都對我產生了影響。”她舉例時提到了巴赫、路易斯· 阿姆斯特朗和瑪麗安·安德森。到20世紀60年代，她已經把由來已久的歸屬感缺失轉變為不偏不倚的藝術游牧。

在自己錄制的爵士標準曲《愛我或離開我》中，西莫內編入了一段巴赫式賦格曲風的獨唱。在《天殺的密西西比》中，她用流行曲調包裹黑人的憤怒聲明，好像隱而未爆的炸藥。但在搖滾音樂劇《毛發》中的“什么都沒有，我有生命”（簡稱“生命”）一曲中，最明顯的一點是，她將邊緣化轉變為聲音上的創新。她用飽滿而尖銳的嗓音歷數她的種種匱乏：“沒有家歸，沒有鞋穿，沒有錢花，沒有學上……”她沒有家人、朋友、文化、香水、食物、信仰、愛或上帝。她所擁有的只有她自己：

我有頭發，有頭顱，有大腦，有腳跟，有眼睛，有鼻子，有嘴巴，有微笑……

我有心臟，有靈魂，有脊背，有性別……

在歌曲《四個女人》中，西莫內詳細描述了一系列黑人女性“遭受到的一次又一次的痛苦”——《生命》是特別基于那首歌創作的，她在歌中強烈要求糾正觀念，應將黑人女性身體視為快樂與驕傲的源泉。后來，莫里森在小說《寵兒》中也描述了一個著名的場景，貝比·薩格斯教導黑人要愛自己飽受詬病的肉體的每個部分。然而，西莫內的技巧甚至超越了她的歌詞——她的技巧融合了福音鋼琴、藍調裝飾音、古典即興曲等，駁斥了有關黑人匱乏的種種迷思，而代之以豐富的表現力。

這種將所謂的匱乏變成豐富的模式構成了莫里森所有作品的特點，而這在她1973年出版的小說《秀拉》中表現得尤為明顯，她創作該部小說時正值靈魂樂的鼎盛時期。她對書中人物夏德拉克的描寫似乎是在呼應西莫內的《生命》——年輕的夏德拉克是個患有彈震癥的一戰退伍軍人，他發現自己“沒有過去，沒有語言，沒有宗族，沒有來歷，沒有通訊錄，沒有梳子，沒有鉛筆，沒有鐘表……沒有肥皂，沒有鑰匙，沒有煙草袋，沒有臟內衣，而且無事、無事、無事可做……”他在這場危機中真真切切發現了自己的黑。在馬桶池的水里尋找自己的倒影（他沒有鏡子）時，他“欣喜”地看到自己黑色的臉：“當那張黑臉不容爭辯地呈現在他面前時，他再無他求。”

夏德拉克生活在一個叫作“底層”的小鎮邊上，鎮上居民都是黑人。小說的背景設置在20世紀20年代，主人公是在小鎮長大的一對好友秀拉和內爾。莫里森寫道，兩個女孩“多年前就已發現，她們既不是白人也不是男人，一切自由和成功都沒她們的份兒”，于是“她們開始自己創造某種新東西”。那種“新東西”從未完全成形，但對它的探索卻使她們的關系更加緊密，它的存在超越了背叛、疏遠和死亡。

黑人女性之間的友誼在莫里森創作《秀拉》的過程中起到了至關重要的作用，就像這樣的友誼帶給她書中主要角色的那樣。在該書2004年版的前言中，她解釋說，1969年開始寫這本書時，她是個“經濟上捉襟見肘”的單身母親，依靠其他單身母親朋友的幫助才有了“時間、食物、金錢……和膽識”。“膽識”尤其重要，因為“60年代末，有那么多的人死亡、被拘或被禁言，不可能回頭，就因為那會兒根本沒有人支持。可以說，漂泊中，我們發現能去想一些事、嘗試一些事、探索……既然沒人管我們，那我們就自己管自己。”像秀拉和內爾這樣的女性在創造一些新東西。莫里森曾生活在這樣的社區——先是作為朋友，后來作為蘭登書屋的編輯——這份經歷是她的藝術生活與西莫內經常遭受冷落疏遠的流浪生活重要的不同之處。

也許正是莫里森創作《秀拉》時那種“漂泊”的感覺，讓她得以構思出這樣一部實驗性的融通作品——與西莫內的多體裁音樂相呼應的文學作品。《秀拉》以夢幻式寓言開場，接著是從不同角度敘述的一系列小短文，還有對小鎮居民的行為和宗教信仰的全知式反思，并展現出清晰的描寫、奇幻的敘事手法和充滿戲劇性的絕妙對話。這是莫里森創作過的最奇特、最令人驚嘆的作品。這就是沒人關注時黑人生活的豐富性——這種生活會被白人至上所損害，但不會由其界定支配。這就是莫里森一生致力于表現的現實。

1968年，西莫內在巴黎錄制了一個現場版《生命》，歌曲結尾時她演唱了一個假結束段：她先演奏了一個收尾的終止音節，然后又演奏了一段即興放克讓歌繼續。她通過這樣的表演呈現了靈魂內在的藝術復蘇。因此，莫里森在《秀拉》中設置一連串假結尾的敘事也挺合適。人們本以為小說會隨著主人公秀拉之死而結束，但故事卻沒結束。夏德拉克帶領鎮上大多數人去抗議，結果導致很多人死亡，小說至此還是沒有結束。莫里森通過小說結構的安排來展現她眼中美國黑人生活的特點，那就是始終抱持繼續前行的最美好的意愿。正如她自己在紀錄片《托尼·莫里森：我的人生樂章》中所說：“沒有人能像我們一樣愛得深切，像我們一樣活得堅韌。不懈前行。盡管還有那么多試圖阻止我們繼續前進的力量存在——考慮到這個，生活太不可思議了。”

（譯者單位：中國民航飛行學院）