白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第1部分

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来，德里罗先后创作了13部小说，4部戏剧，还有众多短篇小说和散文。随着每一部小说的出版，德里罗逐渐显示了他在文学创作领域的天赋并且取得了巨大的成就。对于这么一位才华横溢的多产作家，尽管评论有褒有贬，但是很多评论家就其独特的题材和反传统的写作技巧这些方面颇有同感。德里罗的小说常常以当代美国的社会生活为关注焦点：政治阴谋，色情犯罪，狂热的谋杀者，恐怖主义者，化学事故等等。其中大部分事实上都是些令当代美国人震惊而又不愿意面对的社会问题。此外，德里罗擅长采用侦探小说，恐怖小说，科幻小说，灾难小说以及体育小说等小说形式来表现主题，借此他讽刺地批判了当代美国文化，同时也表达了对后现代社会中人类困境的关注。　本文以德里罗最为著名的小说之一《白噪音》为例，对后现代美国社会中的消费文化现象进行了剖析，尤其是符号消费带给人们的消极影响，并由此进一步说明小说中所刻画的人类生存危机事实上和弥漫于社会生活的消费文化有着紧密的联系。
　　充分展示了后现代社会中愈演愈烈的人类文明与自然生态的对立，真实记录了当代美国人精神上的焦虑、痛苦和危机感。是一部以后现代文化为背景的〃生态灾难小说〃。本文指出，德里罗对人类环境危机和精神生态的关注贯穿小说始终，生态意识是构筑这部作品独特魅力的重要因素。
　　《白噪音（White　Noise）》（英文版）作者：唐·德里罗（Don　DeLillo）　TXT下载
　　White　Noise
　　Don　DeLillo
　　To　Sue　Buck　and　to　Lois　Wallace
　　I　Waves　and　Radiation
　　1
　　The　station　wagons　arrived　at　noon；　a　long　shining　line　that　coursed　through　the　west　campus。　In　single　file　they　eased　around　the　orange　I…beam　sculpture　and　moved　toward　the　dormitories。　The　roofs　of　the　station　wagons　were　loaded　down　with　carefully　secured　suitcases　full　of　light　and　heavy　clothing；　with　boxes　of　blankets；　boots　and　shoes；　stationery　and　books；　sheets；　pillows；　quilts；　with　rolled…up　rugs　and　sleeping　bags；　with　bicycles；　skis；　rucksacks；　English　and　Western　saddles；　inflated　rafts。　As　cars　slowed　to　a　crawl　and　stopped；　students　sprang　out　and　raced　to　the　rear　doors　to　begin　removing　the　objects　inside；　the　stereo　sets；　radios；　personal　puters；　small　refrigerators　and　table　ranges；　the　cartons　of　phonograph　records　and　cassettes；　the　hairdryers　and　styling　irons；　the　tennis　rackets；　soccer　balls；　hockey　and　lacrosse　sticks；　bows　and　arrows；　the　controlled　substances；　the　birth　control　pills　and　devices；　the　jurik　food　still　in　shopping　bags—onion…and…garlic　chips；　nacho　thins；　peanut　creme　patties；　Waffelos　and　Kabooms；　fruit　chews　and　toffee　popcorn；　the　Dum…Dum　pops；　the　Mystic　mints。
　　I've　witnessed　this　spectacle　every　September　for　twenty…one　years。　It　is　a　brilliant　event；　invariably。　The　students　greet　each　other　with　ic　cries　and　gestures　of　sodden　collapse。　Their　summer　has　been　bloated　with　criminal　pleasures；　as　always。　The　parents　stand　sun…dazed　near　their　automobiles；　seeing　images　of　themselves　in　every　direction。　The　conscientious　suntans。　The　well…made　faces　and　wry　looks。　They　feel　a　sense　of　renewal；　of　munal　recognition。　The　women　crisp　and　alert；　in　diet　trim；　knowing　people's　names。　Their　husbands　content　to　measure　out　the　time；　distant　but　ungrudging；　acplished　in　parenthood；　something　about　them　suggesting　massive　insurance　coverage。　This　assembly　of　station　wagons；　as　much　as　anything　they　might　do　in　the　course　of　the　year；　more　than　formal　liturgies　or　laws；　tells　the　parents　they　are　a　collection　of　the　like…minded　and　the　spiritually　akin；　a　people；　a　nation。
　　I　left　my　office　and　walked　down　the　hill　and　into　town。　There　are　houses　in　town　with　turrets　and　two…story　porches　where　people　sit　in　the　shade　of　ancient　maples。　There　are　Greek　revival　and　Gothic　churches。　There　is　an　insane　asylum　with　an　elongated　portico；　ornamented　dormers　and　a　steeply　pitched　roof　topped　by　a　pineapple　finial。　Babette　and　I　and　our　children　by　previous　marriages　live　at　the　end　of　a　quiet　street　in　what　was　once　a　wooded　area　with　deep　ravines。　There　is　an　expressway　beyond　the　backyard　now；　well　below　us；　and　at　night　as　we　settle　into　our　brass　bed　the　sparse　traffic　washes　past；　a　remote　and　steady　murmur　around　our　sleep；　as　of　dead　souls　babbling　at　the　edge　of　a　dream。
