Author: Anne Baby
Publisher: Beijing October Literary Publishing House
Publication: 2008-2-1
Word Count: 190000
Pages: 269
Opening: 32 pages
Paper: Offset Paper
I S B N : 9787530209165
Packaging: Hardcover
Category: Books >> Fiction >> Emotions
Price: ￥ 28.00
Author Introduction
Annie Baby, formerly known as Reed Jae, a freelance writer, began publishing novels in '98 and is a person who floats around on the Internet. From October 1998 to start writing and publishing works on the network to "Farewell to Vian" became famous in the world, is the 2000 domestic trend of the most robust network literature authors. His works have attracted widespread attention for their unique style. His works are based on the themes of predestination, freedom, and wandering, and he creates the lives of those who are wandering in the industrialized big cities, and their determination to travel in the midst of love and illusion, as well as the pursuit of the self.
Previous careers: finance, advertising, editing;
Current career: web editor, freelance columnist and writer;
Favors: Irish music, long-distance travel, iris, movies, walking!
Since 2000, she has published a collection of novellas, Farewell to Vianne, August Uncharted, and a full-length novel, Flowers on the Other Side. All of the works are continuously on the bookstore system sales charts, and entered the national literary books best-seller list of the top ten. Her works have had a deep impact on many readers. And has been involved in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan, Germany and other regions.
A person who floats around on the network. From October 1998 to start writing and publishing works on the network, with "Farewell Vian" became famous in the world, is the 2000 domestic wind most robust network literature author. She has worked in finance, editing, and advertising, and is now engaged in the planning and content production of cultural products, serving as an editor of a publishing house.
1998: Got my first compatible computer and started surfing the Internet. Used computer to write novels. His famous novels "Farewell to Vian", "Seven Years", "July and Anson", etc., are based on the themes of farewell, wandering and destiny, with colorful and bizarre writing style and cold and gloomy tone. Published on the Internet, it caused a sensation.
1999: I didn't like my job at the bank and was ready to quit. The family was against it and couldn't complete the formalities. Left home and started a free life. Stayed briefly in Nanjing, working in advertising. During this period, I wrote a large number of short and medium-sized stories, which were published on the Internet one after another. Has a wide readership. Has a regular column and collection of works on the Internet. Known as a writer with an icon effect.
December 1999: moved to Shanghai and joined a web company as a content production supervisor.
January 2000: A collection of novels was published. Farewell to Vianne was a hit, and there were a lot of pirated copies.
May 2000: I finally resigned from the bank. In the network company planning and editing e-zine, production of independent channels.
January 2001: Published "August is yet to come". Opened a fashion column in the magazine.
February 2001: Left the internet company. Began writing full-length novels.
May 2001: Finished writing long story. Traveled to Xinjiang.
August 2001: Left Shanghai for Beijing.
September 2001: The long novel "Flowers on the Other Side" was published. Farewell to Vian published in Hong Kong, Taiwan. Engaged in planning and content production of cultural products. Worked as a publisher's editor.
September 02: Two or Three Things published
January 04: Photography collection 〈Rosebud Island〉
October 04: Urban Mood Notebook 〈Sobriety Chronicle〉
Editor's Recommendation
The first collection of short stories--city, love, predestination, disappearance. Since 2000, it has been a bestseller, with pure white text that amazes the eye and stretches the memory, and fine illustrations of 19 novels that are worth collecting!
Table of Contents
Farewell to Vianne
Seven Years
Warmth
Last Appointment
Small Town Life
Nothing to Say Goodbye To
Down
Midnight Flight
Pain
Kill
Breath
Wound
Life is an Illusion
Life is an Illusion
Life is a Illusion
Wealth
Wealth
Wealth
Life is an illusion
One night
Like the wind
Exchange
July and Anson
The night of the fireworks
Suenian Jinshi
Book excerpts
Farewell to Vianne
He didn't know where she was.
That was fine. Maybe she'd just show up at any moment. This game was so easy to sink into at first. He didn't know if it was the game itself, or if it was because it was just a secret that belonged between him and her.
He doesn't remember what month it was when he met this girl on the Internet, but her name was in a long list of letters in MIRC: Vivian, or Vivian. But he called her Vivian.
Maybe it was 2 a.m. on a Saturday. Insomnia feels like suicide.
He was listening to a Paganini record. The Italian violinist. A scene from Love. The music was like a thin silk thread. Wrapped around the heart until it felt oxygen-deprived and pale. He gently double-taps her name, Hi. then sees her answer in the little red window, Hi. Equally simple and careless.
Him: not sleeping?
Ann: No sleep.
Him: Paganini murders me sometimes.
Ann: He only needs two strings. The other one is for murdering your mind.
Him: Huh.
Ann: Huh.
