张爱玲就是这样一种不和谐:像是淡墨勾勒的乌木雕花长椅上,斜靠着一个艳丽风韵的油画女子。可她又将这种不和谐搭配得恰到好处:像是下午茶时间,一缕古朴羞涩的青藤爬上镂空的木窗,在交响乐的流动中开出几朵娇艳的蓝色小花,带着几许浅浅的忧郁。这就是张爱玲的小说。 Zhang Ailing is such a disharmony: like a carved ebony carved bench on a light ink, leaning against a gorgeous woman of oil painting. But she also matched this discordantly to the right: like tea time, a quaint and shy ivy climbs up a hollow wooden window, and in the flow of the symphony there are a few beautiful blue flowers with a touch of joy. Shallow melancholy. This is Zhang Ailing’s novel.