　　I　am　chairman　of　the　department　of　Hitler　studies　at　the　College…on…the…Hill。　I　invented　Hitler　studies　in　North　America　in　March　of　1968。　It　was　a　cold　bright　day　with　intermittent　winds　out　of　the　east。　When　I　suggested　to　the　chancellor　that　we　might　build　a　whole　department　around　Hitler's　life　and　work；　he　was　quick　to　see　the　possibilities。　It　was　an　immediate　and　electrifying　success。　The　chancellor　went　on　to　serve　as　adviser　to　Nixon；　Ford　and　Carter　before　his　death　on　a　ski　lift　in　Austria。
　　At　Fourth　and　Elm；　cars　turn　left　for　the　supermarket。　A　policewoman　crouched　inside　a　boxlike　vehicle　patrols　the　area　looking　for　cars　parked　illegally；　for　meter　violations；　lapsed　inspection　stickers。　On　telephone　poles　all　over　town　there　are　homemade　signs　concerning　lost　dogs　and　cats；　sometimes　in　the　handwriting　of　a　child。
　　2
　　Babette　is　tall　and　fairly　ample；　there　is　a　girth　and　heft　to　her。　Her　hair　is　a　fanatical　blond　mop；　a　particular　tawny　hue　that　used　to　be　called　dirty　blond。　If　she　were　a　petite　woman；　the　hair　would　be　too　cute；　too　mischievous　and　contrived。　Size　gives　her　tousled　aspect　a　certain　seriousness。　Ample　women　do　not　plan　such　things。　They　lack　the　guile　for　conspiracies　of　the　body。
　　〃You　should　have　been　there；〃　I　said　to　her。
　　〃Where？〃
　　〃It's　the　day　of　the　station　wagons。〃
　　〃Did　I　miss　it　again？　You're　supposed　to　remind　me。〃
　　〃They　stretched　all　the　way　down　past　the　music　library　and　onto　the　interstate。　Blue；　green；　burgundy；　brown。　They　gleamed　in　the　sun　like　a　desert　caravan。〃
　　〃You　know　I　need　reminding；　Jack。〃
　　Babette；　disheveled；　has　the　careless　dignity　of　someone　too　preoccupied　with　serious　matters　to　know　or　care　what　she　looks　like。　Not　that　she　is　a　gift…bearer　of　great　things　as　the　world　generally　reckons　them。　She　gathers　and　tends　the　children；　teaches　a　course　in　an　adult　education　program；　belongs　to　a　group　of　volunteers　who　read　to　the　blind。　Once　a　week　she　reads　to　an　elderly　man　named　Treadwell　who　lives　on　the　edge　of　town。　He　is　known　as　Old　Man　Treadwell；　as　if　he　were　a　landmark；　a　rock　formation　or　brooding　swamp。　She　reads　to　him　from　the　National　Enquirer；　the　National　Examiner；　the　National　Express；　the　Globe；　the　World；　the　Star。　The　old　fellow　demands　his　weekly　dose　of　cult　mysteries。　Why　deny　him？　The　point　is　that　Babette；　whatever　she　is　doing；　makes　me　feel　sweetly　rewarded；　bound　up　with　a　full…souled　woman；　a　lover　of　daylight　and　dense　life；　the　miscellaneous　swarming　air　of　families。　I　watch　her　all　the　time　doing　things　in　measured　sequence；　skillfully；　with　seeming　ease；　unlike　my　former　wives；　who　had　a　tendency　to　feel　estranged　from　the　objective　world—a　self…absorbed　and　high…strung　bunch；　with　ties　to　the　intelligence　munity。
　　〃It's　not　the　station　wagons　I　wanted　to　see。　What　are　the　people　like？　Do　the　women　wear　plaid　skirts；　cable…knit　sweaters？　Are　the　men　in　hacking　jackets？　What's　a　hacking　jacket？〃