And so it begins.
The conversation went on for a long time. Halfway through they take a three-minute break, and he goes to pour coffee, knocking over a chair as he stands up. Then it starts all over again. Conversation turns out to be like chess, in that it requires an opponent. It takes an even match to keep it interesting for long. They continued in sometimes obscure and sometimes simple language. When it got light, she said she had to go to bed. They didn't make an appointment to see each other again.
He was in the bathroom taking a cold shower. When he probed the mirror, he saw a numb face. In truth, all he feared was being murdered by loneliness. There were no opponents. In the crowd of reality, his eyes traveled across the city's narrow sky between buildings. The mind was a blank.
Every morning he takes the subway to work. Buying a hot cup of coffee at the subway station. Then finish it in between waiting for the train. When walking from the underground to the ground, he always squinted his eyes slightly out of habit. The bright sunlight felt as confining as life. The streets were filled with the smell of dust and matter.
HIM: I'm a fan of gloom.
Ann: I know, just as I know you must be a man who likes to wear cotton shirts. You usually use a blue plaid handkerchief. You only wear lace-up leather shoes, never white socks. You don't use an electric razor. You use grass-scented perfume. You drink coffee like water. But you're definitely thin.
He: There's something else you certainly don't know.
Ann:?
He: ?
After walking out of the subway station, he passes a square in the center of the street. There is a large forest of cherry blossom trees. It is the warmest place in the city in his eyes. Into the building where the company is located, waiting for the elevator, he will lower his head and gently breathe in the fragrance of flowers remaining on his shoulders. Tiny pink petals often clung to his clothes. He would pick them off and chew on them.
That day, also in the elevator, Jo said to him, Do they smell? She was his coworker, not in the same department. He looked at her expressionlessly. Maybe the same as your lips, he said. Jo's eyes widened in mild surprise. Then she laughed.
The girl liked ice water. Favorite attire was white cotton dresses and barefoot sneakers. Hair is very long. Has dark, bright eyes. Do not make up. Had a crush on a handsome boy in her class when she was twelve. Favorite man in high school was Ernest Hemingway.
Ann: Do you know how Hemingway died?
He: I don't know.
Ann: He put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger ......
He: Hmm.
Ann: And then his whole skull is lifted off.
He: It was gruesome.
Ann: Not gruesome.
Ann: Just the way he liked it.
He: The way you liked him?
Ann: Huh.
Ann: Yes. I've often wondered how one should deal with oneself decisively.
Ann: But life has already tortured us half to death.
He wasn't too sure such a girl existed. He met her online. He hadn't seen her in person. In real life, there didn't seem to be such interesting girls. Her thoughts sometimes made him suspect she was a man. But she was cute. She had her own way of talking. He liked it all the same.
That late night met up with Vianne again online. He said, come out and meet up will you, we'll go to Haagen-Dazs. She had told him she liked ice cream. She said, is it Isetan on Nanjing Road, there is one there. He said take your pick.
He always believed she was in the same city as him. While chatting, she had the good sense to talk to him about Kenzo's new perfume. She told him that she liked the subway in Shanghai. While waiting on the platform, she often had a desire. She wants to jump off very suddenly and then fight her way up the steps when the subway comes whizzing by. She says she likes this fantasy of hidden fear and despair.
Do you like to see the sea. She said. The sea is one of the clearest and warmest tears of the earth. He laughed at her there. But Shanghai only has a dirty Huangpu River.
He knew very well that she would not easily agree to come out and meet him. There was a time when Shanghai's netizens were used to these kinds of parties. A dozen or so people going out drinking and bowling together. There were more men. Of course he had dated girls too. The internet was the safest way to approach strangers. He'd met nearly twenty girls he'd met online. Some had dinner together and then broke up, never to be seen again. There were exceptions. For example, his ex-girlfriend, Lace, was one of the prettiest girls he'd ever met online.
The flippant affair lasted six months. It was a hunter's swift curiosity and desire to conquer, and then it felt brutal. There was a long silence. Like an overeater with an empty stomach.
He just asked her that. Without any expectations. Chatting is also good. Sitting barefoot on a big wicker chair. Sometimes taking a blue crumpled blanket over her shoulders and knees. Halfway through the day would make another pot of coffee. Often they would knock something over again in a daze because their legs were numb. Nearly midnight, they went off the grid. The usual count of one to three and then keying in Quit together was a warm moment he needed to share. The feeling sinks him. But he believed he was awake. Sober into the virtual and amorous ecstasy of the internet.
He began to miss her. At the end of the day, on the subway station, thinking about some of the lovely details of the late-night conversation. Her wickedly witty accent. Those obscure, simple phrases. He had not met such an icy, biting girl.
Once, they talked about love online.
Ann: Remember the first time you made love to a girl.
