To The Lighthouse

有些書適合深夜閱讀，陳寧的書是，Virginia Woolf的書亦然，她的筆觸很纖細，董橋形容為“筆細如髮”，是要在夜闌人靜、萬籟俱寂時細讀，才能領略到那如詩如畫的筆意墨韻。

<To The Lighthouse>是意識流匯集而成的書，內容如水流般倏忽不定，沒有從特定的視點出發，一字一句都旨在捕捉內心片刻的感覺和轉瞬即逝的想法。我也只是時而明白時而迷茫地讀著，沒有刻意去深究或理解，讀到特別優美的句子處便停下來，再細讀一遍，感受那詩意。

也想找它的中譯本，看譯者如何把如此優美的句子翻譯到中文裡去。

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夜幕低垂，黑暗潛入房子裡去，悄然地籠罩著一切，包裹著戰亂期間荒廢了的屋，人去樓空，只剩黑暗伴隨昔日的事物。

“So with the lamps all put out, the moon sunk, and a thin rain drumming on the roof a downpouring of immense darkness began. Nothing, it seemed, could survive the flood, the profusion of darkness which, creeping in at keyholes and crevices, stole round window blinds, came into bedrooms, swallowed up here a jug and basin, there a bowl of red and yellow dahlias, there are sharp edges and firm bulk of a chest of drawers.”

窩在黑暗裡的舊物偶爾被天上的星或船隻的明燈所照亮，光明不經意地灑進來，暫時驅散凝聚以久的黑暗，但黑暗也會再爬上來，光明抹不掉它，舊物終究兀立在那裡，絲毫不動，在黑暗裡全然地存在著，像一幅靜物畫，安靜永恒地閣在幽暗裡。

“So some random light directing them from an uncovered star, or wandering ship, or the Lighthouse even, with its pale footfall upon stair and mat, the little airs mounted the staircase and nosed round bedroom doors. But here surely, they must cease. Whatever else may perish and disappear what lies here is steadfast. Here one might say to those sliding lights, those fuming airs, that breathe and bend over the bed itself, here you can neither touch nor destroy.”

一次大戰即將爆發，戰爭氣氛嚴峻，局勢混亂，人心也惶惶不安。這種氛圍籠罩了黑夜裡的一切，狂風吹得遍地殘葉枯枝，廣闊無邊的大海也不止地怒吼著，在自然裡人也找不著片刻的安寧。

“The nights now are full of wind and destruction; the trees plunge and bend and their leaves fly helter skelter until the lawn is plastered with them and they lie packed in gutters and choke rain pipes and scatter damp paths. Also the sea tosses itself and breaks itself, and should any sleeper fancying that he might find on the beach an answer to his doubts, a sharer of his solitude, throw off his bedclothes and go down by himself to walk on the sand, no image with semblance of serving and divine promptitude comes readily to hand brining the night to order and making the world reflect the compass of the soul. The hand dwindles in his hand; the voice bellows in his ear. Almost it would appear confusion to ask the night those questions as to what, any why, and wherefore, which tempt the sleeper from his bed to seek an answer.”