　　〃They've　grown　fortable　with　their　money；〃　I　said。　〃They　genuinely　believe　they're　entitled　to　it。　This　conviction　gives　them　a　kind　of　rude　health。　They　glow　a　little。〃
　　〃I　have　trouble　imagining　death　at　that　ine　level；〃　she　said。
　　〃Maybe　there　is　no　death　as　we　know　it。　Just　documents　changing　hands。〃
　　〃Not　that　we　don't　have　a　station　wagon　ourselves。〃
　　〃It's　small；　it's　metallic　gray；　it　has　one　whole　rusted　door。〃
　　〃Where　is　Wilder？〃　she　said；　routinely　panic…stricken；　calling　out　to　the　child；　one　of　hers；　sitting　motionless　on　his　tricycle　in　the　backyard。
　　Babette　and　I　do　our　talking　in　the　kitchen。　The　kitchen　and　the　bedroom　are　the　major　chambers　around　here；　the　power　haunts；　the　sources。　She　and　I　are　alike　in　this；　that　we　regard　the　rest　of　the　house　as　storage　space　for　furniture；　toys；　all　the　unused　objects　of　earlier　marriages　and　different　sets　of　children；　the　gifts　of　lost　in…laws；　the　hand…me…downs　and　rummages。　Things；　boxes。　Why　do　these　possessions　carry　such　sorrowful　weight？　There　is　a　darkness　attached　to　them；　a　foreboding。　They　make　me　wary　not　of　personal　failure　and　defeat　but　of　something　more　general；　something　large　in　scope　and　content。
　　She　came　in　with　Wilder　and　seated　him　on　the　kitchen　counter。　Denise　and　Steffie　came　downstairs　and　we　talked　about　the　school　supplies　they　would　need。　Soon　it　was　time　for　lunch。　We　entered　a　period　of　chaos　and　noise。　We　milled　about；　bickered　a　little；　dropped　utensils。　Finally　we　were　all　satisfied　with　what　we'd　been　able　to　snatch　from　the　cupboards　and　refrigerator　or　swipe　from　each　other　and　we　began　quietly　plastering　mustard　or　mayonnaise　on　our　brightly　colored　food。　The　mood　was　one　of　deadly　serious　anticipation；　a　reward　hard…won。　The　table　was　crowded　and　Babette　and　Denise　elbowed　each　other　twice；　although　neither　spoke。　Wilder　was　still　seated　on　the　counter　surrounded　by　open　cartons；　crumpled　tinfoil；　shiny　bags　of　potato　chips；　bowls　of　pasty　substances　covered　with　plastic　wrap；　flip…top　rings　and　twist　ties；　individually　wrapped　slices　of　orange　cheese。　Heinrich　came　in；　studied　the　scene　carefully；　my　only　son；　then　walked　out　the　back　door　and　disappeared。
　　〃This　isn't　the　lunch　I'd　planned　for　myself；〃　Babette　said。　〃I　was　seriously　thinking　yogurt　and　wheat　germ。〃
　　〃Where　have　we　heard　that　before？〃　Denise　said。
　　〃Probably　right　here；〃　Steffie　said。
　　〃She　keeps　buying　that　stuff。〃
　　〃But　she　never　eats　it；〃　Steffie　said。
　　〃Because　she　thinks　if　she　keeps　buying　it；　she'll　have　to　eat　it　just　to　get　rid　of　it。　It's　like　she's　trying　to　trick　herself。〃
　　〃It　takes　up　half　the　kitchen。〃
　　〃But　she　throws　it　away　before　she　eats　it　because　it　goes　bad；〃　Denise　said。　〃So　then　she　starts　the　whole　thing　all　over　again。〃
　　〃Wherever　you　look；〃　Steffie　said；　〃there　it　is。〃
　　〃She　feels　guilty　if　she　doesn't　buy　it；　she　feels　guilty　if　she　buys　it　and　doesn't　eat　it；　she　feels　guilty　when　she　sees　it　in　the　fridge；　she　feels　guilty　when　she　throws　it　away。〃
　　〃It's　like　she　smokes　but　she　doesn't；〃　Steffie　said。
　　Denise　was　eleven；　a　hard…nosed　kid。　She　led　a　more　or　less　daily　protest　against　those　of　her　mother's　habits　that　struck　her　as　wasteful　or　dangerous。　I　defended　Babett