He: Yes.
Ann: What I remember most is -
He: The tears in her eyes, running down my fingers, were warm.
AN: Your fingers have since lost their virginity.
He: Huh.
Ann: Huh.
He: Why ask.
Ann: I want to know if there is still love in your heart.
He: Maybe ten percent remains. I feel like it's about to rot.
Ann: People who don't believe in love are more likely to be unhappy than usual.
He: And you.
Ann: Sometimes my heart is full. Sometimes it's empty.
He squeezed through the crowds of people pouring into the subway car from work. Slightly swaying, the pale lights of the car illuminated the dark tunnel. He looked around for a moment. Suddenly it felt like she might be right next to him. It was any one of a group of strangers. The young girls in the carriage, many of them Miss Office. A uniform of suits and elaborate makeup. But he had a feeling she wouldn't be in that category. She seemed to be jobless online. The scatterbrained look of having nothing to do, and often showing up late at night.
He figured if she were here, she would recognize him. A man who was stuck in his own way of life. Wearing a cotton shirt and lace-up suede shoes. Flat hair. Wears grass-scented cologne. Maybe she's laughing in the dark. But she doesn't come up and say hello to him. She's just laughing in the dark.
Because he started paying attention, he noticed the girl.
Every morning, she was on the same platform as him, waiting for a subway in a different direction. For a short period of time, she was there with the same aloof look as he was, with a bit of lethargy. She wore wide, washed-out jeans and a black T-shirt. A large string of dark silver bracelets around her thin wrists. Her hair was dark and rich. Bare feet in hemp sandals with thin straps. She likes to carry a large backpack diagonally across her body. Sometimes she pulls a pair of headphones from there and plugs them into her ears. Her face looked more detached and cold when she listened to music. He always wondered if it was Paganini she was listening to.
Sometimes he thought he should just walk up to her out of the blue and say, Vianne, have a cup of coffee. If it was her, she would look up at him wickedly and innocently, with her usual seemingly impish smile. If it wasn't her, then she would turn her face away. But he wanted to set aside more time to look at her. Leisurely and sure. This was a game where he could control the ending. At the end of the week, the company went to a bar to party. Joe came up to him and asked him to dance. Joe said, remember my lips. She smiled at him sideways in the shadows. When he hugged her, he realized that she was already drunk. John came over and took Joe's arm, "You're drunk, I'll take you home". All the colleagues in the company knew about John's crush on Joe. Although Joe had a photographer boyfriend who worked in England.
Jo pushed John's hand away. Her rosy, drunken cheeks lay on his shoulder. She looked at him with bright eyes. Lin, dance with me. He looked around at an embarrassed John. he dragged her out of the bar.
It was midnight. In the cramped apartment elevator, she tilted her face up again and asked him if he remembered her lips. He looked at her expressionlessly. Then suddenly he pushed her back against the elevator door. He kisses her roughly. I haven't made love in a long time, she says softly. It's been two years since he left for England. I haven't made love to any man. The lipstick on her lips began to decay, like petals burned in the darkness, uncontrollable.
He couldn't remember how many times he'd made love to her and finally fell into a trance-like state. He awoke to her touch. He wanted her again. Her face twisted in agony as she whimpered and begged him. He pulled her long hair up. Tell me you won't fall in love with me. He heard his own numb voice.
She tilted her face up in shame and pleasure, blooming like a flower. I will bring you no trouble. Rin. You are free. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. His fingers twitched gently. The temperature of the tears in the darkness exceeded his memory.
An accident at a subway station at dusk.
As the subway roared by, a middle-aged man suddenly took a flying leap onto the tracks. The sound of emergency brakes and screams froze in the air. Caught in the chaos of the crowd, he looked over to see where the accident had occurred. Bright red blood was in jets. He saw a pale hand gently spread out. Nothing was grasped.
As he pushed his way out of the crowd, he saw the girl in black, headphones in her ears. Standing there at a distance. As if nothing had happened. He walked towards the exit lane. He suddenly felt an empty burning sensation in his stomach. The sunlight pouring in at the mouth of the passageway made it impossible for him to open his eyes. He turned back around again. Late at night, he and Vianne had just discussed the end of life. He might never see her again.
He saw the girl approaching. He waited calmly for her to come to him. Then he said, Vianne, have a cup of coffee.
The girl was wearing a black, high-necked, sleeveless cotton T-shirt that day. A large string of silver bracelets on her wrist made a crisp clattering sound. The corners of her eyes were coated with silver-white glitter. It was the girl's most In makeup this summer. She has a light brown mole of tears under the corner of her left eye.
She lifted her face to look at him. She did not smile. But my name is Vivian, she said. Her voice was a little sandy. It was silent.
He took her to the store where he bought his coffee every morning.Happy Cafe, he asked her, what kind of coffee do you like. She said, Cappuccino. and his taste was Italian Espresso. he didn't mind this small difference.
The man must be dead, he said. The girl faintly ran her fingers over the white porcelain cup that held the coffee. Death was a common thing. Maybe he had just lost his job. Maybe he was facing divorce. Maybe he was duped. Maybe he was simply bored. The girl puts her headphones back in her bag. She said that if he survived that moment, he could have a nice cup of coffee.
Vivian works as a graphic designer at an advertising agency. They have a few casual dates. Often it's at the Happy Cafe.
She calls him the coffee man. Because he can't live without the brooding, bitter liquid. He finally figured out the music she was listening to. It wasn't Paganini. Instead, it's Ban's bass saxophone.
She was a unique girl. The usual kind of indifferent expression on her face. When she accompanied him for coffee, she said very little.
Sometimes he covered her fingers with his hand. He gently stroked that part of the skin of her fingertips. She then lifted her eyes and looked at him with a smirk.
He took her to Haagen-Dazs. Took her to Makabe, the Japanese coffee shop on Huating Road. Took her to Timepassage. all the places he had talked about to Vian online. In the murky light, he looked at the brown teardrop glistening in the corner of her eye. He didn't want to kiss her easily. She insisted he had to call her Vivian.
I don't want to be the person you think I am, she said. You're actually a very selfish man. You know that.
Maybe. He thought. A selfish man wears cotton shirts and lace-up suede shoes for twenty-nine years, and Kenz0's grass-scented perfume comes in 150 ml bottles. He was used to feeling like himself. And the world around him was far from his dreams.
He met Vian again online. He thinks of the subway girl's white fingers, gently resting on a coffee cup.
He: If tomorrow is the end, will you meet me.
Ann: no.
He: Why.
Ann: It feels like we might be passing each other every day. Maybe we won't see each other for the rest of our lives.
Ann: To keep the world in some of its mysterious ways. And with adult games we need rules.
Once or twice a week he goes to Joe's apartment, if Joe calls him.
Jo was well aware of their current situation. Until her boyfriend returned from England, they were the filler of each other's loneliness and desire. And, of course, they could separate at any time. She made him dinner. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night and saw this sleeping man beside her. His face was handsome. The usually cold expression looked warm in sleep. Like an innocent child. Men are lovely moments when they eat and sleep, reverting to the sweet vulnerable side of their humanity. She stroked him gently. She knew their bodies had been obsessed for too long, so their souls were moving farther and farther apart.
Or perhaps, she had simply never mastered his soul all along.
She remembered the way he chewed on cherry blossom petals in the elevator doorway. His body smelled faintly of displaced flowers. His eyes looked melancholy. When a girl feels she can't quite get to know the guy, she loves him. Joe was the same. Joe realized he no longer had the option of being strong.
Trying to ask him if he had children ...... Joe looked carefully into his eyes. His eyes were cold.
Be careful with yourself, he said. This is something that shouldn't happen.
But. Joe stroked his fingers weakly. What if it had.
He looked at her without moving. Don't get you and me into trouble, he said, please remember that.
Vivian. he called her softly. Looked at her sideways questioning gentle expression. On the empty platform of the subway, the sound of the subway whistling far away. He believed this was a game she was playing with him. Only now the roles in control in this game were beginning to shift. If she admitted she was Vianne. Then she was. If she didn't admit it. Then she was at least Vivian.
In the late-night chats, he looked into a monitor and heard the lonely sound of his fingers tapping on the keyboard. It was like blood churning through his veins. Her words appeared and disappeared sentence by sentence. At any moment it was doom.
They started having goodnight kisses when they said goodbye. She typed one on. No. When he had a cold, when he told her he felt a little chilly. Sleep well, she said, good boy. And then it all ends as Quit keys in.
Vivian was the girl within his reach. At least part of his fantasy was in her. Love was nothing more than such an illusion. It made him forget for a moment his desires in Jo. Those shameless cold desires.
He said I wanted to show you how a Cappuccino is made: pour dark roast coffee into a mug with granulated sugar and a tablespoon of whipped cream, and sprinkle some lemon slices on top. Orange slices work too. Then cinnamon.
Vivian laughed. You could work at Cafe. So professional.
When I graduated from college, he said, the job I most wanted was bartending and making coffee at a bar. The night is silent and disorienting. It was his favorite time of day. Pretty girls sit alone in a corner of the bar smoking. The strong aroma of coffee intertwined with tobacco and perfume. The record plays Paganini which murders the mind. Endless sensations. One can fall deep. Then sleep during the day. Cut off from the world under daylight. But reality didn't allow him to live such a scattered life. He traveled through the city of steel and concrete every day against the sun.
......